A Country Called Absurdistan

by Michael Walsh

OCCASIONALLY I am asked when I left England. I reply that I never left England, England left me. It is difficult to pinpoint precisely when England first betrayed its peoples. Perhaps it was when the German cruise liner, MV Monte Rose, seized in 1945 as a prize of war, was used to ferry subsidised cheap labour to the UK from the Caribbean.

This betrayal coincided with the young people of post-war Britain being shipped out to Australia and New Zealand on £10 government-sponsored passages. This concurred with Westminster offering subsidised visa-free guaranteed nationality to all arriving citizens of the British Commonwealth of Nations.

I saw Westminster’s malevolence again when on March 22 the outcome of their betrayal turned London Bridge blood red. I saw treason that same day when an English publisher’s ethnic-European wife was refused a UK visitor’s visa to visit her family in Britain.

Britain’s despicable governing elite lure destitute non-Europeans to England by waving a basket of unearned benefits under their noses. Simultaneously, this rotten-to-the-core regime sniffily turns away a university educated schoolteacher who is well connected in the world of European culture. As a consequence, her British husband is exiled from the land of his birth.

The embittered ex-serviceman recalls an incident that occurred in a Lancashire Post Office. Inside stood a shuffling queue made up of mostly elderly Britons. Many pensioners will have endured a lifetime of hard work, survived World War 2, and suffered ration-book austerity for eleven years after the war’s end. With careworn expressions, these outcasts of the islands lined up to purchase stamps to pay their TV licence fees, electricity, and gas bills. Their pensions are the second lowest in Europe.

An adjacent queue snaked out of the Post Office door and around the corner. As each economic migrant reached the specially-assigned Post Office teller he or she collected a wad of banknotes. Each such being was of non-European appearance, and it is doubtful if any had family, ethnic, or religious connections in Britain.

One beneficiary of Middle Eastern appearance triumphantly waved his wad of British banknotes in the air as he mocked the pensioners. Giving the two-fingered victory salute he screamed out, “F*** you, England.”

An elderly lady cowered. “Why doesn’t someone hit him?”

A gentleman tapped the pensioner’s shoulder: “If someone were to do so he would get two years for assault and his sentence doubled as it was a racially motivated assault.”

Some call this tolerance — but most know in their hearts that it is base treachery.

Mike Walsh is an international journalist, author and broadcaster.


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31 March, 2017 11:23 am

Dear Mike, dear readers and comrades, I am an Italian man in my fifties, and in my twenties I made the decision to have a working experience in London. Acceptable knowledge of English was, and still is, very important in Italy. That need, and a thirst for adventure, drove me to the land of the Britons. I found a job as a security guard in the London Hospital, in Whitechapel, where I used to work for 12 hours each night, from 8pm to 8am. It was a great time of my life, no regrets, no complaints. With my weekly wage, I could barely pay for food and shelter — even the tube was too expensive for me, I’d instead use the bus for going to work. I still consider those… Read more »

fred lopez
fred lopez
1 April, 2017 10:44 am

This situation was present a long time ago where I grew up in NYC, NY. And it is all due to the big J people and the Catholic Irish.