Saturday, 1 October 2016


When they kick at your front door

How you gonna come?
With your hands on your head
Or on the trigger of your gun?

The Clash, Guns of Brixton

Come with me on an imaginative journey into the past. We are going back a mere five years. There is no need to be concerned that your attire might give you away. My presupposition is this. Instead of your current career path, you have just earned a large advance for writing a televisual drama for the BBC. In the series, scheduled to run for an initial season of 13 weeks, Britain is under siege by terrorists. These antagonists will not, of course, be Muslims. Do you remember Spooks? I never saw five minutes of it, not being a TV user, but apparently it ran for several series featuring an acceptably multi-ethnic task force of intrepid agents beating various terrorist threats with the efficiency of Batman and Robin. The antagonists were never Muslim. Welcome to the BBC. I’m surprise they called it Spooks, incidentally. Have they not read Philip Roth’s The Human Stain, and seen into what kind of trouble that word can get you?

So, in your series, the enemy will be white Right-wingers, or Jews, or football hooligans, or Brexiteers, or white Right-wingers, or climate change deniers, or the Salvation Army's provisional wing, or people who want grammar schools back, or friends of Nigel Farage, or Scientologists (except they wouldn’t dare attack the Scienos) or white Right-wingers - have all struck simultaneously, and have taken by surprise the armed forces, occupied as they are by brave and just foreign wars and by compulsory diversity training, as well as a refresher course in LGBTQ with reference to trigger warnings cause by mention of guns or bullets, or anything shaped a bit like a penis. Your initial problem is not that of plot, continuity or characterisation. It is making sure that Lenny Henry has at least three parts, and his friends and family have almost all the rest. Except for the roles of policemen, obviously, unless they are good policemen.

A striking visual image leaps from your meisterwerk. It’s so good it makes the cover of all the TV listings magazines in the country, as well as The Compulsory Diversity Times. It is of several armed, white policemen – and don’t forget that policemen are bad, because they shoot unarmed, and probably even one-armed, black men who are being bothersome enough to resist arrest, and so they must be white – guarding Canterbury Cathedral, home of The Archbishop of Cunterbury. My mistake. Typo. Canterbury. And the home of God, obviously, since it’s his house and I imagine he lets a room to the Archbishop. Tippermost-toppermost ratings are your reward. It’s a hit!

Armed policemen guarding the iconic home of world-wide Anglicanism. What an image! Thing is, it’s not from some crappy TV drama starring Benedict Cumberbatch and some black tosser. It’s from the news.

This is the way we live now. Or, at the very least, the way people in the UK live.

I remember seeing CIA-type dudes with Ray-Bans and walkie-talkies outside an American school in an affluent part of London in 2009. I remember seeing some heavy-duty lumps patrolling outside a synagogue in St. John’s Wood in 2010. But armed – heavily armed – filth outside Canterbury Cathedral? Whatever would Chaucer have thought?

Now, the lion’s share of the work done by government and their media catamites these days consisting of shouting at the citizenry; Step away from the dots! Do not attempt to join the dots! But if dots there are to be joined, then join those dots we must. Not a sentence I leapt out of bed this morning expecting to write, I must say, but there we are. Let us turn to the diminutive and yet extraordinarily politically privileged Mr. Sadiq Khan, Mayor of London.

Of course, it was axiomatic even within my lifetime that being a white, Oxbridge-educated, Debrett’s endorsed chap who could tie his own bow tie and would never befriend a man who wore one with a secreted elasticated band, was a compound sine qua non for entry into the political class. Those days are gone. The fellow who would have been serving drinks at an Oxford University graduation ball in 1981 has more chance of a political career now that the chinless wonders he was serving. So it is with Khan, who now holds all the political top trump cards.

Khan has refused to extend the contract of the present top cop in old London Tahn, a Mr. Bernard Hogan-Howe. Now he is, as you would expect, a diversity-obsessed booby, but it is interesting that he has managed to keep London relatively free of Muslim attacks on the kufr. Not any more. To quote Wild Billy Childish, You’re out the band, sunshine.

One of the reasons Hogan-Howe is out of a job, one of my top men in London informs me, is that Khan is upset by the presence of heavily-armed policemen patrolling the streets. He is upset, of course, for one reason and one reason only. He is concerned that white British people – those that are still left in what the Romans called Londinium, but which was not the Roman capital of choice – will associate the presence of heavily armed paramilitary-style coppers with terrorism, and terrorism with ISIS, and ISIS with Islam, despite all the correctional training the media have been carrying out. This could ultimately be mildly damaging to Brand Islam, and up with this Mr. Khan will not put.

Khan is in a very interesting position. He is obviously going to be the first British Muslim Prime Minister, just as David Cameron wished, but the time-frame of the mayorship could interfere with that eventuality. Of course, for the next four years he will be filling London with his co-religionists – he has announced as much to cheers from the press gallery – and his second term will be assured for that very reason. But when does he time his tilt for Number 10 Downing Street? It’s a tricky one.

If you are a white, kufr, non-Leftie Londoner, I would just run. This is not going to be your decade. If you haven’t read Michel Houellebecq’s Submission – reviewed by me at New English Review here and here on this blog – then read it. It is going to become as prophetic as Orwell’s 1984 – my review here – or Jean Raspail’s Camp of the Saints – my review here.

Armed guards outside Canterbury cathedral is very now, and will soon be a thing of the past. There will be no need for such troubling symbolism when that building is Canterbury Mosque, inshallah.

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