Two images of Britain spring to mind this week. First, Emma Finucane, Team GB’s cycling gold medallist at the Paris Olympics, great-niece of Brendan “Paddy” Finucane, the World War II fighter pilot and Spitfire ace, the youngest squadron commander in the RAF and a national icon for his heroism in the Battle of Britain.
What a legacy, what an achievement, what a proud moment for our country!
The other, an image of hatred and intolerance, a smug bully with his features hidden by a mask bearing the Union Jack. The banner of this country, used to hide the face of a coward: there is nothing more shameful than that.
Emma Finucane, Team GB cycling gold medallist, great-niece of a WWII fighter pilot, a proud moment for our country
Two men hide their features with Union Jack masks, hiding the faces of cowards.
In another viral image, a shirtless fool with a Nazi tattoo on his shoulder repeats racist clichés.
Another, also masked, on an electric bike, pulls up behind a female Sky News reporter and shouts: “Free Palestine, fuck the EDL.” His companion points at the camera with his index finger; later, one of the group uses a knife to try to slash the news crew’s tyres.
Finucane and her teammates: the best of us. The rest: the absolute scum. An absolute disgrace, toxic masculinity at its worst, tiny brains filled with hate fuelled by conspiracy theories and social media, egged on by equally toxic male “influencers” who delight (and profit) from upsetting people.
Narcissistic absurdist Andrew Tate and his ridiculously shaved abs; Tommy Robinson, currently sunbathing on a sun lounger in the Mediterranean while tweeting venomously; and countless other wannabes, on both sides of the conflict, hoping to ride the wave of violence sweeping Britain to gain followers and have their 15 minutes of infamy.
Instead of calling for an end to all violence by all sides, the Labour Party appears to have blamed one faction rather than another. This is not only clearly unfair, but does nothing to improve the situation.
To be fair, it’s not just men – there are some pretty clueless women out there too. Home Secretary Jess Phillips, for example, seemed to go some way to justifying the actions of the aforementioned thugs who threatened the Sky News team by tweeting that they were simply responding to online rumours that “racists were coming to attack them”.
Even assuming that were the case, does that justify the knife, the threats, the vandalism and the fright he gave to a young girl? Of course not. Any sensible person in that situation would stay home, lock the door and call the police. The threat of a lynching is no excuse to start one of your own – that’s how madness happens.
As for the likes of Nigel Farage and Elon Musk, I wish they would work their frontal lobes for five seconds, assuming they have them. In Musk’s case, tweeting “civil war is inevitable” when the platform he owns is largely responsible for spreading inflammatory and misleading information (starting with the false idea that the perpetrator of the Southport massacre in which three girls died was an asylum seeker) puts him in a troll category.
Meanwhile, Farage, not content with having done Labour’s job thanks to his party’s success in splitting the Tory vote (I must confess that in my more feverish moments I can’t help but wonder whether he was actually working for Starmer all along), and presumably bored in his new role as MP for the good people of Clacton, went back to doing what he does best, namely angering people by comparing the riots to the Black Lives Matter riots.
Nigel Farage, presumably bored with his new role as MP for the good people of Clacton, was back to doing what he does best, which is angering people by comparing the riots to the Black Lives Matter riots.
I wish someone – anyone, at this point – would show a little maturity, even leadership. But no. Everyone is too busy pursuing their own little short-sighted goals, and meanwhile the country burns.
It is at times like these that you really need someone with a clear vision, a strong moral compass and, above all, courage. Someone who can cut through all the accusations and counter-accusations, calm the nerves and reassure the vast majority of people in this country who would never dream of stealing a bag of candy from the corner store, let alone carving a swastika into their love handles and going out into the street looking for a fight.
In the past, that person would have been the late Queen. One word from Elizabeth II, or even a sidelong glance, and even the bonniest of fools would have scuttled away like a naughty schoolboy. She had that effect on people, an ability to unite everyone in total respect for her.
Since her death, I have often felt that she was the glue that held this country together and that without her we are slowly dissolving into chaos. The last few days have only reinforced that notion.
The French and Russian revolutions, the rise of the Third Reich in Germany, the catastrophes that cost the lives of millions, all sprang from the same seeds of deep-seated populist resentment and a perception of an elite immune to the struggles of the common man.
Sadly, she is no longer with us and King Charles, for all his virtues, does not inspire the same level of reverence. Indeed, he has been remarkably silent on the recent clashes, having presumably been advised not to get involved.
Maybe he should. After all, isn’t that the point of the monarchy: to be a symbol of something more permanent, a port in the midst of any storm, the one constant in an ever-changing political landscape?
The only other institution that performs a similar function is the Church, and judging by the Archbishop of Canterbury’s speech yesterday, for all its spectacular mediocrity, it is no great panacea.
What we are left with is the Prime Minister, who has so far shown almost as much ability to deal with this crisis as I have in joining Finucane on that podium in Paris. Almost everything he has said so far has only served to infuriate one group of morons, without appearing to examine the behaviour of another.
Rather than calling for an end to all violence by all sides, the Labour Party appears to have blamed one faction rather than another, which is not only clearly unfair, but does nothing to improve the situation.
The Team GB cycling squad, consisting of Sophie Capewell, Katy Marchant and Emma Finucane, proudly raise a celebratory flag.
After all, it doesn’t take a genius to see that this will only fan the flames of hatred, as much of the reason these people riot in the first place is because there is a perception that the authorities are biased against them.
Whether or not these concerns are legitimate is an important question that needs to be addressed, no matter how unpleasant or uncomfortable the conversation may be, but no one wants to get to that point.
The last person who was prepared to confront difficult questions like this to any great extent was Margaret Thatcher, and that was because she was one of those rare politicians, a woman who understood that being liked was not part of her job.
Indeed, the refusal of successive administrations to have a proper debate about cultural integration and to dismiss as prejudice all concerns about the effects of immigration is exactly why things have reached this unpleasant point. It is why people end up voting for men like Farage: he is the only one who will associate with them.
When people feel like they’re not being heard, they end up speaking up, and it’s not usually pretty. If history teaches us anything, it’s this.
The French and Russian revolutions, the rise of the Third Reich in Germany—catastrophes that cost the lives of millions—all sprang from the same seeds of deep-seated populist resentment and a perception of an elite immune to the struggles of the common man.
As a politician, you may not like what people tell you, but you still have a duty to listen.
We may not share their concerns; indeed, we may think they are wrong or ignorant (and they often are), but we cannot simply dismiss them. We cannot simply treat them as “deplorables,” Hillary Clinton-style, because that only alienates people further.
After all, what kind of country do we want to be? The land of young Finucane and her heroic great-uncle, of tenacious Andy Murray and sweet knitting Tom Daley? Or the land of those who struggle like rats in a sack?
This is not Britain; this is not who we are. I just hope it is not too late.