Dear Political Parties. I Have A Request...

Today's media frenzy over the rise of the media's favourite political party with no MP's is that a prominent member of their youth wing has decided to leave the organisation and branded it racist. The response, from a UKIP party source (who thus, should probably represent the broad views of the organisation as a whole) was that "She's a young person and she speaks her opinions. I'm free not to consider them very important. I don't regard her as a person I should spend a huge amount of my time bothering about." (Source here). Perhaps the opinion of a single headline article in the Guardian are not important in the grand scheme of things. But the message this sends is far more alarming.

The European parliamentary elections (the ones where UKIP has actually won seats in the past) are happening a week from now and I, the same age as the aforementioned blogger, Sanya Jeet Thandi am also left with a quandry of where to place my vote. We've had plenty of election leaflets through the door in our student house, each promising to deliver a strong economy, or criticise the approach of the other parties, and all of them hoping to appeal to the average, middle class nuclear family concerned with their 2.2 children. Whether it's the cost of the living, the strength of the economy or immigration, we are told exactly why we should vote for the various groups.

Something is missing however. We are told via brightly coloured leaflet that the big world of politics can be miraculously solved by your leaders, so long as you remember to pop along to your election booth to vote. Big slogans, cheesy grinning stock photos and lines of ticks are there to remind you, the educated adult citizen that your interests are well taken care of. But the crucial thing missing, is the political party willing to presume that voters are not completely ignorant, capable of a little critical thought and rational reflection.

I understand that anyone above the age of about 30 will look down on my generation and our opinions, feel free not to consider them very important and not regard us as people they should spend a huge amount of time bothering about. We lack the hard bitten cynicism that comes from working, owning property and enjoying the fruits of our labour. Our fresh faced optimism and occasional bright ideas clearly bear little resemeblance to the cruel world we are about to chuck ourselves into, once we've worked for unpaid internships and been reminded how grateful we are.

The youth of today, the hard bitten adults of tomorrow are considered by the political establishment to have very little influence, we are seen as disenfranchised and aside from those members of the 'Young *****' party completely clueless about politics. If it can't be explained by Nick Grimshaw with a little innuendo and immaturity then we apparently won't understand what's going on. Indeed the cartoons encouraging us youthful individuals to vote, as issued by the European parliament presume that our intelligence is little greater than that of the common water vole.

But I'm issuing a challenge to any political party that wants my vote in the European Parliamentary elections. I'd like you to explain to me, as a fellow citizen of this country, what you offer and what I can expect, not in soundbites but a clear and reasoned argument. I'd like you to respect that while I may not have the same realistic experience of the world as your 'party sources', I am still a rational human being capable of critical thought and an ability to question and form judgements about your claims. If any political party is capable of treating its young voters as more than easy demonisation and respect their basic opinions, then I pledge my vote to you. If you can't do that, I'll do what us young people supposedly do and vote for the candidate with the funniest sounding name.

The Gospel According To George (Satire)

And lo, it was decreed in the year of our lady 31AM that Dave did become leader of the Great British ship of state. And Dave did decree that it was in the wishes of our Lord to trim this ship, throwing aside valuable planks and sails to his friends on other, private ships. Around this time did Dave say unto his assembled disciples, all men who were his oldest and dearest chums. We have brought upon this land a big society, a society in which all who lived in leafy southern villages should help one another and thus charity would logically flow to those poor and needy.

But Dave, said Eric, his trusted advisor, does this mean that we should be in the practice of all donating our wealth, as in the book of charity. No, spake Dave, for it is no compulsory practice but a voluntary one that should be encouraged to be all in this together. It is not born of greed, but a good, honest compassion for our fellow man in the village. Surely, piped up the squeaky voice, of Ed, who had not been invited and was heard by none, this is just a policy designed to get the government to do less and less. Wouldn't it be good, drawled Mike, Dave's former confidante, if we could take this giving and apply it across all of the land, collectively organised and then distributed to all. Don't be ridiculous, get back to thine bench, spaketh Dave.

With his grand plan to do nothing in place, thus Dave entered the temple and overturned the tables of the money lenders. Hence, they all guffawed about it, for it was as it had been in the misty eyed days in the club of Bullingdon. They all slapped some money down and decided that they should take their money and store it in heaven, where the rates of tax were far less, although they would continue reside here in Dave's Kingdom. Thus Dave continued to cut the wind to the sails and the sails themself on his ship of state and turn abroad. In good christian fashion he saw the suffering of those across the world and boldly elected to do nothing, as it is decreed that thou shalt love thy neighbour, so long as he has money and influence.

And then, Dave spaketh, I shall tell ye all the story of the good illegal immigrant. 'A man was travelling on the road from Basingstoke to Guildford when he was robbed, beaten and his fine watch taken from his wrist. First rode by a noble man in his Bentley, but he was polluting and so did not have time to help. Then rode by a lowly brick layer, but he had been the product of new labour and was already in a mess. Finally rode by a poor illegal immigrant from the lands east of Germania but west of Russia.' What, exclaimed Nick, Dave's faithful lapdog, did the immigrant then help the man, thus showing the common good of the lowest.

No, replied Dave, for the immigrant was promptly reported through the dying man's last breath, as any honest citizen would do, and thus the noble lady Theresa did escort the immigrant away. And so the small, racist contingent of the assembled crowd guffawed loudly before moving on to Espania for their retirement.  Thus did Dave continue to mediate the land, feeding the 5,000 with his banks of food, so long as they had correct documentation, healing the sick and disabled by getting them to stand on their own two feet and all the while his 17 chums yelled loudly in the house.

But it was foretold that Dave would be hung up and crucified in the year 36AM and three days later would rise again in the form of a flaxen headed leader, who would be called Boris. His gospel is not yet written.

A Boer in a Bar (Satire)

A Boer overheard in a Cape Colony Bar, 1810, translated from the original Afrikaans.

Do you know what the real problem with this place is though Christiaan, aside from the heat here and those pesky lions that keep on hurting our traditional Boer livestock with their diseases and their ravenous jaws. It’s that the true native Boer’s don’t feel like we’re living in our own country any more. I know that the Cape might be back in Boer hands after that Peace of Amiens but you can hardly move these days for the bloody British taking up the place.

That ridiculous, outdated treaty means that all 10 million Britain’s can come live here and start can claiming land to settle on right now. Soon we’ll all have to start adopting Church of England customs and force our women to start wearing their ridiculous long dresses and our Boer women will be scolded in the street if they show their ankles. Soon you won’t be able to wander through a traditional Boer town in piece without stepping on some British layabout trying to tap our mineral seams and speaking in that rough, guttural tone of theirs to every Tom, Dick & Harry they meet.

I’m not saying I’m racist, but I tell you, last week I was on my way to market and I couldn’t even get 10 feet without seeing their pasty white faces filling up the street, slowly collecting sunburn to try and blend in. They could at least learn a bit of Afrikaans before they get here too, it’s almost impossible to do business without having to have special dual language signs so our slaves can work out what their saying. Pretty soon there will probably be another bloody treaty that means we’ll become a British country entirely and have to start adopting all their ridiculous customs probably even banning slavery for heaven’s sake.

They wouldn’t have stood for this in my ancestors days I can tell you. We’ve fought one war with the British already to keep them out of their lands and, while I know they might have had a victory and then given our country back to us, they need to remember that this is a Boer country and that’s the way it should stay. The bureaucrats and ineffectual busybodies in the Hague might not care about the ordinary Boer people but this is our country and I’ll be damned if I see it filled with any more of those pastys.

This is our land, (ever since we drove the natives out of here to exploit its resources and take them as our slaves) and I don’t see why we should have this ridiculous policy that means that they can just come over here, release our slaves and take our rightful exploitation of this land away from us. I don’t even recognise this bit of Africa anymore, it’s an outrage I tell you. I’ve half a mind to pack my bags and go invade somewhere else where there are no immigrants to get in my way.

Note: In 1814 the Dutch government then formally ceded sovereignty over the Cape to the British, under the terms of the Convention of London, much to the dismay of our fine bar friend…