When Theresa May speaks in that querulous voice, she sounds like the Head Girl uncertain of her reading even though the script is carefully prepared. She also appears afraid to look up in case Mummy and Daddy haven’t turned up on her big day, and all she’ll see is a familiar but not-familial face videoing the whole thing.
Compare and contrast that with George Galloway in Gorton.
His is a very small production, tiny budget, the message as always ‘One Man Can Make A Difference.’ The meeting of man and like-minds, minds who like the man. The meeting is warm and intimate. George speaks to the people.
He looks up at them. No prepared speech, And the people look up to him.
How many potentially great leaders and politicians have we lost because they couldn’t survive in the fetid atmosphere of Westminster?
George was once an MP, representing Bradford West, the birthplace of the Independent Labour Party. The story of that ground-breaking group and their allegiance with what we know today as THE Labour Party is grist for another post yet to be milled.
THEY left Labour. George was, the polite term is defenestrated as in, removed. One feels George, as a Scot, would prefer the other meaning ‘Choose a window pal, yer leaving …’
Isn’t that the defining feature of being British? Our Gallows Humour.
Galloway possesses Gallows Humour.
We British need Gallows Humour. For beneath the gloss of consumerism and delivery of groceries ordered online to the security of our sofas, we remain a feudal kingdom.
The myth that an Englishman’s home is his castle, is almost as recent a story as that of the Ploughman’s Lunch – an advertising concoction from the 1970s.
We’ve bought into both. The Ploughman’s Lunch was created to sell more cheese, and the myth of Home Ownership was to provide a false sense of security.
While any British Citizen can borrow money in the form of a mortgage – a means of remaining indebted to a bank for the majority of your working life – they can never stand their ground and shout in a suitably rural accent ‘Get orf’ my land.’
For the land is not theirs, nor ever will be.
“Those countries that allow their people to own the land to which they hold legal title are among the most economically successful – such as the United States, Germany and France.” England and Scotland are not amongst them.
That is another huge topic for another time.
My point is, that ‘We The People’ of this somewhat fragmented kingdom remain serfs.
Where we once laboured in our free time to grow subsistence levels of food on a parcel of land deigned to us by a local baron – a portion of which we were required to give to our liege lord above and beyond working twelve hours a day on his arable land prior to working on his land lent to us in the evening – it’s almost as exhausting to try and write it as it must have been to live it … well if you didn’t laugh you’d have to commit suicide if pestilence, plague, Black Death or infant mortality hadn’t done for you first.
For those spluttering WTF? about the nonsensical and ridiculous idea that they don’t own their property, here’s an article which might be titled When you buy a house you don’t own the land you cretin, the Queen does.
That concept won’t surprise anyone who’s bought a flat, or part of a house that doesn’t have access to the garden. Not an uncommon arrangement in London, where an attic flat can cost several times what a house in, say, Thurnscoe, costs (thanks to Maggie Thatcher decimating an industry and entire communities).
It’s ironic that the leader of the American Right wants to now save the same industry while the environmentalists tell us that we’re burning one and one-half planets per year already. Trump must have another planet up his sleeve?
Any humour that treats serious matters such as home-ownership, death, war, disease, and crime as a joke is Gallows Humour.
Any Government that can treat child poverty, expanding use of Food Banks, and summary draconian penalties for people unable to prove that they’re unable to work as a joke, is criminal.
How do you cover up such crimes?
You create division. You label.
Again someone will be spluttering with righteous’ or lefteous, indignation about how it’s impossible in this day and age, what with social media at our fingertips and ‘Arab Springs’ that it would be impossible for ‘The Man’ to screw us.
Check yourself for the possession of labels.
Are you ‘Right’ or ‘Left’? A droite ou à gauche?
The terms originally referred to which side you took in … it wasn’t fixed or labelled or anything more than knowing where people stood.
Even today the colours associated with left and right flip when you cross The Atlantic. It’s as if there were forces at work to make things as confusing as possible to prevent clear choices – where there are only two.
There are schisms within the accepted parties. The binary colour-coded huge range of choice available to you the citizen. When you check a box at the ballot check out how many boxes there are … really.
Your choice is deliberately limited in the most calculated ways possible.
What’s clever is the manipulation behind the scenes of tribal fervour about your ever smaller slice of the pie. As long as you’re arguing with the people closest to you about stray hedge-cuttings (which fall on land that legally belongs to your Monarch) or fuming in a traffic jam as you try to get your kids to the best school in the area (to learn how to be a loyal flag-waving subject) or feeling crushed by the burden of debt to a degree that you can’t even begin to imagine where the Government borrows all the money that increases the odious national debts, at interest rates over which we have no say, without ever alleviating the difficulties of the most vulnerable segments of society … while you’re worrying your pretty little heads about those, Government can rear it’s ugly head to declare or wage war on those with even less, and less say in how their lives are affected.
What do I know? All that I have read between the lines, or thought to be true when staring out of the window at school.
Don’t take my word for any of it – this. The Common Good, Noam Chomsky famously wrote:
“The smart way to keep people passive and obedient is to strictly limit the spectrum of acceptable opinion, but allow very lively debate within that spectrum….”
When you see a march in London and thousands of people protesting, it reassures you that democracy is alive and well. They’re free to march. Well yes and no. They have to apply to The State. It’s an organised march.
The Establishment Press then report the event, if they report the event, lazily suppressing the actual numbers, because large numbers would suggest that people really care.
Really caring doesn’t tally with a grey-faced, grey-haired old lady standing in the middle of a Great Hall in a crumbling Palace droning on about apparently dull issues … to those of a new generation she appears to have something else on her mind as though she’s concentrating very hard on something important.
If I were Caitlin Moran, a girl, and therefore excused saying mean things about other women … I might suggest she’s concentrating on keeping her Tena Ladies pants up using the power of her mind.
But as I say that’s mean. And we’re not allowed to think ill of our betters. Our betters come from that ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ parallel where the laws they’ve written don’t apply, and if they’re ever in danger of laws becoming applicable they re-write them in such a labyrinthine fashion that only the dullest of their legions of dull lawyers could begin to explain … and thus Brexit spools into Article 50 and falls foul of clauses that mean it’s beginning to feel a lot like anything but Christmas …
So where do we stand?
In France the Left has been called “the party of movement” and the Right “the party of order”.
For an entire generation weaned on comic books and Harry Potter, and doesn’t Parliament look a lot like Hogwarts without the floating candles and John Cleeses? That generation are more likely to remember The Vision saying to Ultron, “Humans are odd … they think chaos and order are somehow as opposites and try to control what won’t …”
That control begins with y’all being in thrall.
First you are subject to the ‘parental controls’ that aren’t set in a browser environment.
Then you toddle along to the congregation of their choice. Choice as in the one that was foisted upon them.
You’re schooled from text books that were written by victors. There are huge fibs in history, and the terms of engagement are borrowed and stolen over time.
Exams are set with answers that are binary: Y/N, right/wrong.
The syllabus teaches you nothing about Right and Left. Financial Intelligence isn’t taught either because then you might ask questions and that would do at all. Where do you think you are … Iceland?
What’s happening to you is the all of the light within you when you’re born is shone through a social prism that permits one narrow laser beam that points unerringly wherever the State wishes.
The State wants you dull-witted.
You’re to fall into step. Left, right, left, right … march. March but don’t protest.
That light? The joy you felt at being alive? How can they control that?
‘Let it Shine’ is a Take That song.
‘Take That’ is a message that echoes down through the generations. Take that and be grateful … Google Noblesse Oblige.
Can you reboot the system? Not when they control the ‘boots on the ground.’ Resistance is sedition. Overthrow is a coup.
Can you remain grounded? Down to earth? And not become frightened?
“If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – forever.” George Orwell
“When the government’s boot is on your throat, whether it is a LEFT boot or a RIGHT boot is of no consequence.” Gary Lloyd
How can The Establishment Press persuade you otherwise?
By shifting focus to your unelected Prime Minster’s kitten heels, or her legs.
What’s important is that you’re worrying about the economy, or Brexit, or Gibraltar, or Scottish Independence, or one crazy guy who drove from Birmingham to Brighton and onto Westminster, a man with such focus that his kamikaze mission pushed Kimakaze Kardashian and her crazy spouse off the front pages, or landing page of your browser for, well, less than a fortnight.
What drove that one man to drive all that way?
First of all he was labelled a terrorist and a Muslim.
The Press mission seems to be to make them one and the same.
Gradually as the facts emerged as a terror attack was downgraded to mass murder … in the words of Nick Robinson on the BBC … another event was required to distract all loyal subjects from stumbling across some huge truths that would make them question …
Why don’t I own my own property legally?
Why isn’t there any democracy?
Why does one man feel so authentic when our entire Parliament feels like a political pastiche?
STOP. They don’t want you to capiche, they want you to buy into the pastiche.
If you have Great Expectations, they’re to be channelled accordingly. As Charles Dickens, “Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no lies.”
As The Establishment T-shirt might say, “Be incurious it’s glorious” … and long may she reign over us, and own the ground under us.
So, how did we end up here? It’s as thought I don’t know my LEFT from my RIGHT?
Perhaps not. Deliberately disobediently, wilfully not. I do know right from wrong. That’s not something you can legislate for, or against. It’s instinct, and that terrifies The Establishment.
In their hive mind, right-thinking people, getting together, comparing notes, feeling their way forward, openly and honestly is an assault. That’s their idea of a terror attack. Night terrors for them on the Dark Side.
Take a long hard look at Labour.
If you choose to vote for them in 2020 will it be as you envisage? Or will they (apparently unable to excise those who feel they have the ‘Right’ to rule within) have the last laugh?