We, and the other European nations, have to pay for a “Parliament” which has rather flatteringly been described as “an unspeakable assembly…of self-important nonentities”, and which not only performs no useful function but is a positively harmful and colossally expensive dead weight existing for nothing but the benefit of its members.
Worse still, our leaders have been criminally stupid in embracing, and enshrining in our law, the wicked and misguided twaddle of European “human rights”, submitting to the ruling of that unqualified kangaroo assembly, the European Court, and using all this farrago of Continental nonsense as an excuse for destroying the fabric of our nation. “We have to do it because Brussels says we must.” How often have we heard this pathetic whine from a gutless government.
Is it not remarkable that Britain, with a record on human rights superior to any other nation’s, Britain which has done more to spread honest law and democracy than all the European states together, Britain whose ideas and ideals have been adopted by every respectable people on earth, should be lectured on “human rights” by the Continent which gave us the Holocaust, the Inquisition, the French Revolution and subsequent horrors of Napoleonic aggression, the police state, fascism, communism, and other benefits too numerous to mention—to say nothing of being so wicked, corrupt, and feeble that within living memory it had to be rescued by Britain, America, and Russia.
Brazen impudence is too mild a phrase for the effrontery of the European Court in issuing its diktats to us, and all the epithets of cowardice are insufficient to describe the British governments of both parties who have been so craven and witless as to accept them.
I am ranting, no doubt about it. But then, I am enraged at what has been done to my country by the contemptible dross elected to Westminster in evil hours, worst of all the Heath government which gave Britain its death blow, and New Labour who have trampled on the corpse. But not half so angry, I dare swear, as our forefathers would be if they could see the betrayal, by worthless politicians, of the country they worked so hard to build, and the surrender of the precious freedoms won by better men at Gravelines and Trafalgar and Waterloo and Flanders and Alamein and in the skies above Kent.
“Oh, emotive drum-beating!” I can hear the snoopopaths cry. “Jingoism of the most Victorian kind, a bellow from a bygone age!” That is how they see their country’s past, and are too stupid and complacent to look to its future. But even they would do well to ask themselves what Churchill and the first Elizabeth and Chatham and William Wallace and the Unknown Soldier (yes, and Washington and Jefferson and Lincoln) would have thought of the pass to which Britain has been brought in the past half-century.
It will be said that these worthies belonged to other times, and their notions are out of date. Not so. The freedoms they believed in are eternal, and we will lose them forever if we allow ourselves to be conned or bullied into, first, joining the ludicrous euro, and inevitably thereafter, railroaded into a European superstate, a union of European soviets controlled by people whose ways are not our ways, whose values are not our values, and whose polities have shown themselves inferior to ours at any time in the past millennium.
Consider how willingly they accept dictatorship, whether of Louis XIV or Napoleon or Hitler or Mussolini or Franco, and compare their pathetic record with ours, who tolerated even such an enlightened despot as Cromwell for a bare decade. Europe is simply not fit to have any say in British affairs, and if one recalls Kipling’s line about “lesser breeds” it is not as a racist slur but as a simple truth, and because one questions their competence, their reliability, and above all, their honesty.
Corruption is plainly endemic, not only in great matters at the very top in the European Parliament, but in such trivia as the World Cup 2006 scandal; the bribe, the backhander, the favour, the nepotism, the freebie at public expense—these are the air that the EU breathes, and there are signs in our own political establishment that the infection is spreading, although we still, fortunately, have some way to go before our scandals reach European proportions.
How unfit the Continental politicos are for government is patent from such indecent proposals as that emanating from Strasbourg which would have “undemocratic” parties blacklisted—this stemming from the propaganda campaign against the inclusion of Haider’s Right-wing party in the Austrian coalition. “Undemocratic” meaning any party or politician of whom the Left wing disapprove. Had it been a Communist party, the party of Stalin and the Gulag and an even greater bloodbath than the Holocaust, not a word would have been said;* Left is right, and Right is wrong, you understand, and the fact that Haider’s party, whatever one may think of them and him, had been democratically elected, went for nothing. The irony is that nothing could be more Fascist than the attempt to ban a political party; so much for the EU view of democracy. To quote Brecht on Hitler: “The bitch that bore him is in heat again”, in Brussels and Strasbourg—and these are the people who dare call their opponents Fascists.
The totalitarian dangers of Europeanisation are to be seen at every turn. It is European gospel that EU Commissioners must put Europe ahead of their national loyalties; it is European doctrine that we have the “strongest obligation” to the Communist countries of Eastern Europe, who must be brought into the union without delay. Personally, I amconscious of no obligation to Bulgaria or Romania, to name but two, and the last thing I want to see is these sponger nations consuming our national wealth and, in time no doubt, imposing on us the “democratic ideals” they learned under communism.
The great mystery is why the Eurofanatics want to see us under the sway of Brussels. It has already cost us a fortune and done us untold damage: why should they wish to cost us more and damage us still further? The motive of those on the European gravy-train is plain enough, but what’s in it for those commercial interest spokesmen who clamour for the euro and closer integration? Shortterm profit? Perhaps; there are those quite base and stupid enough to think the loss of national sovereignty a small price to pay for lining their pockets. They would probably be on the Right, but what attracts the Left? Being part of a glorious union of Socialist Republics? Surely not, at this time of day.
There are some, to be sure, who have entirely different notions about independence and national honour and integrity from the rest of us. The child of, say, Balkan immigrants may well have a different concept of what it means to be British (supposing he has any at all beyond possession of a passport) than the man or woman whose ancestors have been here for a thousand years. (And that will be denounced by liberals as an abominably racist thing to say. Which doesn’t stop it being true.)
One way or another, the question whether Britain remains a free nation or becomes the vassal of a totalitarian Europe will be settled soon, and those who oppose our further integration would do well to remember, and proclaim as widely and as loudly as possible, the unashamed dishonesty that has characterised the pro-European movement from the beginning. Not since Lenin and Hitler cast their obscene spells has there been a political campaign so blatantly deceitful. In 1972 we were assured it was merely a Common Market, and that no political union was envisaged: it is now shamelessly admitted that this was untrue, that political union was the aim from the start. Whether one can trace this back to Vichy France’s collaboration with Nazi Germany and the plan drawn up by the defeated Nazi generals in 1946 for an armed and united Europe dominated and led by Germany, is a matter for conjecture; what is certain is that the last thirty years has seen the mischief moving into high gear: lie has been piled on lie, deceit on deceit, and folly on folly, and there can be no one, surely, so naive as to suppose that the underlying motives of the Euromaniacs are pure and altruistic.
It has actually been pretended that European union has kept the peace for half a century. This is one of the silliest lies; the peace has been kept by nuclear deterrence—and the fact that Germany has been in no position to flex its military muscles.
One need cite only a few examples of the Europhile
s’ lack of scruple: the refusal to accept the original Danish “no” vote, with the referendum being rerun so that the Eurocrooks could get the right answer; the sorry lie that failure to join the euro could jeopardise eight million jobs; and the disgraceful conduct of the Conservative government in bullying and blackmailing their backbench sheep at the time of Maastricht.
But the most dishonourable ploy of all has been the red herring thrown in the public’s face by the European lobby implying that the sovereignty issue is irrelevant, and all that matters is satisfying the five economic criteria for Britain’s entry into the euro. In fact, this is the least of what matters, except to the money-grubbers; economic conditions change like the tide, but the right to freedom does not. What matters above all is sovereignty, the right to make our own laws (thrown away with the incorporation of the mad and disgusting European Convention on Human Rights into our domestic law, which has already caused disruption in our courts), the right to remain independent of the unworthy, undemocratic, unprincipled, authoritarian, bureaucratic rabble of Brussels. That, first, last, and every time, is what matters, and “economic criteria” pale into irrelevance.
We do not need the euro, the Monopoly money which begins to bear a close resemblance to the French Revolutionary assignat and the Weimar currency. Those who do want it parrot the cry that common currency will not lead to political union, but that is a falsehood wasted, for everyone knows that political union, the declared aim, would be inevitable. The British people have shown that they want neither, and a growing number (including a former prime minister) would like to see us out of Europe altogether. It is probably the knowledge of this that has driven the scaremongering of the Europhiles to the point of desperation.
My fear, and it is a growing one, is that pusillanimous, foolish, and dishonest politicians will complete the process begun by Heath in 1972, and that Britain will become a helpless cog in the European machine, a mere province of the Holy Brussels Empire without real power or influence in the face of our traditional enemies. Babble about being “at the heart of Europe” is wishful thinking.
My hope, and it is a fervent but slender one, is in two stages. First, I hope to see the British public resist the propaganda onslaught of the pro-Europeans, in which the broadcast media, led by the BBC, have shown themselves willing tools of the government, and vote a resounding “no” in the referendum, if and when it comes. I believe they will, in spite of Blair’s patronising arrogance in suggesting that Britons can be “educated” into compliance once he has explained things to them.
Given a “no” vote it is unlikely that Blair, even under the bullying of his French and German friends, would have the nerve to reject it, much as he might like to. If it were anything better than waferthin he would be perfectly capable of leaping on the pro-British bandwagon, no doubt trying to pretend that he had only been with the Europeans to spy on them.
My second stage, whether a referendum were “no” or not, is less probable. I want to see the whole rotten edifice of the EU collapse in ruin, and if Britain can emerge from the wreck with her nationhood intact, then whatever temporary damage she has suffered by her ill-starred involvement will have been a small price to pay for independence.
I suppose it is just a pipe-dream, but if we must, in the mysterious future, belong to any bloc, for God’s sake let it be the North American one. However the ethnic mix of the United States may have changed, they are our people still, in language and culture and ideals. Nothing but good could come of a reunion of the English-speaking peoples—not only Britain and America but the old Empire and Commonwealth countries, our kinsfolk, who stood by us when Europe crumpled, and who, we may hope, would be magnanimous enough to forgive and forget our betrayal of them in 1972.
This may seem at odds with my earlier strictures on US policy in Afghanistan, but it’s not. The present crisis is a passing thing, and the special relationship with America, while it has undoubtedly received a tremendous shot in the arm from Blair’s “shoulder to shoulder” stance, would not have suffered lasting damage if we had given America every support short of fighting. After all, our contribution is a drop in the bucket, and Blair might have employed his time as an honest broker rather than as a co-belligerent.
As to closer association with the US in years to come, I am aware of the affected-intellectual school who recoil with revulsion from “American culture” (while being all too ready to accept its benefits). I have heard the weary argument about “the 51st state”; well, assuming that our association with the US flourished to that extent, we would be not one state but ten at least—and with the growth of non-white population in America, we would probably be welcome. (Oh dear, I’ve told another politically incorrect truth; when will I learn to fudge and falsify?)
Alas, it is probably too late, not only to hope for a North Atlantic Union, but to prevent Britain being sucked into Europe. The poor stewardship of the Conservatives, no less than the apostasy of the Labour Party, has left the pass wide open for sale. While Labour stood firm, and there were enough Tory patriots to stand too, we could hope, but that hope is fading now. How tragic, how degrading, that the marvellous thing that was Britain, the wonder of the world, should after all the travail and suffering and heroism and sacrifice and sheer bloody genius of centuries, end with the sorriest of whimpers, sold down the river by mere politicians, unworthy and third rate. And then it will be bye-bye Magna Carta, fare ye well Declaration of Arbroath, so long Bill of Rights and Constitution. You were great while you lasted.
If you have read the foregoing, it will come as no surprise if I repeat a phrase which I used in my introduction: that I have no wish to see our British laws and life influenced by the children of those wonderful people who gave us Belsen and Dachau. A reasonable outlook, I’d have thought, which would have commanded universal support at any time before 1970, and which I’m sure is still the view of a majority of my countrymen.
But not of the columnist A. N. Wilson, who in an article headed “We mustn’t believe all Germans are Nazis” was critical of what he called my school of thought, and by implication likened my opinions to those of Captain Mainwaring of Dad’s Army.
Now I admire Mr Wilson’s writing, agree with many of his opinions, and am not one of those who delight in crossing swords with other writers. But his piece made me realise that what I have just written about Europe is incomplete, since it doesn’t deal fully with one of my particular reasons for loathing the EU and all its works. For that reason I take him up—or rather, use his piece as a peg to discuss my apparent affinity with the hero of “Dad’s Army”, or at least with his outlook.
Well, Captain Mainwaring may be nothing more than a pompous buffoon to the snug, safe modern generation, but even from the comedy series he emerged as an extremely brave and patriotic, if hilarious, figure, and remembering the old men and youths parading in school playgrounds and drill halls in 1940, I’d say there were worse role models, and my immediate reaction was to give Mr Wilson the obvious and appropriate retort: “You stupid boy!” I refrained, preferring to point out that I never said, and don’t believe, that all Germans are Nazis. I’m just pretty sure that they’re all Germans, and that is the point.
You see, while I don’t wish to tar a whole nation with the same brush, and have the liveliest admiration for Wagner, Marlene Dietrich, Beethoven, von Lettow-Vorbeck (whom my father helped to chase all over East Africa, without success), Marshal Blucher, Franz Beckenbauer, Conrad Veidt, Kurt Weill, Gert Froebe, Ute Lemper, the great Sig Ruman of Ninotchka fame, and others too numerous to mention, including Goethe and Schiller (whom I’m sure I would admire if I ever read them)—despite all these worthy folk, I still cannot overlook the German national record which, I suggest, has few if any equals for brutality, atrocity, and aggression. Consider the Thirty Years War, Frederick the Great, Bismarck, the Kaiser, Hitler, and all that they add up to; it’s an impressive roll-call of barbarism, and hardly mitigated by all those fine composers, authors, philosophers, poets, art
istes, and the countless millions of decent Germans who, alas, have apparently been powerless to prevent their country becoming, from time to time, the abomination of the world.
A. N. Wilson deplored the fact that, for the Mainwaring generation, the German character seemed to be defined by the period 1933–45; we should, he said, know better, which is an interesting reproach from someone born in 1950. Twelve years in a shared German history is not, as he pointed out, a long time, but it happens to be the period of which we Mainwarings have bitter experience, and it seems to us not entirely inconsistent with the rest of German history. And while one doesn’t want to harp on about Hitler and the Holocaust and the Gestapo too much, it has to be remembered that they did happen, and were unique; no other nation, no other people, has ever done the like.
I don’t want to be unreasonable about this. It may be, as A. N. Wilson plainly believed, that the German nature, character, or whatever you care to call it, has changed in fifty years, and that the instability (for want of a better word) which led the German people to give overwhelming support to Hitler, follow him in his attempt to crush all Europe underfoot, abet with vigour his ghastly policy of genocide, reprisal, and total war, and attempt to remove him only when the war was plainly lost, has been eradicated entirely. But we shouldn’t take it for granted, as I think Mr Wilson wished us to do. He wrote of the “total extinction” of National Socialism; has he visited the Saltzkammergut lately, and seen the swastikas? Has he not read of alarm, in Germany itself, at the resurgence of neo-Nazism? Does he really believe that there is no nostalgia for the triumphant days of the Third Reich among that proud and valorous race, or that they have forgiven and forgotten that in two great wars the English-speaking people beat the hell out of them, humiliated them, conquered them?
The Light’s on at Signpost Page 9