2,216 words

Election special

There is only one game in town at the moment in the Disunited Kingdom, and it’s the imminent General Election. Until a month ago it was as dull as ditchwater, with Labour expected to trounce that loose collective still inexplicably using the name “Conservative Party” and take the uniparty baton from the oldest political party in the world. There was nothing of interest other than the scale of the drubbing. Enter Sir Nigel of Farage, without doubt the biggest political presence in the UK at the moment, who announced he was returning to politics, took over as leader of Reform UK, and starting clambering up the poll ratings.

Farage, you might expect, would be all over the media like a rash, but that’s not quite how it works in the UK. Blighty hasn’t yet reached the level of American presidential electioneering, which is currently based on that reliable old Soviet/African/slant-eyed commie model of putting your opponent in jail forever. Instead, over tea and Lincoln biscuits, the British establishment just keeps them away from those pesky voters — the fly in the globalist ointment — which means keeping them off the TV.

British televised debates have less razzmatazz than their American equivalent, but are every bit as excruciating, and the most recent had a notable absentee. Despite Reform having eaten up the polling distance between them and the Tories since Farage threw his rather dapper hat in the ring, with some polls even putting them ahead, they were not invited to this festival of platitudes. The criterion, you see, is the performance of political parties in the last two general elections, and Reform are ever so slightly hampered by the fact that they didn’t exist at the time of either. This is a failsafe put in place by the political class precisely to stop stranieri such as Farage muscling in with facts and figures and other racist outrages.

So, Nigel Farage had more time on his hands and could concentrate on campaigning in sunny Clacton-on-Sea (at 180 hours of weak sunshine a month in summertime, it is the tenth-sunniest place in the UK). I won’t tell you whether Farage’s Labour opponent is black, because that would be clear racism, so I will just tell you his name is Javon (no, wait! There’s more!) Owusu-Nepaul. Let’s just hope that Javon doesn’t bring race into the debate. American readers with a weather eye on their black politicians will be all too aware that race is the premise of any discussion — or, as they see it, set of accusations, particularly in election season. For a flavor of the black political zeitgeist, watch Jamaal Bowman at a recent rally hosted by the ever-psychotic Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who is in essence your nuts ex-girlfriend you had to hide the larger kitchen knives from. But, like all the bad things America has to offer along with its benefits, blackness is present and correct as the election looms in Britain.

Massah Owusu-Nepaul, however, has added a new twist to black political diss-course. His favorite beverage is not tea — which would have proved his English credentials — but “white man’s tears.” He has also said that his candidacy is for “every black and brown person” in the country, and mentioned his pride in the “Wakandan diaspora.” This is where it gets really, really black.

I’m sure you are familiar with Wakanda, the fictional African country invented by two white New York Jews for Marvel Comics. It is ruled by T’Challa, The Black Panther, one of the characters Marvel needed in the days when blacks were just tokens rather than the whole board game. The problem is one of what Coleridge called “the willing suspension of disbelief,” meaning white comic-readers and filmgoers can enjoy the exploits of the black King and his proud nation without having to believe they are real. But some blacks don’t suspend disbelief for anyone, certainly not whitey, and seem to believe that you can see Wakanda on the departure board at most airports.

Thus, the British bulldog goes up against the Wakandan champeen,[1] and it’s already a dirty fight. Let’s see if things are calmer in the beautiful country of Wales.

Welsh blackface

British comedy icon Edmund Blackadder may have described the Welsh as “huge gangs of tough, sinewy men roaming the valleys terrifying people with their close-harmony singing,” but it is a beautiful country and well worth a visit while it is still 94% white. One of the commands that has issued down from the men in the high castle in the UK is that the employment policy of organizations and public services must “reflect the communities they serve.” When you pass this through the decoder, this means more black and brown people and fewer white faces. And the more blacks in high office the better; nations have environmental, social, and governance (ESG) credit scores too, you know. Wales has recently played an ace, “electing” its first-ever black First Minister, Vaughan Gething, who promptly spent his inaugural period telling everyone that he was also Europe’s first black premier. Within about five minutes, he faced and lost a vote of no confidence in the Welsh Parliament. This is usually enough to force a resignation, but instead, the African-born Gething (born in Zambia rather than Wakanda) burst into tears. Around him, however, his colleagues are making sure that the devolved Welsh Labour government is preparing for the ascension at Westminster of a Labour PM. A couple of examples of the blackening of the valleys.

The game of golf has been uncharitably described as a good walk spoiled, but given its importance to retired men and United States presidents — and Alice Cooper — we must pay this strange game its due. Golf Wales, boss boyos of the Welsh golfing community, has an interesting pick for its board of directors. Who said the following? “I have a serious problem with golf, I really do.” Was it A. Most people in the world, or B. the recently-appointed non-executive director on the board of Golf Wales? Well done if you holed your putt with B. Brandie Deignan is the black woman in question, and she also admits to being “rubbish” at the game. But it isn’t the game itself that interests her, rather the color of the people who tend to play it. On her first visit to a golf club, she knew something had to be done:

There was nobody in the golf club that looked like me, that looked like my twin boys. They’re brown and I thought, “What is going on here?”

But the good news for golfers is that we should be seeing a lot more Taffy Tiger Woods, because Ms. Deignan has been brought in “to drive up equality, diversity, and inclusion,” the only driving she will be doing at the 18th. Speaking of holes in the ground, Wales is also famous for coal mining, mines being the one place where you don’t go to jail for being in blackface. Miners were naturally white men, at least before the day shift started, but that’s nothing that can’t be put right.

The Big Pit National Coal Museum in Blaenavon, South Wales has been instructed by its devolved government to change its teaching program to pay attention not to miners and their history, but to another set of black faces. From now on, this 140-year-old former mine will be sharing its history. From The Daily Telegraph, June 10, 2024:

A coal mining museum must teach a “decolonised” version of history under Welsh government plans . . . The devolved Labour Government has mandated that heritage sites, including the mining museum, must offer a “decolonised” view of the past that recognises “historical injustices.”

Teaching material at the former mine must “tell stories through the lens of black, Asian and minority and minority ethnic people’s experiences” in line with government education plans: “Slavery, empire and colonialism could be taught to visiting children as a way to include more diverse stories, official guidance has suggested.”

There is also a suggestion that links be sought which might suggest the role of Welsh mining, however tenuous, in the slave trade. So, this is part cultural insurrection, part forensic examination. A genetically-altered history of slavery, empire, and colonialism should be taught to children “as a way to include more diverse stories,” the “official guidance” also helpfully suggests. It’s likewise a way to squeeze even more contrite appeasement out of whitey, whether he is in coalminer’s blackface or not. And it’s another redoubt in the cultural Conquista white liberals have choreographed and stage-managed for blacks. As white people are aware, Welsh or otherwise inclined, it is no longer a question of “Can we do anything for black people?”, but rather, “Can we do everything for black people?”

Scotched

Whichever color historian gets to write the future annals of Scotland will not record recent times for our Hibernian cousins with much cheer, for the Scots at any rate. There’s an international football competition on, for a start, which tends to repeat itself for all eternity in Scotland’s case. As I write, the national team has just been knocked out of the European Championships at the group stage by the latest goal in the competition’s history, scored, as they say, with the last (Croatian) kick of the game. Scotland’s goalkeepers were something of a national joke when I was a kid and, watching the highlights, things haven’t changed much with stoppers north of Hadrian’s Wall. As for Scottish politics, the ruling Scottish National Party (SNP) may be about to be substituted. The SNP team can’t be said to have covered itself in glory.

Humza Yousaf came and went as the first Muslim First Minister of not-so-Bonny Scotland, leaving in his wake a piece of hate-crime legislation that wasted police time answering complaints, many of which were about him for his now-infamous parliamentary rant about the whiteness of his constitutional colleagues. His replacement, John Swinney, is “fffwhite” (which is how Yousaf pronounces the word), but has got off to a predictably poor start. The previous incumbents, Nicola Sturgeon and Alex Salmond (at least Scottish fishing is thriving), managed to get themselves into so much trouble with the police Sturgeon must have a rap sheet longer than a Harlem crackhead. Salmond fell foul of the law for sexual harassment, Sturgeon (and her husband) for financial shenanigans. It seems that all Swinney has to do is stay out of jail and not propose legislation that is too unbelievably crass, and he may turn out to be something of a shock jock. That said, and to add to the SNP’s woes, they now trail Labour in the polls for the first time in a decade with just days to go. Where’s Bonny Prince Charlie when you need him?

Northern Ireland’s white separatism

Apologies to any viewers in Northern Ireland for your country’s lack of coverage here, but even the mainstream media can’t find much to write about the northerly extremity of the Emerald Isle. Apart from having a border with its southern neighbor so negligible that immigrants regularly walk across it on the way to the south and the European Union once again after their passage across Europe, not a great deal of global import seems to happen there. After The Troubles in Northern Ireland officially ended (although unofficially that may not be the case), it’s almost like nothing much has really happened there since the late 1970s. For all I know Paddy up north may still be in flared trousers and platform shoes, and wearing his hair and sideburns like Northern Ireland football legend George Best.

But there is a glimmer of hope for those of us who like to see white names at the ballot box rather than what looks like the team sheet for a football match between Iraq and Zimbabwe. Going through the candidates for the 18 wards in Northern Ireland, there isn’t a Muslim or Wakandan name to be found, and the only accents that aren’t Irish are on top of some of the vowels. There’s a Séamas and an Eóin, a Ráichéal, and even an Órflaith. Haven’t these people heard of multiculturalism?

But politicking still goes on as usual. Until the fall of Humza Yousaf and Ireland’s former premier Leo Varadkar’s getting out while the going was only quite bad, the UK had but one white premier, Northern Ireland’s Michelle O’Neill of Sinn Féin (the party which used to have the Irish Republican Army, or IRA, as their provisional wing). But even she has been conspicuous by her absence from interviews and debates in the run-up to the election. Perhaps her party handlers think she’s too white.

So, Britain goes to the polls unsafe in the knowledge that Cap’n Stamer is going to steer the good ship Labour — aka the ship of fools — to the sunny climes of international socialism for the next half a decade. Good luck to all who sail in her, because I’ve seen the brochure and I don’t think I will be choosing it for my vacation.

Vote Union Jackal!

Note

[1] Just as I finished writing, I note that our Clacton T’Challa has gone into hiding, and there are rumors that Labour may force him to stand down. No information is available as to whether the dusky candidate for Wakanda East will blame this eventuality on racism.