They simply kept me in beyond my licence date. I know they can’t, but they did.
Tommy Robinson, Enemy of the State
P G Wodehouse, Much Obliged, Jeeves
Tommy Robinson is a heretic. It has been pointed out many times that multiculturalism, and particularly the forced acceptance of Islam in the West, has all the hallmarks of a religion. It has its high priests, its own language, its dogma, its churches, its promise of salvation and, most importantly, its dogma. Without dogma there can be no heresy. Without heresy, you don’t have a real religion. Persecution is a necessary condition of belief. And history tells us that heretics must die. Muslims believes this, both concerning apostates and critics from the dar al harb.
Robinson’s autobiographical book, Enemy of the State, seems to have escaped the notice of the mainstream press. The few mentions I have seen make a point of ridiculing the way he speaks. The British media are very snobbish when it comes to the lower classes, at least the ones who don’t toe the line when it comes to multiculturalism. Tommy Robinson writes as he speaks. And that is how Tommy Robinson speaks. I should know, because I spoke to him six months ago on the telephone.
Now, Tommy is about to go through another duel with Britain’s weaponised and biased Crown Prosecution Service. He told me, before his last bail hearing, that he fully expected to go to jail again. He also told me that, one day, he expects to die there, the victim of an assassination by a Muslim which the British Left will dance a jig and reel over.
Robinson is perhaps the first victim of a Great Britain – terrible misnomer, that – which is gradually, with glacier-like progress, becoming a police state. Does that square away with you? Are you happy to live in a sort of Kashmir with IKEA?
Police states have existed throughout history, and they have generally mutated from other types of state. And so we see that the possibility that England could become a police state is, as that country’s snake-like politicians like to say, on the table. I grew up in a time when the idea of a fascistic, police-led state was absurd, as though someone had said our new neighbours were going to be from Narnia. I was arrested once, aged 16, for causing an affray after a concert by punk band UK Subs. I had blue hair and I was wearing a kilt. At the station, some uniformed motorcycle cops walked past me and looked me up and down. One said,
“Oh look. A little girl.”
His friend added,
“Someone needs a bit of a slapping.”
I was 16 and I was frightened. For years later, I used it as an excuse to hate the police. Later, when I began to row to the other side of the political river, I began to respect the police and their fallen comrades, who often die defending their communities. But I realise now that I was respecting dead officers, not live ones, and certainly not their politicised bosses. The British police are no longer worthy of respect. They took the chocolate and they did the favours, even though they knew they should not have done it and they feel sick from the sweets. Enemy of the State just made me hate them even more.
As I know from personal experience, three serving police officers will attend a complaint about an attempt to steal a bicycle in London, England. They will take statements, and spend a goodly deal of time agreeing with one another about how the theft was carried out. They will be absolutely faultless in their people skills. There will be no hurry in their enquiries, just as though they have nothing to fill out the rest of their day, and are happy to be away from the endless paperwork which stops Britain’s police from actually policing anyone. They will be polite, almost eerily so. They will share and make jokes. They will be led, in their trained empathy, into speaking about the familiarity they have with most of the local individuals who perpetrate this kind of petty nastiness up until the point where you think;
“Why not do something about them, then?”
The police have been politicised, militarised, bureaucratised and weaponised. If there is not some kind of authoritarian ramp-up underway, our ruling class is doing an impression of just such a regime which would make Sammy Davies Jr. envious. But something in Robinson’s book chimes with echoes I have heard. In terms of the armed British public sector – the army and the police – different hymn sheets may be in existence from which to sing.
Tommy does not try to come over as a tough nut. There is an honesty to his book that is conspicuously missing both from the state’s narrative concerning him, and the Muslim braggadocio that Europeans will be seeing and hearing a lot more of in the years to come;
“I wasn’t scared any longer. Not of anyone, and certainly not of being thrown in a prison cell. I thought I could cope with anything, although I would discover eventually that I couldn’t, I really couldn’t.”
We will return to Enemy of the State, and I urge you to read it. For now, we note merely that Tommy Robinson was once the capo of the English Defence League (EDL), a sort of cross between Combat 18, football hooligans and The Bash Street Kids.
The EDL began as a response to a homecoming march by the 2nd battalion of the Royal Anglican Regiment, returning to England as they were from a tour of Afghanistan. Muslims gathered, holding up placards suggesting, among other things, that these brave men and women should burn and rot in hell. You must understand that, if you are a Muslim and thus a species protected by the state, nothing will happen to you for this kind of inflammatory behaviour. Try it on as a white man, however, and aim your vitriol at Muslims, and you had better be prepared for harassment, or even to be in the next cell to Tommy. Much of Enemy of the State is about just this, the hounding of the kufr. The sooner Englishmen realise that the police are the provisional wing of an authoritarian and pro-Islamic state, the closer we will be to genuine social justice, not the type that revolves around transgender bathrooms.
The EDL – and you may not know this – were responsible along with the BNP for shining a light on the Muslim rapists Peter McLoughlin writes about in Easy Meat (see last entry below). And rape is what that was. I note with interest the use of the word ‘grooming’, with its positive, rather attractive image of curry-combing ponies or clipping the hair of your favourite Terrier.
Of course, to blow the whistle on Islam in any variety in which it comes is to court the attention of the British police, who have become outriders for this revolting ideology. The police went after Tommy by weaponising the British authorities who deal with income tax. They went through Tommy’s business accounts – he ran a tanning business – and he produced everything for which they asked. Now, I know from personal experience that if authority goes after you for technicalities and fails to find the rope with which to hang you, it just makes them more annoyed. They will find something else.
The state wants Tommy Robinson dead, of that there can be no doubt. Imprisoned for offences for which other people would receive a slap on the wrist, Tommy is repeatedly placed in prisons and wings with a high Muslim contingent. He has been repeatedly attacked. Recently, a Somali Muslim attempted to throw a cup of boiling water saturated with sugar over him. This is called ‘napalm’ in prison jargon. Tommy attacked the man in self-defence. He is likely to face another trial for this act of self-preservation. He has a wife and, I believe, three children, all of whom are made to feel distressed and inconvenienced at every possible opportunity which presents itself to Bedfordshire pathetic police force.
Let this be a warning to the British police, particularly the Bedfordshire force. And it is a force, not a fucking service, as they have tried to rebrand it under pressure from what George Orwell called the ‘Pansy Left’. If Tommy Robinson dies in prison – as he fully expects he will – you will create a martyr, and people will fight for martyrs. I certainly will.