Oh Mister Farage…
…’recognisable’ is such a subjective term.
In case you are daunted by the prospect of seeing photographs of a smug git, the gist of the article is the xenophobic bloke with the French sounding name who leads UKIP has said that parts of Britain are ‘unrecognisable’ because he was sat on a train in the South-East and not enough people were speaking English.
First off, for someone that is so against the idea of a ‘surveillance state’, he seems to have done a fair bit of earwigging in on other people’s conversations.
Secondly, the South-East of England needs some multiculturalism. I grew up in the area, where, outside of London, Luton and Hitchin, the closest you got to ethnic diversity was that there were Protestants, Catholics and a few Jews. I’ve sat in pubs or houses full of white people, living in their all white towns, in their all white counties all speaking English (or at least trying to) while they complain about how overrun the country is with foreigners and brown people.
Of course they don’t mind some brown people. How can one just nip down the ‘Paki shop’ for some fags at half-ten at night, if they’ve deported all the Asians? Or staggering back from the pub, who would there be to make slightly racist jokes with at the kebab shop, thus convincing oneself that one has ethnic friends, and providing oneself with a disclaimer at the start of every racist opinion, joke or anecdote? No, so long as there’s only a few of them and they are in subservient positions to us mighty whities. Heck, I was about eight years old before I realised that all the four brown people in my village had legs. There had always a shop counter in the way.
Eastern Europeans, on the other hand, serve no purpose but to upstage and undercut British builders, plumbers and electricians. It’s a sad day when a shaven headed, knuckle scraping ape with a vocabulary of forty-two words and eight varieties of grunting, can’t overcharge his loyal customers for a shoddy construction job.
“Wiring’s all done mate, just don’t use the toaster and the dishwasher at the same time or it’ll create a short and the house will explode… that’ll be seventy-three grand! Call it eighty for cash.”
And look at their food! With the Indians you’ve got Tikka Masala, Poppadoms, Vindaloo, mango chutney, and with the Chinese you’ve got Egg Fried Rice, Sweet and Sour, foo yung, chow mein, and portion of ‘chip’… You know where you are with that lot. Go in to an eastern European supermarket and it’s just jars of pickled cabbage and lots of strange smoked sausages. Your average ‘PROPA’ BLOKE’ has no need for these things. Pickling is only for onions, eggs and those green bits you pick out of Big Macs, and he can’t put a sausage near his face in case people think he’s a bender.
Also, we never owned them, so we don’t trust them. Look at how eager the ones we used to own are to serve us. We can call every guy who works in the local Tandoori ‘Abdul’, place orders in our attempt at the accent and carry the joke on waaaay too long, get pissed, wreck their bathrooms, kick off about something ridiculous and they STILL show exemplary customer service. That’s because, due to race memory, they are just so delighted at the prospect of serving white people once more, isn’t it? Nope, they’re just smiling because they’re putting so much chilli in your vindaloo that your backside will resemble the Japanese flag ‘til sometime Wednesday evening.
Of course this means that anyone of an ethnic minority NOT in the service sector is only where they are because of workplace tokenism and the UK equivalent of ‘Affirmative Action’. I mean, what’s it going to be like ‘when’ white people are no longer a majority (which I believe the Daily Mail is currently projecting to happen a week on Friday)?
Leicester! City of culture… City of many cultures to be precise. It is where I live, and it is fabulous. So are places like Nottingham, Birmingham, Bradford, Leeds, Glasgow etc. I can walk to and through the city centre and not hear one syllable of spoken English, and that does not bother me in the slightest. People of all cultural backgrounds will give you a smile and a friendly greeting. People will sit next to you in the park just for a chat. People are mingling and mixing and getting together creating a wonderful society where difference doesn’t have to be repressed or discarded to fit in. Seeing a husband in wife in traditional Muslim clothing walking around the Gay Pride festival and bouncing along to the resident Drag Queens’ Abba medley was a sight to behold, and, come on, let’s not deny it… There is nothing more beautiful than a mixed race baby. You have to be a very special type of arsehole to look at a baby and hate it.
Anyone who thinks that British Identity is at risk is missing the glaringly obvious. Society, culture and identity evolve with each passing generation. Old traditions die out, new traditions are born. Language, music, politics, all these change every couple of decades, and the previous generation always thinks that they had it perfect. Immigration isn’t the catastrophic flood that the tabloids make it out to be, it is the stimulant that encourages us to grow and evolve.
What is British Identity anyway? Being half Celtic, my bloodline is tied to these isles for much longer than anyone who claims Saxon, or Norman descent, and yet we all obsess over lineage. Surely National Identity is about sharing a set of core values together, but what are British values to be proud of?
An empire built on the backs of slavery and conquest? What about strict social hierarchy based on bloodlines, or mistrust of social mobility? I’m not going to stand and wave the St. George’s flag (Incidentally St George was a Palestinian martyr who never even saw England) while chanting about how great England is because ‘that’s just what you do’.
No, I am proud of my British Identity because we have Shakespeare, Burns, Wilde, Shelley, Byron, Brontes 1, 2 and 3, Dickens and Rowling. We have The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Iron Maiden, Elton John, Queen, Adele. We love to laugh and have some of the best comedians in the world. We have a film industry that makes masterpieces on budgets of nothing, and we’ve exported the story of an alien who lives in a blue box throughout the globe. We appear reserved and sophisticated, but we all know even the Queen would laugh at a fart joke if it strikes the right note. We are compassionate, we give aid to countries that need it, and we have universal healthcare and a welfare system to help those in unfortunate circumstances. We like everything to be a little crap because it gives us something to complain about and joke about. This is our identity, it is our culture, and it is a set of values that we share.
So, Mister Farage… Nigel… c’mon, do you really want to cling to the idea of an England where everyone looks, acts and sounds the same? Is it so hard to think that, with the cultural changes we have seen even from the beginning of the 20th Century, that this is just the next step in our cultural evolution? In fact, let’s be fair, go back half a millennium and you’ll find all sorts of different languages spoken by natives of these isles. The Cornish, the Welsh, the Scots… even the different regions have strong dialects. What if it had been people speaking Welsh on your train instead? Would that be a problem? Gaelic or Cornish? Would these be acceptable to your ears? What about a really thick Geordie accent… like proper thick?
Nigel, you represent an England that is more concerned with appearance than substance. This biscuit tin lid idea of jolly little England is a myth, and in harkening back to it, you ignore the real truth about our society and about our ever growing culture. The enemy isn’t Europe, or migrant workers, or equal marriage or any of the other things UKIP is against. The enemy is those who will try and turn people against each other for their own benefits, and that Nigel, is you.
Note: I now have the image in my head of the Queen repeatedly blowing off during some state occasionand making Phillip take the blame. I don’t think it is going anywhere.