The rest of the blog
The chancellor’s proposed income tax shuffle is clever accountancy but toxic politics — a pledge-break disguised as fiscal discipline, and proof that Labour has trapped itself in rules it cannot escape.
More than 200,000 young men aren’t “signed off for life”—they are the reserve army of labour, conscripted into the Telegraph’s morality tale to prepare the ground for austerity.
David Frost calls it a new “Red Terror.” The truth is plainer: it’s the Right’s wars, coups and crackdowns that have spilt the deepest blood in politics.
Trump’s latest “kinetic strike” killed three unknown Venezuelans he labelled “narco-terrorists.” The phrase is not law but incantation, a word that strips away humanity and legitimises killing. From Vietnam body counts to Obama’s “signature strikes,” America has always named its enemies into existence, and into death.
To call Robinson’s rally “populist” or “right-wing” is to miss the point. Fascism doesn’t require every marcher to be a coherent ideologue; it requires a mass, a scapegoat, and leaders prepared to turn grievance into violence. That is what we saw in London.
The events of Saturday (13/09) prove that Britain can go fascist. Musk calls for violence, the Telegraph and Times launder his words, and Starmer clings to the flag. We must name the danger or watch it grow.
Camilla Tominey’s sainthood act for Charlie Kirk trades politics for piety. The Right already owns the machinery (press, finance, courts, police) and Kirk was part of the drive shaft. A death certificate doesn’t wash clean a career built on making violence respectable.
The ONS reports zero growth in July. The papers call it “grim news” for Rachel Reeves. In reality, it is the latest entry in a long obituary for British capitalism — a system now sustained only by euphemism, stagnation, and decline.
Farage isn’t here to fix Britain. He’s here to make you hate your neighbour while his mates keep getting rich.
Dugin doesn’t need Trump to lead anymore. He just needs him to stall. The real project now is building a soft-theocratic death cult that prays for collapse but never acts. Spectators waiting for revelation, not revolution. Fifty days to Armageddon. Maybe. Maybe not. That’s the point.
Rachel Reeves is not just reviving trickle-down economics. She is sharpening it into a weapon aimed directly at the working class.
Farage says migrants are draining £12bn in benefits. The government’s own data says the real figure is closer to £3bn, and those he targets are more likely to be sanctioned and underpaid. This isn’t savings. It’s scapegoating.
Labour are not offering opportunity, they are outsourcing austerity. Liz Kendall’s call for unemployed young people to join the Armed Forces isn’t a jobs programme, it’s conscription by stealth. The message is clear: pick up a rifle or face the full force of a benefits crackdown. We’ve gone from “levelling up” to shipping out. And if the government can’t promise you housing, dignity or decent pay, it will instead offer you a uniform and a war.
Zhang Yongle reads Trumpism as a new mode of hegemony. But what his own analysis shows is something starker: Trump didn’t emerge to challenge the liberal order—he emerged from its collapse. Fukuyama tried to end history; Trump is what happens when that lie runs out of road. Neither serves the ordinary person. Both exist to protect capital when legitimacy fails.
Gaza isn’t a failure. It’s strategy. Empire burns what it can’t control. Mélenchon and Ali don’t moralise. They name it. Oil, siege, war with China. Read it if you’re done with delusion.
Dugin’s latest tract is less geopolitics than geopolitical psychosis. An unhinged blend of Orthodox ultranationalism, fascist paranoia, and terminal online posting. But buried in the hallucinatory sprawl is a blueprint for what Russia’s ideological vanguard now sees as the next phase: war with Europe, justified not by security, but by metaphysics.
The bombs may fall from jets, but the targeting, the supply chains, the surveillance, all of it is corporate. Gaza isn’t just a warzone. It’s a testing ground. A lab. A marketplace. The killing is done with precision. The profits are logged in real time.
The bullet missed, but the image hit. And it’s the image that rules now. Trump, mid-stumble, hand to ear, flanked by agents in suits. It has already been cropped, filtered, multiplied. Not just a moment, but a message: the strongman under fire, the martyr made live. The spectacle doesn’t distract from the violence; it packages it. Sells it. Projects it across TVs, phones, and tablets until belief hardens into doctrine. This is what power looks like in the age of algorithmic memory: not stability, but survival on camera.