Erasure (I)
"In the coming age you will have lost "freedom", your humanity, not when you notice it is gone but when you no longer remember what you have lost".
I. Alternative For Britain
II. Alternative for Europe
III. Alternative for the West
“Conned once, shame on them. Conned twice, join us”.
Your ordinary “average” views today will be codified as “Right Wing” or Extremist tomorrow. What the indoctrinators, the judge-and-jury of the woke media decide is “Reasonable”. Acceptable. Just having inclinations, mis-thoughts will lower your Social Credit Score. Inhibit your freedom to travel or get that job. You will lose Carbon Credits for making the wrong, socially unacceptable choice. You won’t know why. Or even have the right to know. In a time when just asking is defined as “suspicious”. Indicative.
The masses, your children and their children will have been “brainwashed”. But not in the way sci-fi writers write the future. It will be much, much more subtle than the public today can imagine pre-AI. More like being mentally sanitised, thought-cleansed into- forgetting. And that is a much worse nightmare than the black and white of sci-fi. It will be a maze in which people choose to lose themselves. In which the over-stimulated, info-junkies crave deceit.
Your children’s children’s psychology has already been primed by successive Fauxdemics. The crying wolf of this week’s manufactured Crisis. Fill in the blank. But few will read this. Fewer still of the Dumbed-down will be able to understand what it really means. Like tourists in their own future, only comprehending every other word. The odd phrase which sounds the same in English.
Your children yet to be born will live always on the edge. Nomads in their own lands. Culturally disabled. Rootless. Eunuch slaves of the nameless oligarchs they never see. Fed by Universal Basic Income and Healthily Food Vouchers. When reality has been scrubbed from the last corner of the internet. Beyond a new, information iron curtain. Thinking they are free, but only in the world within a world they are permitted to see. Believing they know what is True and what is False. Devolved into tattooed apes dressed in Nike leisure. In search of distraction. As we speak they are busy constructing a democratic zoo, bit by bit so you will not see the bars until the last. Fed scraps between the bars by those who secretly despise them. By politicians with a “majority” that no one voted for.
Who wanted to believe the scaremongering twenty years ago in 2020. The conspiracy of conspiracy theories. Not even when the tanks rolled into their little town outside Utrecht. Or the “Cotswold” village, untouched by the future and communal violence. “Little Chipping” with its church bells silenced by the silenced majority vote, so as not to cause offence. Sleepwalking into the unmeasured decades.
Your home, just outside the scruffy town with its kebab shop and minaret. Its ever so-nice Turkish owner. Or is he Albanian. Or one of those Kurds? We never like to ask. Like forgetting someone’s name, you just smile every time as you pass- for the next fifteen years- and hope they do not stop to actually speak. The town, with its ever more frequent stabbings and car-burnings. Integration works, whatever your eyes and the graffiti says. The success of Multiculturalism is always in the news. The sound of Diversity is a police siren in the middle of the night. There isn’t much “White Privilege” to be found on The Estate outside Little Chipping.
Even as the cats stretch lazy in the sun outside the newsagent. We live trapped in yesterday’s policy of doing nothing. The policy of every last Government. That is what was Chipping away at what was your England. Nothing. As history itself is in the smoothed stone around the porch of the church door. The initials of the dead over which you ran a complacent finger. You forgot what it was to be British. To be white. Why it is important to belong. “Winning” wars that you really lost. Battles of Britain that gave you a fatal, sentimental softness. While those more desperate quietly replaced you. Because they could.
Unlike invaded occupied Europe, The British did not need to remember that “Tribe” mattered. Flabby and bloated with welfare, the dumbed-down Westerners gave up before they began. The semi-literate reading their future in the past. History, the simplicity of Freedom, ideas were now too complicated. You had to see all sides and blinded by the narrative, the agenda, saw nothing. Easier to channel hop 39 to 45, while your latest Oxbridge Punt of leaders betrayed your memory. With nothing more than sheer incompetence and a few lines of half-remembered schoolboy Latin.
So we “emigrated” to The village. Moving further and further West like Britons escaping the Roman legion. Little Chipping that had won the “Village in Bloom” competition 2031. Now on the frontline of what was England. Or the Netherlands, or Europe. It was all the same. Conquered- by an idea.
We ran to the half-remembered hills, wherever, wherever Britain now is. Still, what does politics matter to average people like us? That’s what everyone in our group said when the first Civil Race-War began. Not now or the day after tomorrow.
“Not at 81”, the eldest said, when we had to leave her behind in the martial Free Zone, the first of the “Stan” areas East of “Allahabad” - a renamed Woking in a rebranded England. Through the veil of her dementia she knew as little as we did. Kept repeating about that “lovely girl”, daughter of the woman from Nigeria. She was coming on a home visit like every Wednesday. But there would be no more Wednesdays. Help would never arrive for any of us. The police had mostly abandoned their uniforms. We found a pile behind the Happy Eater at the burnt out motorway service station. The last units of the army pledged their allegiance to whoever could pay their wages, even if it was Qatar. Some said families of Christians and homos, and those who harboured them, were hounded like urban foxes to the end of the Tube line. But perhaps that was scaremongering.
Still the old lady went on, before we had to do what Gavin, her son and our leader, had to to do.
“Lovely smile. Even if she is, as my son keeps saying, “clinically obese”. What’s her name?”… You know her, the nice black girl who comes to wipe, you-know-where”…
Everyone was now the daughter of the amnesty migrant from Lagos or London or anywhere. Geography had been erased like the border and somehow the self-confidence to be white. And it its vacuum, a subcutaneous UN Identity chip told you who you were.
They ghosted us on socials in 2019. Muted our posts. Let us speak to the media vacuum. The deafening silence of complacency. Warned there would be “Perma-wars” in a Europe Balkanised by the camps and snaking caravans of migrations. Thinking itself had been paralyzed so long, the proles had forgotten how to do it. As the leaders expected some other fool to lead. By then The Techs could edit reality.
The young, masked and sterilized by fear and uncertainty. Believing everything and nothing was true. Trying to be hyper-tolerant, hyper-sensitive. Once we all thought ourselves one of The Reasonables. Do The Right Thing that was always wrong. After the days of waking nightmares, no one had anything left for goodwill. As if we were all quieter, wrapped in our thoughts, stunned at the speed of the fall. How icy thin the veneer of society had been. You snatched the crust before the other outstretched hand. Held in trance by the Imminent. The unexpected. Climate “catastrophes” and meltdowns, contagions and evacuations that never quite seemed to happen.
For a while even after it began, we carried on The Charade. Of institutions and independence. The soft, comforting faux-fur democracy we took for granted today. That was lost by mass complacency before a shot was fired. By the drip, drip of fear of fear itself. Your neurons as we speak are slowly being connected and habituated into not believing what you see. Even as the blade shafts your lower ribs. Inhumanity is grown inside out. By being told a thousand, thousand times not to trust your intuition. About the innate truth of what it is, what it means, to be human.
So we leave you to your chosen future, already chosen for you. First you forgot to remember. Little things that mean much more. Stay At Home orders. The flashing Payment for EV Travel Denied. The little green circle around your individual NZA Net Zero Allowance, going round and round. Forgot that taxpayers are the employers of Government, not vice versa. You had the chance to withhold the tax that like oil, would have seized the engine of the ever-sprawling state. Flicked channels to another celebrity dance show, while they picked your pocket of something more precious than worthless digital dollars: the freedom to decide. The magician experts and agencies distracted. Media dealers and tech pushers got you addicted- to nothing. To wasting time.
They can charge and imprison you, but never quite rub out that one last, nagging thought as you drowned. The belief somewhere that something is wrong. History is the story of individuals discovering the likeminded and challenging unjust laws, tyrants and bureaucrats. Pharaohs and Empires, Ministers and Chiefs of Police who once seemed they must last forever. All have, and will, come and go. Falling like evening shadows on the grass. Just when they seem at their most powerful, everywhere, the seed of their weakness takes root. As order moves as it must towards chaos. Straining for light. As if the arms of some galaxy turns inside our minds. Our actions speaking louder than words. Suddenly the leaves become Autumn.
How long before thinking about thinking becomes dangerous. Even in sleepy cobblestoned Chipping, with its hamstone cottages glowing pink in the thin, ten-to-4, winter sun. It is always ten-to-4 in Little Chipping. Your daughter was reported for saying that “Men do not have husbands, women do not have wives”. On-the-spot fine for speaking her mind on her Tab. The future is not as far away as you like to think. Your children and grandchildren will not even understand what they have lost. You will be the last of the last to remember.
And behind it all, that is the question they do not want you to ask. To even know it is the question. Behind the war-migrations and plans; the artificial manufactured crises they cue onto the world stage. Pulling the strings of their puppet leaders and parties and factions. Tightening the restrictions of energy and food supply when need, when the sheep grow a little to too curious, and begin to join the dots. It is the hidden purpose of the hidden.
The tide of the counter-woke Reformation will be too great for the police and security services, weakened by decades of ideology, and from crypt-believers in freedoms still hidden in the uniformed ranks. They can’t imprison a rally of 30,000. You cannot govern a state if a core of believers refuses to cooperate- as the British learnt in India. We are all Spartacus.
Bloody hell. Just like North Korea!