Tag Archives: Syria

War, Again: Labour’s Syrian Shame

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So Corbyn bottled it. All the desperate spin and plaintive self-justification by his acolytes cannot obscure this simple truth.

Their arguments are spurious and mendacious. At best. Even if the alleged strategy – to avoid a split in the party – had been successful then the unity of the Labour Party has been prioritised over saving the lives of Syrian infants.

But, to pile tragedy upon contempt, the strategy has not and will not be successful. Corbyn has been hounded and monstered from day one. At least half the shadow Cabinet and a majority of the Parliamentary Labour Party have been in open revolt from the very moment he ascended to the leadership. Their contempt for him has been astonishing. Their disobedience, their disloyalty and the disdain in which they hold their leader has been there for all to see. There is no unity. None.

Instead, there is – cruel pun, perhaps – a civil war raging inside the PLP. It cannot be avoided. It’s happening now. To continue the martial metaphors, it is a universal truth of military warfare that if one must fight a war, then one should always seek to do so on terrain of ones own choosing. Corbyn should have taken the fight to his enemies. He should have whipped his MPs and sacked the pro-war dissenters. He has the overwhelming support of the membership and even official Conference policy on his side. Yes, the split would have widened but it’s here already and is set only to accelerate anyway with, possibly, Corbyn ousted from his post. And such an act would have been in the service of nothing less than humanity and he, at least, would have acted with courage and principle.

Let’s stick with war aphorisms and remind the Labour leader that weakness only invites aggression. His right-wing will not be deterred from their plotting; the media will not cease its assassinations. There is nothing Corbyn can do to appease these people. All his current trajectory will do is weaken his powerbase in the CLPs. As Tolkien wrote, “A man who flies from his fear may find that he has only taken a short cut to meet it.”

As it is, he has chosen the coward’s exit; the Pontius Pilate option of washing his hands and preserving his own sainted purity while allowing his MPs a free vote to massacre brown babies.

His supporters mutter darkly about deselecting the pro-war MPs in their constituencies; allowing the rank-and-fail to dole out the punishment they so richly deserve but that Corbyn lacks the guts to deliver himself. This, though, is a ridiculous double-standard. Corbyn apologists defend the free vote as ‘a matter of conscience.’ Yet now they wish to punish MPs for… voting with their consciences? (or at least that which passes for conscience among these people) So a free vote is fine for Corbyn but not those who disagree with him? In fact, the sixty-six MPs who voted for war can’t even be termed rebels. After all, what were they rebelling against? There was no party line. Such is the unavoidable outcome, the inevitable logic, of Corbyn’s tactical cowardice.

And what of those MPs? On the one hand there are those who genuinely believe that murdering Syrian civilians in an utterly futile and doomed attempt to bomb an ideology into submission is the right thing to do. It says so much of Labour, ‘a party fit for imperialism,’ that these worthies are the good guys. Relatively speaking. At least such people have the dubious honour of being up-front and honest in their idiocy and callousness.

Worse, though, than even these creatures are those Labour MPs cynically exploiting the impending massacre for personal career advantage; and to settle scores with the leader they despise. Terrified of the growing wrath of their local party members and the prospect of losing the perks and trappings of Westminster, they plot, they scheme and they betray in a concerted bid to bring down Corbyn to save their own careers. Imagine that; pursuing the killing of other human beings solely to shore-up your ambition.

In both cases, these specimens have lined up with the Tories and condemned Syrians to death. And so it is that another murderous folly is now unleashed. The UK’s fourth in fewer than twenty years. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; close the wall up with Muslim dead.

Tonight, there are Labour MPs that never deserved less than they do now the prefix ‘honourable.’ But, as always, they’ve certainly done their best to ensure Labour remains Her Majesty’s Loyal Opposition…

An Idiot’s Guide to Bombing Syria

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So the Free Syrian Army are fighting Assad but also Daesh.

Assad loyalists are also fighting both the FSA and Daesh.

Meanwhile, just about everyone is trying to kill the Kurds. Who, ironically, are probably the most effective force currently fighting Daesh.

Turkey, a NATO ally and, therefore, a de facto pal of Cameron’s are supporting Daesh while claiming they aren’t. When they aren’t busy shooting down Russian planes, of course. Russia actually are fighting Daesh but also the FSA, who oppose Russia’s mate Assad.

Saudi Arabia, big pals of Cameron and the UK government, are supporting Daesh while buying Brit arms. While beheading more people in a month than Daesh do in a year. Yet the UK supports Saudi Arabia but not Daesh and not Asad, either. Who it did support last year.

The French, of course, are on a revenge mission and don’t give a fuck who dies as long as they are Seen To Be Doing Something. And the USA, as always, is clusterfucking its way to yet another Vietnam.

Whatever and whoever is killing who, the overwhelming majority of the dead are Muslims. Killed by Daesh. While getting blamed for… Daesh.

This is the crude and simplified idiot’s guide.

Now if you can grasp that and still think that yet another party joining in the bombing of the remaining unbombed bits of Syria is going to improve the situation in any way at all, then you truly are an absolute moron.

Dave Takes a Meeting

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The nightingales sang in Berkeley Square. Clock-faces wilted and then melted, folding themselves gracefully over the branches of chestnut trees. From the Prime Minister’s Private Office the sound of Big Ben striking thirteen could be heard. Reginald, the PM’s consigliere, faced the Great Man and braced himself.

“So, Reg. How are we looking now?”

“Well, Dave, as you know, the photo was a major ball-ache”

“Tell me about it! And now we’ve bloody well u-turned!”

“With respect, Dave, we haven’t. All you’ve done is say we’ll take a few thousand more. There is absolutely no substantive change on the policy.”

“But it looks like it, damn it. Those 1922 Committee fucks are gonna tear me a new one!”

“Relax. It’s cool. We’re on top of it. A nine-day wonder. Besides, until that bastard Corbyn gets in Labour are with us. Plus, on the bright side, the BBC are still calling them migrants, not refugees”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Peter Allen on 5 Live was awesome, today. He was very grudging about these people being refugees and fleeing war and then he said – you’re gonna love this – he just kinda brushed it all aside and said that the whole issue had now become ‘entrenched behaviour’ among the darkies”

“He actually said that? Really?”

“Yup. Well not the ‘darkies’ bit, obvs, but the rest of. Absolutely”

“Top man. Have we got him down for a gong?”

“Dunno. I’d need to check with Bernard”

OK, what else do we have?”

“Twitter’s a bit bleak. Lots of proles moaning. Lots of the great unwashed calling you a ‘silver spoon-faced bastard.’ ‘cunt’ ‘wanker.’ The usual, really”

“Fucking Twitter. Tell me again why I can’t just close the fucking thing down, Rupert doesn’t own it, does he?”

“No, but it’s complex with social media”

“Whatever. We’ll come back to it later. What else?”

“Well, this is a bit awkward, really…”

“Spit it out, Reg”

“Well, you remember that intern you were looking for? We’ve got a candidate but it’s a bit awkward”

“Go on…”

“Well, he’s Muslim, for starters…”

“For fuck’s sake!”

“And he’s Syrian. An actual migrant”

“How the fuck did he get in?”

“Home Office twats, again. Another clusterfuck. To be fair Theresa’s got a lot on, currently, as you know; what with the peados and everything”

“This just gets better. Tell me the worst”

“A proper cheeky little shit, he is. He came on with all this ‘shirker striver’ bollocks that Ian started and a lot of nonsense about our ‘core values’ and ‘aspiration’ and  ‘hard-working families’ and so on. Basically, his pitch was that if he’d managed to cross entire war-torn continents, using none of the official channels, with those IS nutters chasing his arse, dragging his missus and brats with him, then he’d proved in spades a couple of things. One, that he was clearly resourceful, good at thinking outside the box and was a man who could work well under pressure and relished a challenge. Two, that if he could do all that it didn’t even matter if we rejected his claim for asylum. He was as ‘aspirational’ as fuck and wanted to ‘get on’ like no cunt we’ve ever seen”

“I see. A fucking chancer then?”

“And then some but, again, it could work well. We spin it as the PM giving a sand-wog a job near the seat of power. Good old British fair play and all that. All those diversity points etc. It’s win/win, Dave”

“Christ on a bike, fucking immigrants, immigrants, immigrants! Everything’s about fucking immigrants!”

“Yes, but it does shift the spotlight from our kiddy-fiddlers for a bit so, you know, not all bad, is it?”

“Fine, OK, whatever, but I want people back where they were; hating the brown-faced fucking freaks. In fact, there’s an idea; can’t we get Katie to do another ‘cockroaches and gunships’ thing? To help get things back on track?”

“No, ‘fraid not. She’s got her head well down and, in the current climate, it would backfire badly. Defo. Trust me. Besides, she’s more into Nigel than you, these days, mate”

“Fucking Farage. Treacherous wanker”

“But he and his mates are shooting their own feet off left, right and centre on this one so, again, like I keep saying, not all bad”

“If you say so. We done now?”

“We are”

Waves lapped against the sand. The white cliffs of Dover, craggy sentinels of empire, glared at Calais. From a nearby guest house the muffled thwack of willow on a young boy’s buttocks could be heard.

Down By the Seaside

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If they’re black send them back
If they’re brown let them drown
If they’re white then they’re alright
‘British values’ shining bright

One dead child upon a beach
Now forever out of reach
Of castles built upon the sand
Of a warm and welcome hand

Lorries steal their last breath
Exchanging dignity for death
Fortress Europe keeps them out
While politicians scream and shout

Of migrant hordes swarming here
Feed the hatred, feed the fear
Of losing all you that you have got
So stuff the darkies, fuck the lot

You need your telly and your ‘phone
So why don’t you just call home
To where humanity once did dwell
Instead of living in this hell

Where you’d deny a child his life
A son, a father, mother, wife
Eton toffs stand coldly by
While people queue up just to die

Terror, death, their stock in trade
The awful sandcastles they have made