The Conservatives are elected, and people are saying the Labour party is finished and redundant. I think there’s some truth to that. A prominent union leader says he wants a certain kind of replacement Labour leader or he will withdraw support. They want class war and mob power much as it dogged the country a few decades ago, and I think Britain has had enough of it. Blame others, comrade, be an angry serf with the rest of us. London underground drivers recently threatened to strike. One of them failed an alcohol test twice and was dismissed. For obvious reasons you might think, but not for the Left.

Left ideals are fine but their implementation is not. Social justice and equality are a good starting point but not to the detriment of the human spirit and acceptable values. Learn not to be a serf. Consider facts, like the unacceptable fact of drinking on the job. It’s deranged if you don’t do that. People think the Left are the nice guys and read the Guardian like a fashion. What you find on the Left is a different kind of oppression. It’s a kind of sentiment, let’s be nice, made paradoxically corporate. What you don’t like, comrade, is ownership of the means of production. What you do like, comrade, is trying to control the production of thinking.

With Socialism individuals are subsumed into the mass. You have no agency, and you’re not accountable. There are no inherent ethics, professionalism, or values. You’re a serf. The system you oppose is replaced by another with inbuilt failure. Nothing quite works, British Leyland style, but no one can complain. Soviet Russia is effectively alive in Britain, with rich Left leaders at the top leading their tribal mediocracy below. We don’t like change, comrade, because we are paradoxically conservative. We know our place, and only pretend to contest it, lacking the intellectual tools to really do so.

Acid remarks against the Left supposedly mean you support the Right. The Right are odious too. They like killing foxes. Not for culling reasons, achieved easily with a gun, but for sport reasons lied about as lifestyle. Although there, again, I blame the Left because they are the cause of identity so called politics devoid of ethics and responsibility. All people and cultures are equal say the Left. You can’t “discriminate”. The word “discrimination” was corrupted. The word is actually neutral, meaning discernment, but it was made political. We get the idea, don’t be mean to people, but there’s an insidious part to this. We are not all the same. There are many skills I will never have and many countries operate in backward terms. You are shamed and demonised (but not disproven) if you state the obvious. They say this is “political” like it’s GCSE sociology you don’t understand. The Mafia phrase was “business” when it actually meant violence. Street thugs say “respect” when they mean intimidation. The Left assume a moral sheen much as you find with religion. You are demonised with the first and lashed, burned, imprisoned or killed with the second if you criticise the ideas. Emmanuel Kant was right, everything is available for criticism, and Je Suis Charlie.

George Orwell’s 1984 was a warning about the totalitarian Left and it’s central to this criticism. His novel features a war against facts where you might object for example if you see sixteen people doing the job of four, and are then told the point of the Party is to give people jobs. War is peace, peace is war, we all eventually love Big Brother. If you will pay fourteen people regardless you could find something worthy for them to do. That’s positive, comrade, but the Left is devoid of imagination. Soviet art was made into propaganda. Everything gets dragged down to class struggle. Their Revolution is a religious idea, embedded in a belief system which is the problem. In Stalinist Russia successful farmers were imprisoned and killed as enemies of equality. In many parts of the world if you criticise religion you are killed. Individuation lies at the heart of human capacity, Jung said, not tribalism.

These are forget-me-nots. Exquisitely pretty flowers and some of the first I’d seen in 2015. They grow a few miles from red Manchester, across the border into the “vibrantly diverse” political area of red, blue, and orange Stockport. The flowers don’t recognise geography or so called politics and are thriving at the Mersey Vale Nature Park. My Dad once described himself as classless. I feel the same. What I’ve found however is people judge me in acrimonious class terms. They want class war categories. I’ve got a few stories about that. It’s as if they want to support their football team, while I’m not playing football, and don’t actually like it.

Three reds recently left their party at Stockport referring to a culture of systematic bullying. The same occurred in Rotherham when people identified the sex abuse scandal. Sarah Champion did so and was treated like an apostate: shouted down at meetings, ignored, vilified. The problem was the culture, what I call the sheen of political correctness, which lies at the heart of Labour. The same occurred when a senior union spokesman (as above) accused others of racism when they objected to a Tower Hamlets mayor. He was investigated and found guilty of fraud, intimidation, misuse of public funds and corrupt practices, removed from office, and the election will run again. That’s the Left for you. Shaped by inappropriate sociology leading to unacceptable practices, they’re like solicitors representing the guilty. It’s a deranged moral inversion when they accuse others of nastiness while systematically enabling and condoning it themselves. Solicitors ask for large fees. The Left asks for tribal affiliation, group think, and union fees.

There was a walker in a lonely valley who sees a flower at his feet. He’d never seen it before. He picks the flower, and the mountainside opens. He enters and sees gold and precious gems. He gathers them, and drops the little flower which murmurs, faintly, forget-me-not. But he is intent on the wealth and ignores the plea. The rift in the mountain closes and he barely escapes. The tiny flower that had opened the cave was lost forever. At state schools literature is resisted. If you enjoy language, stories and their ideas, you are castigated by the majority. DH Lawrence had that experience in his mining community. I did too. I suppose there’s satisfaction in thinking such people won’t enjoy forget-me-not folklore. I read a story once about prisoners who nearly rioted when a fresh, healthy menu was offered in place of constant pie and chips. They wanted, comrade, their pie and chips.


Manchester Wild Flowers: Mersey Vale Forget Me Nots

Friday May 29, 2015