Why Brexit and Boris Happened - An Immigrant Perspective
No Need For a Deep Autopsy | It Was Johnny Foreigner Wot Won Brexit and Boris
By Mabs Freeman
On Friday the 13th of December 2019, Britannia woke up with a stonking hangover and rolled over to find a porcine blonde scratching around the cracks of the despoiled boudoir, desperately fingering around for some loose change for the getaway taxi before the itching started in the nethers.
Britannia had been warned of structural integrity within the generous confusing folds of their new conque'rant. Issues of trust and character and all things traditionally nice. As the cab whisked him off to the hoardings where his inequitable den mates celebrated their greatest swindle, the nation ruminated over a heady night of sweaty promises made over a cocktail of division and paranoia. We tried to make excuses of the new reality we all knew he embodied. Oh well. He might not be Richard Gere in An Officer and a Gentleman, or even Richard Gere to our Pretty Woman. He might be a complete prat to be honest . As long as he gave us a jolly good Brexiting. The rest will be forgiven. Tie us up and whip us to an unemployed, cancer-ridden froth for the next five years like a gelatinous Christian Grey, and it will still have been worth it. At least we locked out Johnny Foreigner.
For have no illusions. It wasn't his gentle ways, or his buffoonish persona, (which is no doubt going to entertain and appal us for the next 5 years) that sees a man with all the integrity of a snake mating ball now ascending to the highest office. It was pure old fashion xeno-hate-ya, that saw the biggest landslide since the Pompeii.
No need to analyse. To waste a million words of Grunaid commentary. Take the day off from your focus groups and think tanks and editorial offices, and use that time searching for a European break on Skyscanner, while you can - get there" and afford it. Then take a deep breath and just blurt it out "It was the Muslims" that gave us the double B Brexit and Boris. Feel better. Say it again.
Each and every ululating psychotic on London Bridge pumped up to global threat level crimson, every Burka laden letterbox in a white Micra, cutting your white van up. Every Somalian boat washing up with Katie Hopkin's "cockroaches" google-mapping the nearest DHS, council house and Lidl happy hour deal. Every pandering outrage against Santa and Christian values (tell me what they are again EDL?) Every jihadistanic taqqiyah-phonic, Islamo-fascisto-fifth-columnist curry house and corner shop, that your neo-right-wing social media channels screamed out hysterical red alerts for, propelled your voting booth pen closer to piercing a hole in the big buffoon's tight box.
And while good old auntie Corbyn's getting all the flack for having bought shame to the house of Labour, the demographic split simply puts pay to that misconception. Predominantly the "yout's" overwhelmingly voted for hope, progressiveness and inclusion to a global 21st century brotherhood of man, while predominantly the grays were busy strapping their garters to the drawbridge. The country was split down the middle along the "It Ain't Half Hot Mum" Maginot- line.
EVERY predominantly photo-fit James O'Brien white-van caller, who's middle name seemed to be "I'm not racist, but," actually were. Racist. Even if they knew how to order vindaloo down the local, in native Muslamistani. Each and every "Moron of the Week," would no-but-yes-but his way to admitting "there were too many foreigners in Britain. The country was straining at the teats, with great unwashed hordes from somewhere past Dover. And for every caller - angrily explaining how they would now be able to buy regular shaped bananas grown in Norway without the EU fascists deep-throating genetically un-modified ones down their gullet - 5 minutes of suicidally depressing cross-examination of the echo-chamber expert, would reveal their true thoughts. We don't want them here, using our social services and NHS (so it's probably a great idea to have voted in the man who's one main agenda was to comprehensively toss all our social safety nets into the ocean, next to all of America's other kill listees).
That in essence was Brexit. Not the desire for carnally shaped bananas. Not some vague unwarranted notion of EU bureaucracy interfering in our lives forcing two pin plugs on us, along with unfucked food "It's my inalienable y'uman right to get cancer laden turbo-chicken if I want." It was the dark hordes hanging outside Betfred bookmakers at teatime en-route to Tescos, that terrified our arthritic bones to voting jamais. Yes there were definitely other causes for the demographic lurch (before the shills run for their quills) but most other political arguments are simply salad dressing.
No use, then, to tell them that the darkies or extremists they didn't want, aren't going anywhere. They didn't really come from Europe (only transited at best). Boris or Brexit aren't going to address the flow of that particular shade of asylum seeker that the Cons had mischievously blamed on previous lefty administrations the pig-shagging scamps - despite themselves having presided over the last 9 years of unfettered immigration. Our Hard Brexit would hammer a stiff nail into the leaking hole of ever-threatened Britannia. No one really knew what that meant, except for "out-means-out" a phrase they're probably quite familiar with, every triumphant return from a city centre-obliterating pub crawl. And while robot-dancing Theresa whimpered for a gentle withdrawal, the ever virile Boris promised vehemens coitus interruptus.
Most people are good. Ok apart from sociopaths. And my hairdresser down Finchley High Street and I still tip him out of politeness! But they can still vote against their own best interests if their fears are manipulated.
Throughout the rising hordes of kaleidoscopically bizarre right wing nut-groups popping up throughout Europe, the invective is the same. From the philosophical French to the brazen Hungarians. Europe is under attack. Or to be more exact pale-skin is under attack. SPF 50 or above. Some dress it up with qualifying numbers and figures, mysteriously extrapolated from singular incidents into looting pillaging rape-armies swarming our borders. Then, there are the online freaks, like Stefan Molyneux, who try to congeal their bile with closing time pseudo-scientific mouth-crap, to incite his incel proud boy audience. Modern phrenology disguising unabashed racism, arguing the lower IQ of the negro. I had to check the date on my grandfather clock, just to make sure we hadn't fallen through a wormhole directly into Charles Caldwell's lap. Their get out clause: we're not as clever as them eastern Asiatics (not including Muslims of course what have they ever given us). That's ok then. With the explosion on online pseudo-intellectuals, is it any wonder that trust of earned intelligentsia (and real facts) is at an all-time low. As Stephen Colbert once said, "Truth has a left-wing bias." So why believe it. With pride we taught our oldies how to use new fangled tech and with joy, they double-clicked their way to the far right. Not all of course.
Boris' Reich sits on the slimier scale of the new European right. Trying to herd their gaffe-prone Fauntleroys into a politically palatable political party long enough for the masses to forget who they're actually voting for or perhaps they know and just don't care. As long as Ali bogs off with his one pound fish back to Bangladesh. The duping of the traditionally socialist British working class into actually believing the Hooray Henries would actually represent them has to be the single most head-scratchingly successful act of deception since 1933. A while back, the same working classes would have been on the streets, soiling effigies of the Brexit Billionaires, who are all busy increasing their ties to Europe too rich to worry about the effects of economic cauterisation. Nationalism and xenophobia is a convenient whip to tame the bewildered herd, pumping out 24/7 from their mind control media corps.
England is "tolerant," (a confoundingly counter-intuitive word in itself). Definitely more than most other European nations. But let's not beat around the morus nigra bush. Brexit was a fear induced anti-immigration vote. Boris is an anti-immigration vote. No-deal Brexit is an anti-immigration screech. Economic pain be damned. A bit of British gumption and the great war spirit to serenade our dumpster diving missions, if we can just bloody-well stop them from flooding in. It's the oldest game played by shadowy figures. Collective national suicide to counter random cynically projected threats. If not the darkies or the Muzzies, it would be something else. Your Hull FC supporting granny. But never the powerbrokers and the extinction level thieves lining their pockets with your next NHS flu-jab, for the impending Bank-opolis.