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Diatribe

WARNING ALERT: GROSSLY OFFENSIVE MATERIAL

If you are a microcephalic xenophobe who despises everyone outside of your own squalid little ‘hardworking’ family unit, slumped on its piss-stained, sale-bargain sofa watching Pointless; if you plan in your fathomless ignorance to vote UKIP, or you are the Home Secretary, the following Post might cause offence.

I don’t know why I do it. Sometimes, I fear the knock in the night.

But I’ve gone and signed another petition.

You have to give away your address, so the recipient knows where you live. The Evil One, whose ghastly, inhumane social policies have resulted in yet another calumny to add to the thousand-years-long list of protestable injustices inflicted on the innocent and the helpless. The One with the Power.

So here, I’m aligning myself nakedly with the recusant, the heretic, the enemy cause. I’m The Other, as far as you are concerned. A bleeding-heart liberal, I deserve to be dragged away in chains and left to rot.  To have my genitals wired-up to a live TV set showing a Conservative party political broadcast on an endless loop. I deserve to have Union flags forcibly painted on sharp slivers of acceptable English oak, inserted under my fingernails.

But I don’t care. Because I do care.

This poor teenage girl fled here with her mother and sisters from a dark-hearted regime in Africa, believing in the great hoax of British justice and fair play. An A-star student, she was due to sit exams in May. They were her one hope for a future life of what we in the North might know as recognisable normality. Her headteacher wrote to the Home Secretary, a blackened political thing purported to be a woman and possibly even the symbol of a mother, pleading with her to relent, to let the girl stay until the summer. Thousands signed a petition.

But no. The law, which is often more than ‘a ass’ as Dickens had it but sheer, hardfaced brutality, says that asylum-seekers’ children who reach the age of 18 must be herded into a concentration camp for women, called Yarl’s Wood Detention Centre, until their futile appeals to an emotionally dead man with a rubber stamp are exhausted and they must be physically restrained and deported to God-knows what ultimate fate, in whatever flyblown, wartorn rapists’ republic, we don’t care. Many have died making this same journey from despair to disaster. We still don’t care.

It is a crime indeed to be foreign in our blessed, free country. Foreigners should by definition live abroad. Otherwise God would have ordained that they be born British. So a young, defenceless girl was deported yesterday, ripped away from her family (foreigners don’t have families, they just live in colonies) alone and afraid. It took five guards and a lot of expensively acquired empty seats on a plane, paid for by British taxpayers, who were never asked for our opinion and who, if we had given an opinion, would have been studiously ignored. Sent back alone, into a clear and known danger of rape, imprisonment, torture or worse.

It is not the first time I have been ashamed to be British. I genuinely hate these aspects of Britain: its curtain-twitching smugness; its lying, bloodstained ‘heritage’ industry; its fake veneer of civilized governance; its institutional racism and casual, isolationist barbarity. This unconscionable shit is being done in my name, as a born-British citizen whose ancestors arrived a thousand years ago, by self-serving, bland-faced bastards, toads and nematodes I never, ever would or could vote for. Yes, I’m afraid I mean you, soulless, hag-faced, vote-grabbing witch-woman, Theresa May. Your actions fly on your first-class broomstick in the face of every civilized value my forbears ever fought and died for. I pray your Imelda Marcos-sized shoe collection gets botrytis.

For, you had no right to do this heartless evil in my name. As a born-British citizen I protest absolutely and with incandescent fury that you did this awful thing, this crime against my own humanity, to my mind merely in the hope of  salvaging a few worthless, grimy votes from a crudescent rival party that consists, if such a thing is possible, of a demented rabble of even more unpleasant, self-satisfied, boorish moral imbeciles than your own.

That you did it in the name of the law and British ‘justice’ is even more unpardonable, because so obviously wrong. Laws must be made for the people, not for the lawmakers. They are for our protection, not for your position.

Be that as it may, I have this morning signed a second petition, demanding with hopeless futility that the Government closes this Danteesque facility of Yarl’s Wood, this house of hellish despair; repudiates this brutal, bullying policy, that is bringing shame on my country. But you don’t listen. You are just desperate to win an election.

You don’t care. So why should I?

 

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