Go Home England, you’re drunk

Overwhelmed (?) by the news that Prince William has condemned English football fans for their racially motivated violence following England’s defeat last night, joining the likes of Boris ‘piccaninnes and watermelon smiles’ Johnson, I feel compelled to address the bullshit pouring out of the BBC, those people who gave Nigel ‘flamboyantly fash’ Farage more airtime than the rest of the party leaders combined in the run up to the 2013 general election (giving him 23% of the overall vote in the end).

The Tories hostile environment enabled racists to rear their ugly heads after a coupla decades of relative inactivity. The mainstream media published racial slurs in full, BBC treasures like Clarkson and Du Beke were given free passes for their unabashed use of violent language (it doesn’t appear to have hurt their prospects much, has it)? If anything they seem to have been rewarded for their unapologetic racism. The BBC downplayed any threat to people of colour, broadcasting fascists with swastika tattoos on primetime news, suggesting ‘racial motive theories’ where there were clear cut examples of white supremacist violence (the attacker was shouting “white power” as he hacked into his victim with a machete, at Tesco). Newsnight’s Evan Davis was pictured with Britain First scum like Fransen, with the latter claiming he had campaigned for them. The BBC has systematically terminated programming (over the past 30 years) that would appeal to its wide audience of license payers in favour of white supremacy, it has platformed the worst humanity has to offer and silenced dissenting voices. It is British state controlled media and should be treated as such.

If Prince William was so anti racist, where was he for his black sister in law? Oh yeah , happy for her to take the fall to cover his cheating ways. Why didn’t he condemn the Sonnekrieg division when it threatened her with racially motivated violence? Harry left the country to protect his wife and child but the British royal family have been happy to lay the blame (of familial estrangement) squarely at the feet of a black woman, who is oh so powerful she has the power to break the entire establishment. This is what the royal family does to anyone who calls out racism, they use that racism to silence them. Fuck the lot of them, quite frankly. They haven’t atoned for their empire and seem to be quietly hankering for it, virtue signalling only when they see the threat of a republic on the horizon.

I’m glad England lost. I’ve watched as the poc around me doubled down on their efforts to belong this past week, how they took on the nationalism of their oppressors to endear themselves and how rapidly it turned on them. Will we never learn? They do not appreciate your efforts to assimilate, they think you are worthless and therefore of course you would fly their flag for them, who wouldn’t want a piece of that winning action? Jump those hoops like a champion and you might be afforded a sliver of that undeserved pride. Fail and they will come for you and your loved ones, twas ever thus.

(Protect Rashford, Sancho and Saka and their families).

(Keep the non famous people of colour in your ‘thoughts and prayers’ because no one really gives a shit about us).

I’ll grant football one thing, it did the unexpected, taking the knee, submitting to humanity over ego but look at how the most special snowflakes responded.. they rejected their beloved nationalism, like it doesn’t inform their reason for being. Cutting off their whole damn nose to spite their pinched and haggard faces. THAT’S dangerous. There is no reasoning with these people, no compromise, no living in harmony with others, only violent and coercive power and control they will sell their own grandma for.

When England loses, domestic violence increases by 38%. This shouldn’t be an incentive for anyone to get on side, because it happens when England wins or draws too, by 26%. It is almost as if toxic patriarchy doesn’t need an excuse. It does however shed light on the type of fan football attracts.

You cannot, if you think about it seriously for one second, want to be a part of England or its legacy. Read about the Moriscos and Moranos of Moorish Spain and how despite their best efforts to assimilate with coercive power, even changing their religions from Islam and Judaism to Christianity, ultimately paid the price with their lives, because you cannot appease sociopathic narcissists, you only feed the monster.

As poc we need to accept we are worthy exactly as we are. We don’t need to perform our worthiness, it is with us from the moment we are born.

(A great big hi hello how you doing to my pal Neville Southall who did amazingly on the ol’ BBC news – might have been Sky, not my telly – calling a bin bag of custard what it is.. I love you big guy).

We need to talk about the NHS

A comment from a white person prompted me to write this post today.

“I’m not inhibiting freedom of speech, am I? I’m criticising the correlation between an anecdote and the principle of free healthcare”.

This in response to a gentle stranger who’d defended me against a racist microaggression. I had posted a comment throwing myself behind the NHS but had queried whether we, as poc should, given the way we were neglected during the pandemic, and personally it’s at the forefront of my mind having had a run in with a 111 staffer just a few days ago.

I hurt my foot unexpectedly, quite badly, and was chasing my tail for a bit, in this new world where the virus trumps all other ailments. I had told myself during the course of it to stay away from the NHS unless I literally broke a leg, and here I was with a suspected fracture, unsure of what to do. I lay down and waited for a couple of days until it was clear the swelling was getting worse not better. I was in a lot of pain, but my life has been mostly all of that so everything is relative. My first call to 111 was disconnected their end, after holding for 20 mins. Disheartened I wouldn’t have called back if I hadn’t had a family member badgering me to seek help, rolling off worse case scenarios where I lost my foot. The staffer who answered after another 20 minutes on hold was lovely and empathetic. The second one insisted I perform a weight bearing test I’d already failed for her colleague, not even 10 minutes before. She wouldn’t move past the question until I did and then seemed disinterested, and hesitant to qualify what I was telling her, begrudgingly giving me an ‘appointment’ but no allocated time “just turn up”, and to a hospital on the other side of town which is rejected by most minorities because that is where we go to die. She also said I would have to make my own way. I decided against, I’d had my quota of gammon for the day and didn’t want to put anyone out. I only went when a couple of my friends insisted on watching my dog and also driving me there. A nurse at QE hospital told me I should have just called for an ambulance because I am entitled to get myself checked out, and the foot looked bad enough to justify it.

(He also said the coronavirus isn’t going anywhere and if we don’t start looking after each other we might as well accept it’s all over.)

Growing up I’d seen characters in films collapse with stomach ulcers only to be rushed to A+E and pumped full of drugs. When mine kicked off (the same week my mum barely made it through covid), I writhed in bed for a week, limiting my food choices, and winging it on acid reducing tablets, from which I am not yet fully recovered. I’ve always been hesitant to put any stock in homeopathy but that is just what I’ve had to do these past few months, to get me from one day to the next with as little reflux as I can hope for. I take a concoction containing small amounts of belladonna, which can actually be beneficial in small doses to help relax the digestive tract. Is it legit? No fucking idea. I cannot deny its effects however, though am painfully aware that mercury was once considered useful for its short term relief.

My digestive issues started as a small child, my mother recalling “as small babies (I have an identical twin) you were sick all the time and wouldn’t stop crying”. By age 5, I had stopped eating and couldn’t go to the toilet. I had a brief stay in a children’s ward, where I was poked and prodded, injected with dyes. A nurse would sit with me at meal times, to count how many times I chewed my food. I am still an incredibly slow eater as a result but it doesn’t seem to have affected my bowel health for the better, all that extra mastication. As an adult I understand my problems were psychological (we were being dragged up in a highly stressful environment) but back then they blamed me for not chewing enough and constipating myself. Whenever I am stressed my bowel switches off. Almost 40 years later and it’s on the brink of collapse. Have I registered these concerns with my Tory GP practice? Have I fuck. What’s the point? They’ll only prescribe an antacid.

In my early 20s I felt like something was wrong in my lower abdomen. I felt something sloshing inside me and it made me nauseous and anxious as hell. I went to the GP who during the course of my appointment suggested “women don’t drink enough water” and “perhaps it is your Bangladeshi partner’s cooking”. I went over his head and saw a female doctor at a sexual health clinic who immediately found a mass of concerning proportions and wrote a letter to my GP insisting on a referral for an ultrasound. 6 weeks later they discovered a 17cm ovarian cyst lying dangerously close to my kidney and booked me in for emergency surgery to have it removed. Within 6 months it was back, leading to the almost complete removal of my left ovary (I had no idea how much was missing until a flippant remark from a doctor at a different hospital). After the 2nd surgery I had trouble coming around from the anaesthetic and in my haze overheard a nurse suggest it was another patient of so and so’s, going through the same delayed reaction. When I brought this up in a complaint letter they said I must have imagined it, as I was still on drugs.

A few years later I went into hospital for a managed miscarriage, after my 16 week old foetus died in utero. I was advised by the lovely midwives to come back and stay in hospital for my second dose of Misoprostol as the contractions could start immediately and might result in the foetus becoming stuck in my cervix, which would be intolerably painful and life threatening. I had a wonderful midwife to start but she left after a few hours leaving just one male doctor to cover the ward overnight and one midwife, who was very empathetic but limited in what she could do. At various points I pleaded with the doctor to check what was happening because something was wrong, only for him to retort this is what childbirth felt like. Only it wasn’t was it? Even without the additional pain, it wasn’t normal childbirth, it was a forced miscarriage. I didn’t get breaks as you do with regular labour, it felt like one long contraction, and it took my breath away. I was slapped awake a few times after I’d told myself that I just had to let go and it would all go away. The following morning, 24hrs later, my original midwife came back into work, took one look at me and went pale. Suddenly everything moved at lightning speed. For years after I would get PTSD flashbacks of surgical packs being torn open, metal instruments clanging about, and fearing they would use the gnarliest ones to crack me open. The umbilical cord snapped as they tried to retrieve the foetus, still cradled in his sac. I felt the steam rise from it when it plopped outside my body. A tide of rancid blood followed, it was like a scene from a horror movie. I don’t know how I came out of that alive but the reply to my complaint letter was just as dismissive of my concerns, owing to my mental state, as it had been regarding my ovarian surgery.

I know now I was being denied reproductive justice, as many millions of woc have before me. I still cringe when I think of the white male doctor at St Mary’s in London, with his gaggle of young female doctors, whispering and giggling mere feet away from me when I had attended following a spontaneous heavy bleed. Upon seeing the scan of my ovaries exclaiming “wow, right, someone has had a right go there haven’t they?” not really asking me a question, just feeling entitled to talk about me as if I am not a human being who needs her ovaries or had even been made aware there was a huge chunk missing out of one of the girls. I was reassured by a nurse, “don’t worry, your other one kicks in to compensate for the missing one. You’ll still have 80% function overall”. I wasn’t happy but what could I do?

A middle manager at my temp job working for Refuge told me off for complaining about the standard of care I had received, she was a Tory who’d given her child a stupid Tory name, and said that I should be grateful for a health service at all, because in other parts of the world it wouldn’t be free. This is a racist microaggression I’ve heard countless times, that we should be grateful for any scrap they throw our way here because our respective home countries are so much worse.. they weren’t before your sort rocked up, Emma. In fact your middle to lower classes had a frighteningly short life expectancy before you bled my motherland dry. You were locking mentally ill people up in iron maidens where we were loving people back to good mental health. If you see deprivation and poverty there now, it was only your doing so pipe the fuck down unless you want to be schooled.

When I slipped a disc 3 months following the miscarriage, after I had a car accident on the morning of the inquest, no doubt giving it that final push after all the physical trauma of pushing out a stuck foetus, I was scheduled for surgery again. 2 weeks later it slipped a second time and I was rushed in for an emergency operation. On that occasion the doctors were impressed I wasn’t in more pain or incontinent, owing to the positioning of the fragments. Doctors often marvel at my resilience, but that is not to say I am not experiencing pain, I just haven’t been allowed to express it so I don’t, I dissociate instead. I get angry and snappy. The second I am validated however, it all melts away. I am not an angry person but I have learnt to be angry in order to get results. I wish I’d given the army physio at the QE a bit of that when he suddenly did a u turn on my planned spinal fusion with the excuse that I reminded him of one of his army lads, raring to get back on the horse, resistant to taking it easy. He blamed me for my recurrent disc prolapses, despite the fact I had been advised by my surgeon to mobilise asap, in order to heal faster. I had literally been following doctor’s orders but he manipulated it to deny me care. I saw him once, when I attended A+E for a burst blood vessel in my wrist, and he looked like a rabbit caught in headlights, couldn’t get away fast enough. I felt like he knew I knew what he’d done.

This arbitrary shifting of the goal posts is the norm for people of colour on rainy fascist island. If you are making a fuss you’re a wimp and have no pain tolerance, which is a stereotype white people insist on about minorities. Otherwise you are just putting it on for attention. If you are stoic, then you’re clearly not in enough pain to warrant care. We cannot win.

My great grandparents lived into their 90s, up in the mountains of Pakistan and Kashmir. My grandparents migrated here and died in their early 70s. My dad died at just 62. I have no doubt I will beat the family best. We have a level of care here, we minorities, they slap a band aid on the symptoms you present with but never seek out the root cause, and that is if you are polite and bow and scrape to their superiority regardless of how they speak to you. If you know what’s up, you can forget it.

If you are wondering why I have been so unwell in my comparatively short life, you might consider how inflammation features in all of my conditions. Inflammation is a stress response and I am a highly sensitive person. I take things to heart and I feel the pain of communities. I cannot give this world or its inhabitants a good review, and I’m praying to the sky god that reincarnation is just a myth.

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger but I disagree, it makes you weaker over time, and shortens your life expectancy. What a toxic male platitude.

(Google ‘Begum Syndrome’ for a more in depth understanding of how South Asian women are treated by white medical staff)

(Perhaps the George Cross is an appropriate award)

Scary White Men

Keeping this brief because I’ve already spent more time on this blog in the past week than I had planned to, but I couldn’t let this pass without documenting it.

The prime minister has condemned footage of thugs harassing Chief Medical Officer Chris Whitty just a week after a second man was charged with using threatening, abusive, or insulting behaviour with the intention of causing distress to a BBC journalist. On both occasions the assailants were white middle aged men. I cannot say that I am particularly perturbed by these scenes, I’d rather some white on white violence, than the norm. I’d grown quite sick of appealing to the government on behalf of all visibly Muslim women, to be taken seriously, because I knew even back then, what goes around comes around, and I would just have to be patient.

You can pretend you are an island, that your actions do not affect the world, that you are somehow disconnected, above, apart, from all the rest, but you aren’t and can never be. We live in a society, with rules, for a reason. You can’t silence a victim forever. You cannot lead by terrible example then feign horror when the monkey does what it sees. You cannot ignite a wildfire and hope to contain its reach. We’re just not evolved enough, Kevin, I thought you knew that, as exceptionally bright and worthy as you are. You unleashed the hounds, to do your dirty work, but they’ve had enough of your lies, and your cheap promises to kick all the foreigners out (even your attempts to deport Jamaicans – the least privileged – will eventually result in your imprisonment) were just a ploy to test the waters, and see whether the masses could be coerced into complicity. You just didn’t get the numbers did ya chump?

First they came for me, and you encouraged it. You cannot uphold the law for some and not others, it creates carnage.

I would advise government officials, journalists at the state controlled BBC and anyone else with ties to the right to log off if it’s really that bad. Stay at home, if you’re that scared. If you didn’t go looking for a fight, you wouldn’t get one. That’s what you get for being an attention seeker. Safe spaces are for snowflakes, remember?

(Unlike the rest of us you’ll probably get police protection at great cost to the taxpayer). (Still, nobody likes a copper anymore).

(I am obviously outraged that this should happen to anyone, there are a number of public order offences being committed and Whitty is clearly distressed BUT this is nothing compared to the violence Muslim women have suffered, and without justice or care).

RIP Near aka Byuu (TW: Suicide)

It has been a while since I’ve posted anything related to Kiwi Farms but sadly, it would appear they pressured another one of their victims to suicide. There has been a surge of clicks to this site, and following it back, with assistance from one of our group, we discovered that a well known programmer took their own life following many years of harassment and targeted stalking. KF were gloating about it but as of 17.15 GMT I can report the site appears to be down, with an error message from Cloudflare. Could it be that Cloudflare can no longer justify protecting the nazi styled criminal activities of what is essentially a death cult? Pity it took for someone who was well liked and admired for their contribution to tech for Cloudflare to sit up and take notice. If they have, that is, the site might be down for an unrelated reason*.

Near (otherwise known as Byuu) was widely respected according to the news reports. They had developed “the single most accurate emulator” for Nintendo. Near was autistic and non binary and was attacked for their identity. Whilst they sought support and had some success with it, the good work was undone when KF escalated their attacks to include their friends and family. KF specifically targeted a friend who had demonstrated suicidal ideation.

Near felt responsible and could not cope.

“The internet is not a game. It’s real life. I’m a real person. This stuff really hurts. I poured my entire life into this. I have no real-life friends, I have no other reason for being. Only this. And now I have nothing.


It’s too late for me, but I pray that someone, at some point, will do something about that website. There’s too many people suffering, and no one seems to care because we are relative nobodies online, and they know that. Evil triumphs when good men do nothing.”

It is the worst indictment of our culture, in this late stage capitalist hellscape that silicon valley bosses feel so emboldened as to withhold justice from those they deem lesser, because “we are relative nobodies”. Near knew this, and I do too, the law only serves the rich and entitled. KF serves as a tool for the white supremacist state, only the most entitled would take on an entire country and live to tell the tale, sites have been taken down for far less.

The following is a statement from one of Near’s friends. They shared it with another of their friends, a security consultant by the name of Hector Marcan. Trigger warning for suicide.

“At 11:45 on Sunday, I was on a phone call with Near. They’d just taken a large overdose of codeine and guanfancine. I saw a photo of the noose.

30 minutes into the call, Les Voyages De L’âme by Alcest started playing at the other end. I wouldn’t hear their voice again.

“Near took their own life”. That’s how a news article would phrase it. Suicide is a voluntary action, a problem with oneself. Implying nobody is to blame but the victim and perpetrator, one and the same.

But that’s not how human brains work. We are not cold, calculating machines. We are a product of our environment. We are shaped by our experiences. A single, powerful traumatic event can change a person forever. So can a million small ones. This is not a weakness of the mind, it is a fundamental part of what it means to be human.

Near was a brilliant mind in a corner of the web all too often rife with toxicity and harassment. Despite this, they continued to pour their life into the one thing they loved: emulation and retro gaming. Developer of the bsnes, higan, and ares emulators, Near was a relentless force for accuracy in the formerly haphazard world of emulation. Working out the most elusive hardware glitches and corner cases, they advanced the world of SNES emulation by leaps and bounds. They also recently released their ultimate labor of love, a fan translation of Bahamut Lagoon that might well be the most exacting and meticulously crafted language adaptation of a video game of the era.

Near was also an incredibly kind, funny, and welcoming person. I’d known them for several years, but after they moved to Tokyo a few years back we started talking more often. One of the most modest people I’ve ever known, they were unlikely to suggest hanging out in person, but never rejected an offer. I wish I’d done that more often. We’ve had long text conversations, and shared many stories.

Near did not commit suicide. Near was murdered. Victim of a lifetime of harassment. After an abusive childhood, and followed by community toxicity, Near was eventually targeted by Kiwi Farms. Members of that website make a sport of preying on the less fortunate, on those in positions liable to being emotionally abused. And they do so relentlessly. From the comfort of anonymity, of sitting in front of their computer thousands of kilometers away, they take glee in slowly destroying the psyche of others, bit by bit. To death, if possible.

Near survived that. Many wouldn’t, but Near was strong enough to overcome that level of emotional abuse. But Kiwi Farms is relentless. Not to be defeated in their pursuit of utter emotional and psychological destruction, they went after who Near treasured most: their friends. Doxing some, directly harassing others, and even specifically seeking out suicidal people to target.

That broke Near.

After falling down a spiral of depression and eventually breaking off contact with everyone last year, I feared for the worst. Eventually, they were luckily able to get help and found medication that helped them cope with the psychological scars of abuse in late 2020. I first heard from Near again in late October 2020, and we again started having chats. It seemed things were getting better.

Unfortunately, medication can be a fickle beast. It didn’t work forever. The looming threat of Kiwi Farms, of their power to destroy not just Near but also their friends, caused them daily anxiety that just wouldn’t go away. Worried that their friends would feel burdened by their condition again, Near decided to avoid the subject. I only found out about this relapse today.

To the people of Kiwi Farms, this is a videogame. That the people on the other side of the screen are real makes no difference. They delight in the kill counter going up just like an FPS player would. Lacking in any empathy, they have no regard for the damage they inflict on others.

Why do we tolerate this? “Harassment”, “online bullying”. How are these any different from terrorism, from someone grabbing a gun and taking the lives of others? Why does it matter that a physical bullet was not involved? The objective and the end result are the same. Saying Near “took their life” is giving these people an out for their actions, which directly resulted in the intentional death of a person.

Some of you may be aware of Near’s notoriously paranoid opsec. After getting to know them, it became clear this was a defense mechanism; a product of all the abuse they received over their entire life. I was perhaps one of the few lucky enough to exchange deeply personal stories with them, yet I never knew their full name – because I didn’t need to. But they’d have told me if I asked. Near is anything but cold and distant in person; those attributes were necessary façades grown in response to lifelong harassment and abuse.

We, as the internet community, need to take a hard look at what it means to continue to tolerate the existence of these communities and the actions of those in them. Not just Kiwi Farms; sites like that serve to concentrate people like this, but they exist across all communities and social media. Being passive about this problem means being complicit.

DreamHost, you are the Kiwi Farms domain registrar. CloudFlare, you protect Kiwi Farms against attacks. You both share responsibility in not just Near’s death, but also others, as well as the pain and harassment of thousands more. Is this the image you want to maintain? Is the income worth the weight on your conscience?

I last saw Near on June 9. We had sushi in Akihabara, and then sat down for a cup of coffee. I was a bit busy that day, but I was looking forward to inviting them over to hang out again soon.

Les Voyages De L’âme kept playing on repeat at the other end of the call for another hour.

I couldn’t bring myself to hang up.”

Published on behalf of a mutual friend of Near and I, who wishes to remain anonymous for their own protection. -marcan.


I believe Hector. I believe their friend. I believe Near.

I do not believe Kiwi Farms.

I am posting these images taken from the KF front page. This is standard KF bs.

My Miracle Recovery

Given the news that the health secretary Matt Hancock has vacated his post following the revelation he was having an affair with an aide, resulting in the appointment of Sajid Javid as his successor, this could be a time for change. Will Javid follow in his footsteps and let people die from preventable causes through wilful neglect? Or will he, even as a Tory, dig deep into his humanity, and his faith (if he really believes) and preserve life as he is instructed to by his maker? We can but sit and wait with baited breath.

This is something I have grown quite accustomed to, sitting around and waiting. Long before social distancing was even a thing, I sat and waited, for a time when I felt safe again. For complex reasons my body and brain had had enough and I wasn’t budging. I have actually been in a sort of lockdown for over a decade, after a bunch of really awful life changing events I didn’t believe I could ever recover from.

I had survived but wasn’t really living. Nobody understood what was happening to me, and they assumed a lot of things. That I was “lazy”. Or I just “wanted to be taken care of”. There was a problem at my core, and who I was as a person, rather than any real physiological change in my brain or body. I became medicated when my doctor and therapist agreed that these drugs were made for people like me, that I wasn’t being over-prescribed by apathetic doctors or labelled by overzealous therapists, that I had a chemical deficiency and it would need to be treated, just like any other illness. A lot of my symptoms were physical, electrolyte imbalances caused restless legs which in turn exacerbated the intrusive thoughts. Mental illness is a misnomer because the condition affects every last nerve, not just the mind. I had a grumbling ulcer in my stomach I wasn’t even aware of, assumed it was just because I held my belly tight in my hyper-vigilance but I do carry all my stress around my abdomen. Further proof if it were needed, in the shape of a sequestered disc in my lower back. Two emergency back operations in the early 2010s left me with the core strength of a blancmange and I feared the consequences of accidentally bumping into someone in the street, especially as the hostile environment implemented by the tories pretty much guaranteed a confrontation (I’m not a passive passerby, I always talk back, even if it’s not my fight).

There were also nazis after me. I’d reported them to the cops but then was hounded by self identifying police officers on the internet who called me an attention seeker and reiterated the advice I was given at the cop shop to log off if I didn’t like it. West Midlands police even blocked me on social media. There has been evidence to suggest that the pervasive and constant stream of racism and injustice poc encounter leads to inflammation which can turn into autoimmune conditions and even cancer. It saddens me to think the body turns on itself when it has been under attack for too long. Being in a constant state of fight or flight takes its toll. If you’ve ever wondered why so many minorities are sick or disabled and consequently on benefits, this is your answer.

This connection between state of mind and body cannot be underestimated. When we were forced to stay at home, resulting in home and job losses for many, the government were forced to act. They suspended evictions, or were supposed to have done. A knock on effect was that people on benefits were given a period of grace, no badgering from review officers, or brown envelopes, and my housing benefit was increased slightly to match what I was being charged for rent (I never understood where the government thought I would find the shortfall, being in the support group, surely they were aware I was just using another benefit, that should have been put to better use elsewhere?)

The results have been astounding to say the least.

Without the constant fear of a government snoop peering over my shoulder at every turn, I could relax and go with the flow. The fresh air and extended periods of glorious lockdown sunshine I wouldn’t be judged for enjoying righted something inside me. I started to want to do things, talk to people, learn new skills. I taught myself to sew and I’m learning Spanish on Duolingo (heck, if I’m going to do life, I might want to get off this rainy fascist island at some point and go where the people look a little more like me). I took my dog on long government prescribed walks. I even felt a bit braver with my face mask on, if they can’t see you they’re less likely to think you’re asking for it, but mostly I felt courageous because I’d started to really work on my physical fitness. When you haven’t got someone telling you that an arbitrary thing means you are well, you can explore a bit more and push yourself harder without the fear that a one time event where you walked for more than a mile means you are fit for work and they are going to snatch away the safety net. That fear is debilitating. To let people recover, you have to give them time and space to heal.

I’ve been out of work since 2010. Up until 2020 I was struggling and truly believed I would never enter into normal society again yet within such a short time I feel like a different person. It’s as though the whole world slowed down and allowed me the chance to catch up, on my own terms. I have a ways to go but I want to travel! I could smack a nazi or two like they were nobody’s child (teaching myself Krav Maga offa YouTube) and that is the biggest confidence boost, I’m not so afraid anymore. Ironically all those who were thriving before all of this seem to be wobbling a bit, unsure of this new world they find themselves in, and yet I am, for the first time in over a decade contemplating getting a job, if I can find one. I might even have an edge over the millions of normies who are suddenly feeling the effects of isolation and deprivation having had their privileges snatched from them through no fault of their own. That loss of power is intensely familiar to me, and I empathise. I just wish someone had shown me the same humanity instead of insinuating I thrived on my victimhood and am just averse to hard work.

With many millions in the British workforce now suffering from long covid, the government’s efforts to reduce the national debt by killing off tens of thousands of the most needy and vulnerable have come back to bite them in the butt. You can deny an individual their rights but you cannot fight an army of millions, try though they will, not when the NHS and other scientific bodies are witness to it in real time and can advocate on their behalf. Apparently yoga can cure you of long covid, as well as depression and any other ailment that might keep you out of work and autonomous. Good luck declaring millions of people fit for work just cos you say they are.. snort. I’d advise the establishment tread with caution in this new world of ours, the plebs aren’t playing anymore.

Classy White Privilege

There have been some suggestions from our side that white kids are doing badly at school as a direct result of Tory cuts, that the closing of libraries and cutting of sure start schemes was always the plan, to ensure a docile electorate, and yes, this is a massive contributing factor but these issues existed long before 2010. Whenever they (white supremacists) want to deny a group privileges they pit them against the majority, we all know this. This is a false flag rally cry, they are not being denied, it is self actualisation among the proud working class whites, to reject education and its connotations. They are not being excluded, they are CHOOSING not to participate. Who wants to rack up a debt of 40 grand when there are no jobs? The upper middle classes and above can afford to do degrees regardless of whether they result in a job, but it isn’t the same for the poor.

When I was growing up in the 1990s, they suddenly realised girls were doing much better than boys in terms of education, that with just a little encouragement girls could not only overtake but do exceptionally better than the opposite sex. Men’s rights sorts complained that ladette culture was hurting boys and that positive discrimination in favour of girls was actually discriminatory. When I was doing GCSE sociology in 1996, I learnt that white children outperformed all the rest, with Indians coming in a close second, Pakistanis trailing behind, and Bangladeshi and Afro Caribbean children struggling the most. White working class boys had always done poorly, comparatively, not because they were competing with any other group but because of the nature of white working class culture, formed as a retaliation to the brutal ruling classes who’d historically menaced and killed off free thinking and autonomous individuals among their population, leaving behind a pliant workforce, ready to serf the land and line the pockets of their superiors. Learning was for snobs, who thought they were better than you.

In fact I had dumbed myself down as a kid and young adult, so I might fit in better with my peers in a post 9/11 world, where it became a precarious thing, to know one’s own mind and the state of things. I actively ignored my gut instincts, used smaller words so as not to embarrass anyone, making myself so small my body reacted with disease. I had been labelled a trouble maker, a provocateur, someone who was too big for her boots, for merely identifying the truth and so I lied to myself and everyone else for many years, until I decided the world was only in the state it was because of my actions. I admonished myself for the many microaggressions I let slip. Every time I agreed to the notion I was not like the others, I had let standards slip and so I vowed to speak my truth to my dying breath, regardless of whom it might upset.

I had grown tired of sympathising with the white working class, who seemed all too happy to dump working poc in the shit when they felt like it. I questioned how it was that white working class people decried oppression from their ruling classes whilst simultaneously doing their dirty work for them. It was workers with shaved heads and nazi tattoos that used to board the number 6 bus into Sparkhill for a spot of p*ki bashing. The National Front and BNP comprised of working class thugs in cheap shiny suits. With a few trigger words they can be whipped into a violent frenzy, by the very same people they pretend to hate, yet we, as working class poc must rise above the violence and dehumanisation to show solidarity to our oppressors, out of some twisted class consciousness, essentially keeping ourselves uneducated and unable to change our lot in life, just like them? Just so we can belong?

We saw the reactions of the Brexit voting working class when the experts tried to tell them they were wrong, and why. They responded with aggression and absolute disgust for informed opinions. They were sick of experts. They wanted all the p*kis out, full stop. Only in Britain do people pride themselves on their ignorance, demanding we all speak English so they can revel in their monolingual mediocrity. I still marvel at the way a white working class housemate, twice my age, had spat at me to stop speaking my p*ki language around people who couldn’t understand it, because it was rude. Sorry Julie, but you were rude first, ya prize gammon.

There is also this fascination around migrant families and their motivations. Aspirational poc parents aren’t a new discovery. This ‘debate’ has churned on for as long as I can remember, the idea that the white working class is missing some component of privilege that has been passed on to poc whilst the white working classes had their backs turned. Wwc people believe it is because we are arrogant and do it because we love to humiliate them and this is why they must remind us we are just p*kis in the end.. but it goes a lot deeper than that. As poc, we are not competing with anyone, rather we are instilled with a sense of pride in our roots, tracing them back to a time when we had power and unimaginable wealth, it wasn’t even that long ago, perhaps 4 or 5 generations back, (and we want it back). Poor and working class south Asian communities think in similar ways to the British ruling classes, their concepts around honour and shame, see the British royal family and how it treats its daughters in law, and conserving wealth so it is concentrated in the family (even the queen married her cousin). If the British royal family want to know what the future holds for them they need only look to my family.

As a very small child, I felt special. We were revered in the community, and even had our own systems for settling disputes, as a sort of people’s court, with my grandparents at the helm. They were respected community leaders, and they valued intelligence, beaming with pride at our school reports and promising us gold watches if we passed our exams. Unlike white parents they didn’t sit and do our homework with us, they just expected better, and we delivered. It was only as an adult that I learnt of the renowned poet and sufi saint in my family history. We have a predisposition to academic excellence. No special handouts from the state, or the toffee nosed. I often wonder where I’d be if I’d had even just a little bit of support, or the opportunities regular white kids get, but nobody cares about poc when we slip through the cracks, then it’s just the way of the world. In this supposedly egalitarian society some of the smartest people I know are the poorest, but nobody’s bothered about that. Wouldn’t it be great if we helped those who wanted it and left those that didn’t well alone?

We poc do not buy into the idea that class is fixed. In our respective home countries class has never played out the way it has here on rainy fascist island, at least it didn’t before the British invaded. The ruling classes earned their privileges by being exceptional. In fact primogeniture was inflicted on India by the British, where inheritance is passed down to the firstborn regardless of deserving. We are all born equal, and it is by our actions we elevate ourselves. This concept is entirely alien to the British, where cunning is valued over fairness.

Regardless of whether or not white working class kids do well at school, they can cross borders in relative peace. They do not have to change their names for fears they will not get a job, their version of events is always accepted without bias, and stop and search is way down on their list of worries. This is white privilege, and it is very real. It doesn’t dissipate just because the Tories are pointing fingers again. Whenever the toffs pretend to be bothered by a lack of prospects for their historical punchbags we should see it for the tactic that it is, and anyone who buys into it should be cancelled all the way to Glastonbury.

(Article in the featured image)

Daily Heil – Beyond the Pale

Just days after the royal family were under fire for racist policies prohibiting the employment of ethnic minorities in the royal household the Daily Mail is up to its usual dirty racist tricks, doing what it does best, dividing and conquering the masses to divert attention away from the ghoulish British establishment. The queen’s cousin Lord Rothermere owns the Daily Mail, a trashy rag that still hasn’t seen its comeuppance for the monstering of Jewish refugees during world war 2, and doesn’t seem to adhere to any of the laws the rest of us are compelled to.

In 2015 neo nazi Donald Trump claimed that my hometown was a hotbed for Islamist activity and therefore a no go zone for whites. Like other white supremacist shit stirrers, Trump knew what he was doing, inciting racial hatred with his cheap lies. Yes, there are parts of Birmingham that are populated almost entirely by black and brown peoples but this wasn’t our doing, we did not have the power to just turn up and drive white people out of their homes, as Israel does, no, we were allocated housing by the racist city council who actively encouraged “white flight” to make way for ghettos in which they could monitor and contain us. Even more interestingly, the area in which I grew up was synonymous with working class solidarity. In fact, it was what protestors at Orgreave aspired to.

Within a decade the presiding council had severed the links between Saltley and its revolutionary past, associating it instead with racial divisions and deprivation. White people passing through on the 55 bus tut and roll their eyes at the overpopulated mess. Even as an 11 year old I thought them wretched. For a while I even dreamed of becoming a police officer and bridging the gaps between my community and the state, wrongly assuming as a teenager that both sides could do with an education, instead seeing it for what it is now, an institutionally racist entity invented for the purpose of racialised violence. Cops protect white people from the scary darkies, even the racists you report for breaking race laws.

Growing up in the 80s there were a number of riots in my area. On one occasion a police officer manhandled a community elder for parking on a double yellow, resulting in the smashing of all white owned business windows. The cops would kettle my community with the positioning of police vans at the end of all the main roads, so that the violence wouldn’t spill out into their beloved white areas. This was always THEIR policy, to keep us out, so why are we getting the blame for it now? Did they think we hadn’t noticed we were being herded? We still haven’t forgotten the road safety cameras funded by the terrorism unit.

It is just over a week since a young black boy lost his life in the Kingstanding area of Birmingham, murdered by a group of white adult men. We black and brown folks know Kingstanding is a no go zone for ethnic minorities. I’ve never been there, even though it is just up the road. There are places I as an ethnic minority, albeit white passing, would never dream of going because I fear death. This is the reality of racist Great Britain, where they victim blame and manipulate the facts to appeal to a receptive white supremacist audience. The only way we can fight back is by patiently refuting each and every bullshit assertion they make.

When they make a complaint about unruly ethnic minorities, know for a fact that complaint has been made about them and they are just flinging it back, like damaged adult children do.

It’s tiring and they know it, but we’re smarter and we know it too.

Instagram censors righteousness

“Palestinians themselves have said people like you hurt the struggle”

To which he replied:

“What a c*nt you are”.

I couldn’t help it, he was a cunt. I reported his racialised slurs but Insta restricted my account instead. This is standard bollocks from Instagram. There was a time they wouldn’t bat an eyelid at swastikas but now, under pressure, they are indiscriminately banning them all, even from educational posts like on the @workingclasshistory account, threatening them with closure. In typical fashion, I am being censored for responding appropriately to an antisemitic cunt. I was banned from Twitter for saying as a left wing Asian I rejected right wing Asians like Priti Patel, as was my right I thought, what with free speech and freedom of association supposedly being key western values. I deleted my facebook account when they decided violent racialised rape and death threats against me did not violate their community standards.

I’m under no illusions as to the rights I have on social media, there are none. However I would like to think there are rules, even if they don’t apply to me. Like when you report the first antisemitic comment it gets deleted so that you don’t have to tell someone they’re a cunt 5 comments down and get banned for that.

You can judge a nation by the way its royals treat their animals

The queen is mourning the death of a five month old puppy apparently. One of a pair gifted to her by her paedophile son, to assuage her loneliness whilst the duke was in hospital for surgery. The article goes deep into the history of the royal family and their parade of pooches. The queen is synonymous with the Corgi breed, but her latest additions were Dorgis, Dachsund and Corgi crosses. Various other royals have their own faithful favourites but one detail seems to have escaped the attention of the writers, or at least has been severely downplayed, the fact that many royal hounds meet an untimely and grisly end ‘ripped to shreds’ by other members of the pack, with presumably 0 consequences for the owners of these dangerous and out of control dogs. They are not any less dangerous because they are corgis/dorgis, or little dogs, in fact some of the worst behaviour comes from smaller breeds that go unchecked because they are treated like babies not canines. Untrained animals can exhibit behaviours that ignorant humans might think are cute, for example guarding the owner against other pets but this resource guarding can lead to fatalities, something the royal family seem very accustomed to.

The cause of death for puppy x goes unmentioned, instead leaving the reader to draw their own conclusions with multiple examples of animal abuse that are lost in the framing of the article.

Not only is there dog on dog violence at the various royal estates but the article makes light of the numerous attacks against politicians and other dignitaries.

She went everywhere the Queen (and Prince Philip) went — their honeymoon, their bed chamber — savaging people whenever she could.

Daily Mail

One victim was even hospitalised.

Victims included royal clock winder Leonard Hubbard — she left an inch-long gash in his leg — and guardsman Alfred Edge, who ended up in hospital after his wound went septic.

Daily Mail

What a right old carry on, I hear the Daily Mail hacks chortle as they wilfuly ignore the laws of this land, to protect animals from irresponsible and dangerous owners (imagine if this had been an Asian family). A nation of dog lovers who will use this accolade to justify violence against people in the global south who have a tendency to run from dogs, not least because of the role man’s best friend has taken in the subjugation of colonised folks. Pinochet’s goons for example, forced animals to rape people. In Iraq, British personnel tied up their targets and set dogs on them. In the Caribbean attack dogs were set upon anyone attempting to resist colonial force. I think sometimes that the rabid street dogs so feared by brown and black folks are probably descendants of those left behind by the British.

It is a part of the mental warfare of white supremacy and their empires, this alliance between man and beast. The many charities set up by British armed forces and others to naturalise animals into the UK because of course no one else can look after them better, not those savages they were rescued from anyway.

Bomb the countries, kill the people, save the animals. What a superior race. Except it’s all bluff.

What is the standard when pig farms touted as high welfare, supplying major supermarkets like Tesco and Marks and Spencer are filmed hammering baby pigs (deemed too small and weak) to death?

Britain’s young people turn to casual animal abuse to while away the hours.

One of the queen’s greatest fanboys Zac Goldmsith (Minister for Animal Welfare) gushed at the news Britain would officially recognise animals have feelings.

“The United Kingdom has always been a pioneer in animal welfare, and now that we have left the European Union, we are free to push for the highest standards of animal welfare anywhere in the world.”

smallcapnews.co.uk

Where is Zac’s bar anyway? Where does chlorinated chicken fall on that scale? Being so close to the queen and such a lover of animals I’d expect him to have a stern word in her shell like, but I doubt he will bother. I wonder whether Zac will acknowledge Muslims have feelings too. What is reality when you have coercive power?

I pored over the comments looking for the genuine animal lover, as appalled as I was, but I couldn’t find them. Poor Queenie, they crowed, what will she do now? First a dead husband, now a dead pup.. What about the dead pup, you intolerable shills? Nobody question when, how or why, nobody blinks an eye at the numerous attacks on animals or humans, it is as though they are in a trance, compelled to maintain the illusion of supremacy and empire even when they are abusive and neglectful. Especially, I guess.

Britain is a nation of utter hypocrites. At least the Daily Mail got it right on that occasion.