A plea to Britain in two parts

This has been keeping me up nights. I wrote two Notes today with two different frames of mind and reproduce them here. I lightly edited the notes for clarity of word choice, but did not alter anything substantive in terms of my argument or the mechanics.-JS

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Note one

It’s a bit of shame and disappointment, how I feel about England and the UK. Second-hand, of course. I’ve never been there, and I don’t have to live there.

But like many Americans, I’m of English descent. The Slocums came over to the new world in the early 1630s. Over the centuries our English/Welsh ways hung on in small things in our family. Certain phrases, certain dishes, gave away our English heritage. We make Christmas pudding still, for example.

England has fascinated me since I was a boy; I’ve been an anglophile all my life. Though I’ve never been there, I can look at it—or what it used to be—and recognize something like home. The architecture, the manners, the foods. Some of it is reflected through a new world lens in New England where I live.

And yes, the American homosexual anglophile is a stereotype because it’s true (you’re allowed to laugh).

The British were among the great civilizations of history. They innovated forms of government that undergird our politics today, they brought us the industrial revolution, first with the water wheel then the steam engine. They abolished the slave trade before the United States (and it is worth noting that American-style chattel slavery never existed in the British Isles).

Now, look at England. Look at the UK. It’s a dog’s breakfast and worse. The utter mewling cowardice of the people as they collectively spread their legs and exhort foreigners—”rape meeeeeee”—while scourging their own backs like a parade of monks walking down the street to display their godliness.

They have reduced themselves to the kind of society that allows dysgenic Africans from war lord countries to immigrate, then murder little British girls in a dance class, then cover over the whole thing by insisting on not admitting that the murderer was anything other than a “boy from Wales.”

And the dhimmitude, the crawling on the ground to lick Muslim heels while those men rape their women and take over formerly English cities—it’s sickening.

Oh, Albion.

Note two

To my British friends, I’d like to clarify my earlier note. I realize poor word choice in my first note-”cowardice of the people”-probably made it seem like I was heaping scorn and blame on common everyday people in the UK. I didn’t mean to do that.

I want better for you. I know your government is evil. I know there are millions of you who hate it. Many of you are telling me “it’s not our fault,” and I understand why you’re saying that.

But please hear this as if I were your cousin who loves you, because in a sense, I am, and I do: You need some American spirit. Badly. This is not about jingoism on my part. I think you need this if you are going to survive. And for reasons including rationality, romance, and my affection for Great Britain, I want you to arrest your decay. Stop allowing England et al to be forcibly taken from you.

Make Britain magnificent again.

It may not be your fault, the sick and obvious rot in your country, but it is your responsibility. You, the common people, are the only ones who can change this. No one can rescue you. You will have to sacrifice. You will have to defy your “betters.” You will have to be willing to pay some prices while you make those bastards in Parliament and His Majesty’s Civil Service pay their bill. Quite frankly, a lot of your government should be taken up to Tower Hill and introduced to the block.

Your government ministers hate you, especially if you’re native to the British Isles. Like in America, actual, clinical psychopaths are in the top positions in every government role. And in your media, just like ours. Millions of well-meaning but damaged and naive or stupid people do their bidding without even knowing it.

The biggest hurdle you will have to get over is your inbuilt, British squeamishness about raising your voices, defying authority, and guns. Your reactive attitudes about these issues are part of your undoing. I know how it feels to you because I was the American equivalent. Then I began to see the world for what it really is. Your government is blaming Amazon and the existence of steak knives instead of the psychopathic killer from Africa who murdered little girls at a dance class, and they wouldn’t even show you an accurate picture of him. Why? Because he looks like exactly what he is: an actual, clinical, murderous psychopath.

Look at him. And then ask yourself if you really believe there weren’t no signs o’ nuthin’, no sir.

There is no excuse for any of you not to see what time it is. Tick, tock.

If you’re among my British friends with whom I’ve talked guns and self-defense, this will be familiar. Britons—you have an actual phobia of guns. An irrational fear. I do not insult you. I, too, had that same phobia. It is a phobia. It’s not responsive to reality, and if you’re honest with yourself enough to walk through it step by step and test your feeling against logic, I think you’ll agree.

I realize that even if I persuade all of you on the necessity to have an armed population against a treasonous government, it’s not like firearms are going to rain down upon you and lift the curse.

What I think is most important for you to hear is this: your peculiarly British modesty and your social class hangover is charming in history books, novels, and Merchant-Ivory films. In the 21st century, it is getting your daughters raped, your sons killed, your towns taken over by Middle Eastern men (you call them ‘Asians’ euphemistically) who rape your daughters. Your own cops are arresting you for getting raped, arresting you for objecting to being abused by foreigners.

It’s incredibly grim and shocking: trust me, none of us in America ever thought we’d see this.

This is your country. It’s time to lean on your American cousins and take a little bit out of our book. We could use a great big helping of your manners and sense of propriety over here, but that can wait until the fire is out. Right now, you are dangerously close to going up in full blaze.

I say with love: stifle your neurotic objection to American brashness. You’re fish who don’t even know what water is. Swim with us for a while. You need what we’ve got.

Godspeed