Hell In A Handcart: Dog eat dog – what do you choose? 

“In a time of universal deceit telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act” – George Orwell

Once more unto the breach, dear friends – this latest in our occasional series of ramblings regarding all things political on the international workers day reminds us of: Past, present and future brought to you by Americana-UK’s Community and Forum Editor, Paul Villers. Workers of the world unite comrades!

I am of an age where, when getting on a bus, I ponder momentarily about sitting in the seat marked for old folk, the differently abled and pregnant people. I could on looks alone pass for at least one of the above but the grey-not-yet-white hair, the fact that I can walk unaided most of the time and the pregnancy bump being an entirely self-inflicted affair having had a lifetime of drinking beer and gin don’t yet qualify me an ‘easy seat’ so I generally pass to the slightly more difficult ‘middle rows’. I’m not going to the back. No. That’s for the real young ‘uns with a spring in their step and a devil-may-care attitude. I was once thus – I thought that, given sufficient effort and application and attitude and simple caring I could really make a difference. It didn’t happen. And its not happening . A glance at that ‘reserved’ seat makes me realise how old I actually am and how much I remember of the ‘bad old days’. I remember, for example, why it was so important to go to ‘Rock Against Racism’ gigs or read the leaflets distributed at various events by the Anti-Nazi League. I remember being on a CND march one time in London where an anarchist, dressed in de riguer black from head to foot (Docs mandatory) marched past with his black and purple squared flag telling us that “CND marches to its doom”.

The anarchists were always the most organised suprisingly, Class War were always the most disorganised (which possibly came from the fact that they were a proscribed organisation so were in fear of arrest and detainment at any given moment.) But that was where people were at the time. There was a general fear amongst most of the people I knew that there was a problem and that problem was Nazism/Facism. Thatcher was in her first term and for the first time in a long time it sort of became OK to explore ideas of class hatred, anti-unionism, loathing of the welfare state that had done so much for so many and the dismantling of civil society (you’ll remember the ‘there is no such thing as society – only individuals’ that the hateful woman so proudly mouthed). Lines were drawn in the sand and you had to decide which side you were on. 

Then, rather as now, it was the cannon-fodder, the most people with the most to lose who were the new champions of the cause. They were bought off, manipulated, and coerced with promises of a sunlit upland. Yes – you could buy your council house, but that meant that your children (and now grandchildren) would never have a secure home because they couldn’t afford one. The returns to local authorities from those sales could not be turned into profit in order to build new houses – no – that would never do. And all for reasons of dogma and political kant. The new thing was that the architects of this were not the ruling class, the upper class and the elite. No – they were daughters of a grocer, the middle, the bourgeoisie. Blue of collar and blue of thinking. They accommodated the ‘higher-ups’ of course – where did they get their funding otherwise? But essentially it was those with a little versus those with very little. Dog eat dog. You either come on board or perish. What do you choose? 

But even within this maelstrom of societal upheaval there were those who didn’t think it had gone far enough. There were those for whom the Overton Window hadn’t shifted right enough for their liking. We saw the likes of The National Front, The British National Party, The Greater Britain Movement and others. The sort that would have been at the forefront in Cable Street (and the quickest to run away). They sort of died away really. Or so we had thought. 

For a while it became sort of OK to muddle along in the ‘centre ground’. They were in the background when Major realised that a future in the European Union was crucial but was denied, when Blair became a poster boy for Mondeo man but actually was a BMW driver, when Cameron was all in it together with us but just couldn’t put his own assets at risk… and so on. There have been some glimmers of hope but those have been quickly quashed. The lunatic Truss ‘moment’ and its not untimely death gave ordinary folk hope that we wouldn’t actually do anything too extreme. But extreme is where we are. We have, currently, a supposed Labour government – that of Keir Hardie (oh the irony) and Attlee and Bevan – who are arguably more right-wing than Edward Heath or Harold MacMillan (Heath nationalised Rolls-Royce and MacMillan spoke of privatisation as ‘selling the family silver’). That Overton window needs some TLC. But still – BUT STILL we aren’t far right-wing enough for some people. Reform UK and its CEO (they are still a limited company at time or writing) Nigel (children of whom hold German passports) Farage has people in his party who are fed up with ‘black and brown faces’ in advertisements. Rupert Lowe of Restore Britain whose policy seems to be ‘deport anyone who is not white or rich or has an IQ above their shoe size’. Ben Habib of ‘Advance UK’, who seems to be so far out there it’s impossible to see what he thinks without the use of a telescope situated somewhere in Chile. There is madness afoot. And, as I alight my bus on my way home, I can’t help thinking that we’ve been here before. Plus ca change. Rest assured, however, that there are some things that never leave you (no, not cynicism, misanthropy and loathing – they flower the older you get). Those things are resilience, perseverance and honesty. Let’s keep that stuff up, eh? Let’s at least try (again). I’ll willingly give up my seat for you in return…