A cautionary tale for policemen

The vehicle entrance for the station was around the corner in Meeting House Lane.  Breadwardine turned in and drove the few yards to the security gate.  As he waited for the motors to crank the gate open there was a knock on his driver’s window.  Initial alarm turned to perplexity as Bredwardine registered the face of Andy Crabtree.  He was not in uniform.

Breadwardine opened the driver’s window.  “Ronald, I’ve been suspended over this Holly business,” Crabtree said, wasting no time, “Can we speak privately?  Not in the station.”

“Better hop in,” Breadwardine said.

Westminster was becoming a sexual minefield now, Charley understood that.  He should have stuck to lavishing his attentions on female researchers, though even that was becoming dangerous.  Female MPs were now completely off-limits.  As a type, the female politician just does not understand her own essential, submissive nature.  One false, perfectly friendly move and instead of a half-hour spent in mutual pleasure and satisfaction in an inexpensive little hotel he knew just around the corner – a bit bijou but very discreet - you get a squawking gobshite and an enemy for life.

His enemy for life was Donna Scott-Walters, she of the old money, sloany county style, Tory Grandee grandad and famously-Thatcherite economist mother.  To make matters worse, both he and Scott-Walters were eyeing the security brief currently held by Chris Maxwell who, as everyone knew, was destined for higher things at the next reshuffle.  A superior brief and privy council status could be his.  The jolly old career would still be moving forward (stasis being the preliminary to rigor mortis in this game).  If it was to be him or the hated Donna who would be snubbed by the girls and boys in 10 Downing Street, well, no contest.  Step forward Miss Sloan Square.

The best way to put down the hated Donna was, of course, to demonstrate a superior knowledge of her brief than she herself possessed.  And right now, that meant getting the inside story on this race-hate business from Andy Crabtree.  Which was proving bloody difficult.  Samuella assured him that she had left messages on his Curtis Green number and mailed both his accounts twice over the weekend.  Not a peep, apparently.  Which was very unlike Crabtree.  Probably too busy networking somewhere else.  Such a self-publicist, that man.

At 9.00 am, as arranged, Kevin Boulder knocked on the door of Holly’s one-room flat on the ground-floor of a tired, 1950s-built block off Ladbroke Grove.  He was there to deliver back Holly’s laptop and mobile.  But he also wanted information.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he observed as he entered the room, “you invest yer income support in this place, do you?”  Holly looked back at him quizically.  “You’re a smart guy, John,” Boulder continued, “what are you doin’ in a dump like this?”

He surveyed the contents of the room.  It wasn’t very appealing.  A small gas fire in the hearth, a futon in the corner, a threadbare rug, a tatty, over-flowing bookcase, books on a cheap table, books on the chair in the window.  A french door with flaking paint led out to a small grassed area at the rear of the building.

Boulder took a pace towards the bookcase and perused some of the titles.  Not exactly holiday reading. The Revolutionary Left in the Post-Soviet Age … Catholicism and The Politics of Liberation … The Psychology of Faith … The Political Life of Jewry in 20th Century America ... Capital and the Political Decision for the Globality ... Agent of Destruction – a History of Radicalism in Post-War Britain ... The Culture of Critique” ...

A door slammed somewhere in the building.  Some shouting.

“I know it’s not great, but it’s really only temporary,” Holly was explaining, “while I do a particular task I have set myself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Boulder shot back, “Everyone who lives like this says it’s temporary, believe me.  Do you actually ‘ave a payin’ job, John?”

Holly smiled ruefully, “There are amazingly few employment opportunities for people with a PhD in constitutional law.”

“Ph ... you’re Doctor ‘olly, then?  For fuck’s sake, that’s even worse.  Doesn’t yer arrest sheet say you’re a barman.”

“Probably.  I told your custody sergeant that; and it’s partly true: I work a few evenings behind the bar in a club in Fulham.  An old uni friend of mine runs it.  It’s OK, and my days are my own to do what I like with, which at the moment means researching for a counter-cultural book I’m writing on race and politics.  Provisional title The English Question.”

“Oh right, well, good luck with that, though it probably won’t be on my reading ...” Boulder stopped in his tracks and frowned, “‘ang on a minute. ... are you sayin’ yer little chats with Prakash and his pals were book research?

“It started that way,” Holly said, smiling, “because little on-line chats were the most immediate and instructive means of testing various academic theses as well as ideas I had myself.  And, of course, it’s a lot of fun taking apart these creatures.  They’re all Lego ideologues.”

Boulder smiled too, then said “But it sort of took on a life of its own, yeah?”

“It did, ” Holly said, “You see, I quickly discovered that it isn’t actually possible to extract any statements from these people about their own motivations.  This was contrary to my initial expectations, of course, because we automatically assume that political actors must have at least some grounding in principle.  But no one who considers his or herself to be an anti-racist or anti-fascist or, indeed, any variety of racial egalitarian and universalist can or will explain theirs.  Push them a little and any principles or values they offer turn out to be nothing more than defensive gestures, and rapidly dissolve away.  All they have to fall back on is their own pathological nastiness and aggression.  There is quite literally nothing else standing them up, so to speak.  Anti-racism is nothing more than a behaviour pattern which they have learned.  It is a species of Freudian projection.  To get at the underpinning of that … at what really happens in their heads … you have to stop treating them as conscious, moral actors and study them as animals in the anti-racist media zoo.”

Fortunately, contacting Crabtree was not the only way forward.  There was always something a clever politician like Charley can do.  This, after all, was Monday morning and that meant Home Office Questions in the House at 11.30 am.  Accordingly, Charley quietly arranged for one of the June intake, as pliant and naïve as a floosie with memory loss, to ask a nice, tasty police question:

“Does the minister for the police share the concerns which members on this side of the house have in respect to attempts, as I understand it, by the far right to use the Metropolitan Police Service and the justice system to limit the British public’s freedom of speech on race matters, and will he in due course return to the House to advise members of any actions he deems necessary to counter this completely unacceptable and undemocratic threat?”

Not only that, he had mentioned the word ‘exclusive’ to a staffer at the Mail – Kim Pruett, who, by the way, was definitely on his after-hours radar, and who would be all ears in the Press Gallery.  He may even have slipped her an unattributable copy of young Weg’s scandalously free-thinking analysis.  Tomorrow morning’s front page would be clickbait joy.

“Bit like dealing with yer average teenage criminal, then,” Boulder quipped, “They play the race card an’ try’ to get you locked up, too.”  Away from the interview room, Boulder thought, this guy wasn’t quite such an objectionable prick.

“No no, this is worse,” Holly insisted, ”All the non-native anti-racists, as well as the hard-left faction among native anti-racists, are just racist hypocrites taking advantage of the ideology to punish what is really nothing more than our natural instinct … a completely normal and universal human trait ... to reject foreign peoples entering into and settling our land.  Do you think for one second that any Jew or Indian or African who demands that we give up our land and life for the sake of ‘diversity’ would demand that his people do the same in their land?  Not a chance.  They’re not mad.  They may or may not be aware of the depth of their dishonesty.  If they are, then they’re simply opportunists and liars.  If they are not aware, well, it happens - the human mind has a remarkable gift for self-deception.  But it doesn’t change the hypocrisy.  It doesn’t change what they are.”

“Totally unreasonable bastard, that’s what DI Walker was,” said Crabtree.  “Walked me out of Curtis Green in front of everybody.  Came back to our house, and took away our PC.  Only missed the kids’ iphones because they’re down with their Dad for the weekend.  God, I am so angry!”

“But how did they become involved?” enquired Breadwardine, “And why?  That would be useful to know?”

Crabtree came clean, almost. “The ‘why’ we can only speculate about, although I have a theory, of course.  The ‘how’ was my fault, Ronald.  I forward DI Bennett’s mail with the Holly document to a couple of my Home Office contacts.  Well, it happens that there are two senior Home Office civil servants who operate as liaisons to MI5 and SOE15.  Both in Chris Maxwell’s department, obviously.”

“The junior minister with the extremism brief?”

“That’s the one.” Crabtree said, “Well, these liaisons are not formally declared appointments.  They’re a bit under the radar as regard outsiders, as you would expect.  But I now know that Des Gretcham has to be SO15’s point man in Marsham Street.”

“And you forwarded him the email which DI Bennett sent to you?”

“I did, yes,” said Crabtree, almost apologetically, “It’s such an unusual case, Ronald, I thought I would break convention and sound out other interested parties ... y’know, get some informed opinion to help me in advising you.  In Des’s case he had actually asked me a good year ago to get in touch if anything interesting cropped up.”

“I’m sure he did as he is, for all intents and purposes, a spy!”

“Well, the milk’s spilt now, and I thought, y’know, if the security mob are going to descend on you too, the least I owed you was to hear about them from me first.”

“I appreciate that very much, Andy.  In the meantime, we shall continue the investigation.  As things stand, the papers will be delivered to the CPS.”

Crabtree nodded.  “Have you interviewed Prakash Ghosh?” he asked.

“An initial conversation, which was not without interest.  We are yet to question him on the substance of Holly’s allegations.” Breadwardine replied, “Under the circumstances, I can’t give you details, I’m afraid.”

Like the guy or not, Boulder wasn’t comfortable personally or professionally with Holly’s heresy on anti-racism, and resisted.  “You talk as if there aren’t any racists at all an’ it’s all just a conspiracy against white people?  I’ve ‘eard all that shit a hundred times.”

“Yet how interesting that you have decided it is irrelevant and you can safely close your ears to it,” Holly replied.

Boulder was shaking his head.  “Nah, nah, I’m not ‘avin that.  My sister ‘as mixed-race kids.  My neighbours are Asians.  There’s people from all over the world in my street.  They get on alright.  It may not be perfect all the time, but it’s OK.”

“It’s not OK,” Holly stated bluntly, “This is England, the home of the English people.  We possess the same instinct to live sovereign and free and secure on our own soil as any other native people in this world.  We did not ask for this disaster for us which you describe.  We have never been asked about it, never been given any choice at all.  On the contrary, politicians and the liberal classes in general first ignored our dissent, then spat upon it, then found a way to contaminate it.”

“It’s too late for protests now,” protested Boulder, “It’s gone too far.  You can’t reverse it.”

“Fait accompli, huh?  Very convenient for the political class who began instructing us in the late-1980s to the effect that this is a racially plural society and there can be no debate, no turning back, no limit on how far it can go.  But there is no reason why we should accept that.  The Establishment has used violence against us, for mass immigration that, ultimately, we cannot survive is a form of violence.  Well, we must live, and to do that we must take back control of our land and of our destiny.  That is the noblest cause on this soil.  The degree of difficulty may increase with time, but that does not change what we have to do.”

“You can’t do it.  You cannot ever win.  They’re too strong,” complained Boulder.

“And along comes fait accompli’s close relative, the argument of force majeure!”  Holly went back to the beginning, “Look, a terrible, terrible injustice has been done to us,” he said slowly and definitively, and then “I suppose I am only an academic of sorts, but I speak academically when I say that it is necessary for us to act in the cause of our life, because the cause of life trumps every other consideration.  And to do that it is necessary for thinking people to understand how all this came about ... how the politics which generated the racial composition you see around you were themselves generated, and how the social forces which form your attitudes towards it have themselves come into being.  For example, how the many defences against our people’s righteous questions were instituted, and the whole issue was made toxic.  Just look at the discomfort you are experiencing right now, as you listen to this!  I’m talking of your people’s very life.  How did that become a taboo for you?”

Boulder knew it was true.  He blinked and licked his lips as the word-bombs fell, and continued to fall.

“These are very recent phenomena, historically speaking.  Your father’s generation did not know them in their youth, and your grandfather’s generation would have been utterly outraged by them.  The Englishmen of the past would have made war against those responsible.  There would have been a very bloody revolution.  A lot of powdered whigs would have tumbled to the ground with their owner’s heads still attached.”

“Nah … look … ordinary decent people are still gonna say you’re a racist!” said Boulder, slightly desperately.  Although Holly’s voice was soft and matter of fact, and his manner gentle, his logic was brutal.

“They have been manipulated en masse by an implacable, absolutist demand coming from all the sources of power and influence in the land, namely that we, as a people of white skin, must have no rightful recourse to self-defence and self-preservation in the face of a foreign colonisation which, I repeat, we cannot survive.  We are not being told that this is an existential crisis for us.  We are not being told it is politically and sociologically engineered.  We are being told that it is an irresistible force of Nature or history or economics.  Despite all evidence to the contrary, we are being told it is a force of good.  We are being lied to.  It is a vast lie, a traitors’ lie the like of which is unknown in history.  Yet its power and virulence mean that there is very little serious work … critical academic work ... being done on any aspect of it.”

Charley sprang up from his regular spot, two places adrift of the Home Secretary, and planted his file of official papers firmly on the Table of the House.  Across the floor from him were about a dozen opposition MPs, behind him perhaps two dozen of his own party.  But the meagre turnout did not concern him in the least.  The only audience that mattered was his boss and Kim of the Mail, whom he had already spied in the Gallery.

“I am grateful to my honourable friend for his most timely question.  Indeed, I am fully aware of the threat to our freedom of speech to which he is referring, and of course share his concerns.  Further, I assure him and honourable members on both sides of the House that this government will do everything in its power to deny racist extremists and xenophobes the opportunity to exploit our police service and the laws of the land, which are placed on the statute by this House and the Other Place for the benefit of all the people.  Consideration will accordingly be given to the current wording of the relevant passage of the Public Order Act, to see if a further amending bill must be brought before the House.

“Further, I assure my honourable friend that this government’s commitment to fighting racism and intolerance of all kinds will never slacken.  We are justly proud of our diverse society, and the very British values of tolerance, decency and fairness which it exemplifies.  The far right’s values of hatred and division shall not prevail.”

A few lost souls on the government benches heard the sound of ministerial boilerplate and muttered a kneejerk “hear, hear, hear”.  Amanda Roach joined with them.  Donna Scott-Walters, of course, was silent and stony-faced.  Up in the Press Gallery, of course, Ms Pruett rose from her seat with the most private of smiles on her lips.

Bereft of further argument, Boulder returned to his brief.  “Alright,” he said, “let’s discuss Ghosh and his group.  Even I can see there’s somethin’ flaky about them.  What’s your take?”

“What’s my take?” Holly repeated, turning over the words, “What, you mean these people fake how hurt they are by my shocking racism?  But of course.  That’s their whole purpose in life.”

Boulder had relaxed and was smiling now, “Well, maybe I should’ve told you but we’ve had ‘im in for an initial interview, and I think you are probably right.  ‘e was fakin’ it.  ‘e expected to conscript us to his cause.  Didn’t look too happy when he found ‘imself on the recievin’ end.”  He shook his head.  “‘ilarious,” he added, “But to be honest, we’re more interested in the uvers, ‘specially the three non-Indians.”

“The Jews, you mean?” said Holly.

“We don’t know who they are yet, John,” Boulder responded.

“OK.  So, my friend, there is this war going on,” Holly said evenly. Aware now of Boulder’s limits, he used his hands and voice intonation to guide him through the unfamiliar ideological terrain.  “It is a constant, one-sided war by the powerful on our ethnic and racial kind.  It is a war conducted in the name of human dignity and tolerance, these being the public values of the powerful - though you would do well to ask yourself what they really value.

“Apparently, the love of these humanitarian saints for their public values is so great, they somehow manage to be completely intolerant of our people’s life and survival, and our natural right and interests in same.  In effect, we are being sacrificed for them and for a human future which serves their interests.  In ethical terms, the actual fundamental value in human life, which is the life and continuity of the people of the land, has been usurped by the fundamental value of their humanitarianism – or by a particular reading of it.  Officially, that is Matthew 7:12, whatsoever ye would that men should do to you: do ye even so to them.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Boulder.

“It’s true.  But their reading of it is shallow and totally self-serving.  It does not say what they want it to say, which is that, for us, any distinction in our minds between ourselves and the racial other is inadmissable.  Any and all humanity which appears in our homeland must be met with endless tolerance.  All the laws dealing with race tend to this end, and the final law in the process of our ethnic repression has already been written.  It was adopted in principle by the European Union back in 2012.  It’s a neat trick when you, and you alone, have just declared some people’s homeland a place for all humanity without any prior discussion.  But like everything else in this business, it is intellectually vacuous.  Poke it a bit and it falls down.”

“So who do you think produces all these shitty ideas?” Boulder asked, knowing what would be coming next.

Holly corrected him. “Shitty genocidal ideas, please.  So we come to the point.  The leader and prime mover in the group of five jurists who fashioned this law is an Israeli Jew.  The principal group promoting it to the European political class is the European Council on Tolerance and Reconciliation, which is led by a Russian Jewish billionaire.  It’s a pretty safe bet that those in the legal, academic and political Establishments who are most receptive to their proposal, and where possible open the way for it, are not infrequently Jews.”

Holly swung around and grabbed a couple of sheets from the mass of them on top of his bookcase.  “So this is an article from the Jewish Chronicle website, titled “Now make it illegal to hold racist views”, dated 22 October 2015, and I quote:”

The Model Law states that there is no place for “tolerance of the intolerant” in modern society. It seeks to introduce for the first time into British law novel provisions including stronger safeguards against hate speech, the introduction of group libel, specific mention of antisemitism, outlawing of Holocaust denial, and educational initiatives from primary school upwards promoting tolerance, diversity and respect.

“This is more than the development of a line of legal thinking.  It is more, even, than, a mechanism for controlling the unruly aspects of a racially and religiously fractured society.  This is a Model Law - a law at the basis of a novel and complete social order.  This is about making the world of the amorphous, characterless, deracinated gentile, since under the regimen of this Law any action and even any thought which discriminates for the continuity of a people discriminates against the racial Other.  This is how not just us but all distinct peoples are forever denied not just their rightful place in what is still really a world of Nature, but any place at all in the world to come ... in Hebrew, Olam-ha-ba.”

Breadwardine had driven his passenger in a loop, and glided to a stop across the road from the station vehicle entrance.

“You mentioned that you have a theory as to the ‘why’,” said Breadwardine in as leading a tone as he could muster.

“The beginnings of a theory, yes,” said Crabtree,  “But I can’t share it with a soul in this world.  I suppose, though, I can tell you what this isn’t about.”

“Go on,” Breadwardine urged.

“It isn’t about our masters’ fears for multiculturalism.  It isn’t about the theoretical implications of a victory for Holly in the courts.  If that was it I might still have been in hot water for breaking protocol.  But that would have been an internal matter.  It wouldn’t have involved the heavy mob.”

“Quite.  So it must involve a third party of interest to them,” offered Breadwardine.

Crabtree opened the passenger door and stepped briskly out onto the pavement.  “Be bloody careful how you go, Ronald.  I think there are people involved in this Holly affair who must remain hidden.”  And with that he slammed the door shut and walked away.