Watch out, we’re on fire!
Perhaps the most sadly significant sign among the daily deceits currently stinking up the White House, is the redefinition of “presidential.” And, perhaps, it’s not really a surprise. For someone whose entire career has been based on the re-branding of lies as truth, the carry over as head of state demands blind loyalty, the quick temper of a control freak, and the kind of parental tyranny best conveyed by the phrase “because I said so!”
Otherwise, “you’re fired!”
For those of us in the UK who gaze on the transformation of our own Mrs Leader with a combination of sheer horror and a rictus of bemused amusement, the redefinitions are proving just as dubious as those across the pond. The real facts are buried as quickly as a corpse in the woods. Some clues remain, rapidly decaying, but there nonetheless.
Remember 2010? The bromance in the rose garden marking a coalition which allegedly awarded joint governance to the Tories and Lib-Dems. But however much Nick Clegg’s party pushed to share the spotlight, the public, undoubtedly influenced by sectors of the media, increasingly referred solely to the Tory government. Vox pops at the time proved Clegg couldn’t be identified, and his party’s policies and contributions even less so. Grist for comedy shows, of course, but presaging a shift about perceptions of power.
Remember 2015? The sugar-coated coalition had all but dissolved like icing in the rain. Despite the Conservatives’ internecine battles, their pumped-up PR machine polished Cameron’s pretend leadership qualities as the voice of fairness to carry out the agenda of the business lobby, including, shh, whisper who dares… Brexit! Lotsa desk-time for Treasury minions, actuaries, hedge-fund schemers, and market fixers.
Remember Brexit? Remember how it was going to be a shoo-in to stay put in Europe with vague promises of reform. At some point. Remember how Cameron’s self-effacing Home Secretary supported her leader all the way? Greeting the shock [to Europe] of the Trump victory, global business bosses had to adjust their agenda, recall their futurologists and hedge their bets. With behind the scenes deals, they still seemed to support Cameron himself, dressing him in presidential robes, and side-lining all opposition whether within his party or across the Corbyn Corridor.
But hold hard! Remember the vote, the close vote, the un-tollable vote? There was only one way out for Big Biz Brands – Cameron had to go. Depart. Vamoose. Scram. Get Lost. Never darken our guest towels again! And, by the way – shut up!
And so… there she is, turning on a dime like a newly programmed self-drive vehicle. Our own modest, self-effacing, fashion plate and home-body wife of a gazillionaire. A perfect choice to fill those Brexit boots, n’est-ce pas? Jawohl, mein herren. Policies? Who needs policies? Trust me, I’m a Remainer… uhm, I mean Brexit means Brexit. Which is whatever I want it to mean. Because I said so!
Remember that speech on the steps, so cunningly crafted from a patchwork of Corbyn policies with an echo of St Francis of Assisi as channelled through yet another alleged woman of the people. The people.
Ah, yes, the people. That’s you and me, folks. Ain’t it? Or simply the people with the dosh, the right brand?
I wonder. Because when you actually listen to whatever vestige of coherence lurks behind the hot air, she’s actually asking you to jump over the checks and balances that have at least aimed to serve all the people, however they may have fallen short. She’s asking you to betray the two supreme jewels in the UK crown, namely the NHS and the BBC. And she’ll say you told her she could do it. She’ll command her hench-persons to stick the knife in and send you to wait on corridor trolleys till you die, and good riddance. If you don’t perish first in a nuclear war that she’ll say you pushed her into.
She has learned from her hand-holder in the Oval Office how to wrest control, how to declare herself the supreme ruler. If it’s good enough for Salman of Saudi Arabia, it’s good enough for her. Like him, and Kim Jong-un, and President Cheeto, she’s now a brand. There is no more Tory party, there is only Saint Theresa. On sale, limited time only, get ‘er while she’s hot – like St Michael of M&S. There are no human rights, only the rights she will drop on your heads like pigeon poop as she soars into her stratosphere.
Why Labour has turned into the stubbornest of mules is a mystery. No, they don’t have to ditch their admirable social agenda, which really does address the needs of the majority. But to counteract the invidious media messages and side-swipes against the Left, only an ideological alliance coupled with a huge campaign to get out the youth vote can and will aim a fatal arrow against Mrs Tory.
Please, rip off those labels – fighting the chimera of Big Biz and Puppet Leaders requires all the help we can muster. Let’s brand May & Co total losers.
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This post was written by outRageous!