Dear Soyboy

DISCLAIMER: I’m writing this as a male, you know, one of those 'cis-male' creatures we usually refer to as ‘blokes’.

I pride myself in my command of the English language, but then I did my ICSEs (GCSEs) some 35 years ago, so forgive me if I find navigating around a more ‘inclusive’ genderspeak a bit of a struggle. Feel free to substitute your preferred pronouns as you go along. It could render the grammar completely incoherent, but then we’re not big on coherence these days, are we? Gobbledegook is so in right now. I can sense Adlous Huxley’s ghost having a quiet orgasm over this. Brave New World indeed.

I’m afraid that’s about all the apology you’re going to get. Let’s not be a dick about it, okay? I don’t need no education, I don’t need no thought control. Delete me if this burns your haemorrhoids.

So, who am I addressing? Well, well dear reader, have a browse, and if the shoe fits, feel free to lace it up. You know who you are.

Moving on…

I never thought I’d ever use this particular tool of the new-fangled indentitarian Newspeak, but ‘speaking as a brown man’, I submit the following:

White guilt, like public piety, is nothing but an ego trip. Something like what George Michael crooned some years ago when he said “And charity, is a coat you wear twice a year.”

I have a looooong list of people being systematically killed, exterminated even, all around the world, that you currently don’t give a shit about – because hey, it’s not very fashionable right now, is it?

So very selective, this white saviour complex is. The dark side it is. Strong in the hypocrisy of it all you are.

Sardonic self-deprecation done well, is a finely tuned, highly advanced art form, but self-flagellation to the point where you're reduced to a sorry little puddle of obsequious cowering on your knees is taking your fetish to a crazed level of extreme. Maybe it’s me, but I think it’s mighty strange, what some of you guys get off on: you’re uploading videos of you kissing people’s boots as penance. What next? Videos of you being publicly spanked outside Canary Wharf tube station? Kneel. Take picture. Post. Racism given a body-blow. Yay.

How and who is this helping? What makes you believe this is righting any present wrong, let alone wrongs of some centuries ago? What convoluted mind-job got you to this place?

You think I think you're showing humility. You need to know that I know you are not. You're not doing it for me; you're doing it for you. You’re doing it to chase some kind of redemption you think you’re owed. Redemption doesn't come from snorting a few lines and pissing on a national monument or burning a book. Redemption doesn’t come from me either.

Maybe your great-great-great granddad beat up my great-great-great granddad. I don’t care! I don’t know you from Adam, and you don’t know me from, well Adam. All I know is someone a long time ago worked hard, and slogged and used whatever means necessary to be able to give you the life you now have. Had MY great-great-great granddad beaten up yours we'd be in the same place we are today with switched sides, except, I wouldn't be carrying his baggage. It wouldn't be my cross to bear. I'm not Christ. And neither are you. Stop crucifying yourself. That was a one-time event.

You’d be far more believable if you gave it all up and bummed it like the people you pretend to be saving and standing in ‘solidarity’ with.

Speaking of Christ, Libby Purves said it better than I ever could: “Jesus said unto him, If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast and give to the poor. But when the young man heard that saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions. So he went on Twitter instead and called Michael Gove a ‘vile reptilian evil Tory scumbag’, and linked to a cartoon of Iain Duncan Smith stealing a paralysed woman’s wheelchair. And lo, he felt better and went for a £3.50 caramel macchiato with some mates from the BBC.”

You know what you can do with your sanctimony. You can stuff it. You know where, since you appear so keen to be pegged.

You think I’m impressed by your overtures; someone needs to tell you that limp-wristed grown men impress no one, least of all people you refuse to look in the eye and speak your mind lest you ‘offend’ them. We’re made of tougher stuff, us melanin-blessed folk. Last thing I want is some soy-boy-yahoo deciding what I can and cannot put up with. After all, a hurty-shouty Tweet or a postage stamp sized Whatsapped video from half a world away is probably the worst you’ve ever seen. Picking off bits of bone and wiping off entrails from my clothes following a bomb blast and clearing away corpses from the driveway it quite ain’t. Wet and wimp doesn’t quite cut it with me. Please, show more mettle than signalling your virtue on inanimate statues and monuments or trampling on graves that can’t repel your feigned bravado. Square up to me. Be a man. And please, please, only breed when and if you develop a vertebral column.

And finally, here’s the thing: Most of us came to Britain and adopted it as our home because of what it stood for and the opportunities and freedoms it guaranteed.

I for one am not going to stand by and let you turn it into the hell-hole I left behind. Maybe you should go there and immerse yourself into some 'culture'.

Yep, this is an immigrant telling a soyboy trust-fund prat to go back to where I came from.

As a previously much celebrated, now much maligned children's author might say, "Idioto Effoffimus!"