The Night of the Bastard

The results of the European elections were released Saturday night, and it’s difficult to imagine a worse evening/early morning for anyone left of centre without bringing Tequila and large prostitutes into it.

The socialists were comprehensively hammered all across the continent, whilst neoliberal, Euroskeptic and other centre-right parties did well at a time of global economic crisis. (Which, as I remarked to a friend, is like hearing Gary Glitter in the next room whilst you’re already being forcibly fucked in the arse.) As we speak, Silvio Berlusconi is rubbing his salty folds of flesh together in greedy anticipation of another stolen few years as de facto pimp of Italian politics, whilst the likes of Zapatero are licking their wounds. In the UK, David Cameron gloated smugly over a Conservative Wales, comparing himself to David Lloyd George; the vile Dan Hannan recited a Dr Seuss-like ditty before joining Nigel Farange, who looks like a cross between Peewee Herman and a diseased cock, for a spot of mutual masturbation. Finally, and at a glance most disturbingly, Britain elected not one, but two fascists to the European Parliament for the first time ever, only a day removed from the 65th anniversary of the D-Day landings.

We had all anticipated weeks in advance that the British National Party would do well at these elections. I myself had stated it might be a blessing in disguise, that they would go the way of other smaller parties in the past and collapse under their newfound weight and exposure. We all knew that, no matter how well they did here, a first past the post set-up would stop them from ever advancing. But it did nothing to lessen the blow when it finally arrived. When it was announced that Andrew Brons, an outspoken ex-Colin Jordan brownshirt, had gained a seat in Yorkshire and Humber, those of us who had stayed up to watch were nearly speechless. Anger, vitriolic and disbelieving, flooded the Facebook home page. But even that was only a warm up for what happened next: Nick Griffin, leader of the BNP, won a North West seat.

A region hung its collective head in shame. The grinning, bloated face of Griffin, like a deliriously spastic Danny DeVito from Batman Returns, seemed to be tattooed on the inside of our eyelids. How could they have triumphed here, and in York, of all places? The answer was clear: low turnouts and electorate apathy had gifted this bumbling far-right Red Triangle Gang seats in an election where they had actually done worse in the popular vote than last time. But the response was impassioned and bewildered: I, for one, in a storm of mentally retarded e-fury, cut all ties to the North West on my Facebook and blog. Never again, I told myself, would I be proud of living in Liverpool, never again would I reminisce about the days when walking viruses like Kelvin MacKenzie would refer to us as a Socialist Republic for our romantic refusal to bend a lip to Thatcherism’s demented labia.

Awake and relatively sober now, we should all be able to take a step back from this and realise the fascist gains, here and in places like Hungary, are an embarrassment and nothing more. That noise you hear is your keys in the washing machine, not jackboots marching up and down outside.

What is far more worrying is Labour dying, a directionless and naive Conservative Party benefitting (although not experiencing the huge swing Cameron promised: realistically, it was a disappointing night for them, too), the worryingly more-mainstream-than-the-BNP UKIP making massive gains and the Lib Dems completely failing. With Vince Cable on their side, and lacking the baggage of the Tories and Labour, this should have been their moment. Instead, they dropped to fourth. Nick Clegg should stand down before the UK has no left-leaning liberal voice left.

What should we learn from this? We do have an enemy. But it’s not the immigrants, like the Daily Mail wants us to believe, or the Commie Jewish Bankers, like the Völkischer Beobachter told us, or the ‘Islamofascists,’ as anyone on the right seems to be screaming, or the Scientologists. It’s not even the BNP: they are a symptom, not the disease itself. The disease is the whole system, and our reaction to it. When liberalism was young, there was a time when our leaders feared us. Now, they only fear us not turning up to the polls. Anyone who doesn’t want this to happen again needs to make their voices a little louder whichever way they can.
For my part, I’m forming the Justice League party tomorrow. The good news is there are still a few places available: I need a Catwoman and an Aquaman before noon.

There are positives to take from this. The Pirate Party, who refuses to treat culture as a commodity, gained a seat. 50% more people voted Green this time around. And Labour took a kicking, perhaps the only centre-right party to do so off the top of my head (though who knows what their orientation is these days?) even if it was to the benefit of the Eton Alliance. But we need to face up to the fact that those who did well are those who are largely responsible for the current economic crisis, and it’s because of our willingness to let corrupt politicians off the hook instead of voting against them. And by the time a real election runs around, those of us who don’t want Dan Hannan to be stuttering the Hungry Hungry Caterpillar to a captivated House of Commons or more demented aspects of British life getting on to so much as a stage in a strip club with a grin on their face need to suck it up before the event rather than eating it afterwards.