The British state treats its subjects with studiously-disguised contempt. Its disguise is that of a u2018nanny', generously offering bulging udders to a population of dependent u2018kids'. These u2018suckers' are more than happy to oblige by remaining in infantile subjection to u2018mother' throughout their tax-paying careers. The artfully-engineered Great Depression of the 1930s, followed by WWII, with its illusion of communal victory, persuaded a shell-shocked population to accept the welfare state as guarantor of basic security in a dangerous world whose injustices had been exacerbated by an excess of economic liberty. Confiscatory taxes forced the best and boldest into exile, and soon the exuberance of organised labour brought chaos to the streets. The stench of uncollected garbage and unburied bodies delivered power to a resurgent Conservative party, who negated the unions' coercive powers through libertarian legislation, and converted the UK from an economic basket-case into a wealthy and confident vehicle for private enterprise (at least compared to her Continental rivals).
However, once everything was OK (in a relative sense), the national spirit asserted itself once more. The rot set in again, culminating in the election of a u2018New Labour' government headed by neo-conman Tony Blair. Blair is a master of low deceit who stood up at his party conference a few weeks before the national election and promised the unions (on whom he depended) that if they would pretend to convert to moderation, the voters would trust them with power again, after which they could pursue their old socialist vendettas. His proposal was greeted with bemused acclamation. Power at any cost, and the truth could go hang. Since that triumph, taxes have gone through the roof, regulation has got a stranglehold on business, and the country, while living off the remains of the fat put on under the Conservatives, has been pulled ever closer into the totalitarian embrace of the European Community.
The EC (Hitler's proposed u2018Greater Germania', plus sedulously-seduced satellites) now embraces most of Western Europe and is about to swallow Eastern Europe. It is run by unelected commissioners, among whom is Neil Kinnock, a failed British politician who has a permanent job bossing European transport. His salary is higher than that of the British prime minister. The EC parliament, consisting of representatives voted into new, artificial seats in the various member countries, may consider legislation, but not propose it. In other words, the EC parliament is a sham. The whole show is a gigantic trough for the new elites to feed at while they finish the job of creating a European superstate which will supervise and control the individual national governments. Under treaties signed by successive British prime ministers, all UK legislation now must conform to EC legislation. EC law overrides UK law. And EC law is Roman law, not the Anglo-Saxon tradition that inspired the Bill of rights and the US Constitution. Forget about the right to trial by jury. Forget about habeas corpus. Forget about the presumption of innocence. Forget about individual liberty. Think identity cards. Think Kafka. Think about leaving.
All this is of little concern to the infantilised masses of the UK. If Americans dream of wealth, the English prefer to dream of security, which is the mother's milk offered by their nanny state.
Sheeple Eager little citizens, eager little slaves, Kneel before the mighty state who'll hound you to your graves! Obey your laws and leaders, so clamouring, so clever, Who regulate your lives and sap your energies for ever. Pay your taxes, vassals! Pay them to the brim! Slaves, support your masters' sport and gratify each whim! From your earnings you may keep just half for you and yours. The rest will be sequestered by those gangsters and their whores. Do you long for children? Find a willing mate, Then sign along the dotted line. You're married to the state. Your children will be brainwashed by educated fools To love the state that confiscates your wealth to fund your schools. But please don't feel depressed or let such sentiments distress you, For every now and then you get to choose who will oppress you. In this democratic heaven you are absolutely free To cast a vote for Tweedledum or else for Tweedledee. And if you want some facts to tell you where your vote should go, Your television set will tell you all you need to know. And if you're short of money after all the tax you've paid, Your credit card will cover any longing long-delayed. No bleating, little sheeple! Just do as you are told. Your wool may all be shorn and you may shiver in the cold, But your shepherds will continue to fleece you in the field, While your flesh plumps up so nicely for that final fatal yield.
December 23, 2003