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Home is where the hate is

ClzR3azWYAASWOyPicture from Romford today. (Photo with permission from the must-follow )

It’s become apparent that no amount of whining about the separation of UK from EU is going to get us back in. We do away with that. Now to shed light on what I feel is a genuine concern not just on a personal level, but for any one in Britain who might be prone to the receiving end of an overzealous eurosceptic, shall we say. You see, article 50  has barely been touched and already it looks as though the dreaded repercussions are hitting at a regional level. The guy in the super cool t-shirt pictured above was parading himself and his equally super cool demi-skinhead around Romford during the march for Armed Forces Day.

 

A victorious 70% of my borough of Havering voted out of the EU. A Pyrrhic victory if I ever did see one. (Oh damn! I have been wanting to use the phrase ‘Pyrrhic victory’ for years and years. It’s my time. Thank you Brexit. Every cloud).  Here you can watch a video with a resident of my hometown Romford telling you “If the vote doesn’t go our way, I’d like the IRA to come back and blow up the Channel Tunnel, just to separate us again”. UKIP is of course a certified favourite within my town, hence my shock to learn exactly how pro-leave everyone around me is seems pretty stupid now. And yet, shocked I was. ‘Cos pretty stupid I am.

I think I speak for every citizen when I say we all want to feel at home in our own town. At the very least, to feel safe and free from insult walking around our streets. I can’t say I’ve ever personally experienced racism. Not directly or that I know of anyway. (There’s the old institutional racism of course, but I’m just a tiny brown person, how do you propose I fight that) But for the first time ever, I’m genuinely a little worried about how my locality might deteriorate. I felt a crappy feeling seeing the Romford streets I walk routinely in the video I linked to, seeing the very market stall where I used to buy 6 packs of Rizla for a quid (bloody bargain, I know).Yes, there’s cause to worry. And I don’t mean for myself, I can withstand moronic bigotry (sure I’ll have a little cry when I get home probably). I worry about my family who might not know how to retaliate to a keyed up moron if out and about. I don’t believe this is an exaggeration, the threat is real. National news will corroborate this. Brexit has given the green light on racism for those who wanted out on the basis of their petty ethnocentrism. And they’re likely still geared up on the victory hype.I’m worried about how leaving is a rubber-stamp legitimizing intolerance. Every racist’s golden ticket.

Weekends after dark outside my window are often a live Essex version of Jeremy Kyle when it all kicks off. At best they’re like ranty beer-soaked Jeremy monologues You get used to it. Tonight, I heard an inebriated man outside just yelling repetitively – again, all very part and parcel neighbourhood sport.But I was reading diamond geezer’s blog at this point, and my mind wandered to how it was quite awful one should simply get used to aggressive disturbance outside their own home. I wished to know what the drunkard was yelling. I peered out my open window. There’s a Chinese take away and then a Turkish meze place diagonally ahead across the street to my house. He was jeering alright and swaying too.’You’ll all be shut by next week. That’s right! You’ll all be shut by next week.’ The eateries were closed. No one was in them. Didn’t matter to him. He was happy as Larry. Didn’t matter to me. He was still a common cunt.

European Union. UEFA ’16. Wentworth Miller – the English sure love to have out and cause heartbreak. Sigh.

 

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3 thoughts on “Home is where the hate is

  1. Pingback: Foreign workers and immigrants | Marcus Ampe's Space

  2. Pingback: Being European in a Post Brexit Britain | From guestwriters

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