Argentina
This Is How Unserious They Are
Kemi Badenoch wants to be Britain’s Javier Milei. Let that sink in.
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Kemi Badenoch wants to be Britain’s Javier Milei. Let that sink in.
The protests outside migrant hotels aren’t spontaneous. They are engineered. Stoked by far-right groups, amplified by the right-wing press, and legitimised by political cowardice, what we’re witnessing is a strategic campaign to turn fear into power. When the police protect anti-racists, it’s called provocation. When the far right throws bottles, it’s “community concern.” The hotels are just the excuse. The real target is the idea that Britain could ever belong to all of us.
They tell us the crisis is caused by desperate people in dinghies, not decades of housing policy that turned homes into investment vehicles. But the truth is, Britain is not short of houses, its just full of landlords, speculators, and empty properties waiting to make someone rich.
While far right mobs are framed as “concerned locals”, anti-fascists are treated as the threat. The police escort becomes the scandal, not the fact that far-right demonstrators are being allowed to dominate England’s streets with near impunity. When the media sides with the mob, resistance is rebranded as provocation.
When Reform UK’s justice spokesperson declared she would “much rather see a great big strapping male police officer with a female,” she wasn’t just airing a preference. Pochin was laying out a worldview. One where women are too vulnerable to patrol alone, too soft for frontline work, and too inconvenient to be equal. As under Trump, so under Farage: the creeping politics of patriarchy, where power is always male, and women are tolerated only if they stay in their place.
The English disease is back. While Scotland holds the line with civic identity and social solidarity, England is once again the testing ground for far-right mobilisation and state complicity. From hotel sieges in Epping to flag-waving standoffs in Norfolk, this isn’t about deprivation alone. This is nationalism curdled into grievance, stoked by those who know exactly what they are doing. And the only person who benefits from this is the man rubbing his hands together, whispering told you so, told you so, and you all know exactly who that is: Nigel Farage.
Braverman’s plan to leave the ECHR isn’t legal reform, it’s preparation for rule without restraint. Like the ERG before her, she wraps authoritarian ambition in the language of sovereignty. Strip away the rhetoric and what’s left is a state unbound, a state that punishes, not protects. If she jumps to Reform UK, this plan becomes reality.
Reading this made me feel sick. It brought back the images from Abu Ghraib, its black hoods, outstretched arms, the grotesque theatre of domination. Only this time, it’s not Baghdad in 2003 but Miami in 2025. Don’t look away: this is what America does to the unwanted. And Britain’s not far behind.
On a seemingly ordinary Thursday, at the time-honoured Glyndebourne opera festival, an unexpected interlude of protest emerged. In the sanctuary of the arts, amid the melody of Francis Poulenc’s Dialogues des Carmélites, a dissenting chorus brought the opera to a standstill. Sparked by the cause of Just Stop Oil, the interruption blended a traditional form of high culture with the pressing concerns of our era. This is the narrative of that day, a symphony of dissent resounding from the grand opera house to the streets of London.
In the vanguard of dissent, demanding justice, a new breed of rebels is rising, and their fight is our fight. Their actions carry the echoes of a movement that stood firm in the face of oppression more than a century ago—the Suffragettes. Today, we draw parallels between these trailblazers and the Just Stop Oil protestors, not to dilute the significance of either struggle but to highlight the enduring power of civil disobedience in the quest for justice.