Haters of the world, unite!

I freaking like me. I mean the Naija in me. I thought we were the only ones who leave those with better ideas on how to govern firmly gummed to their spectator seats while we select, garland, and coronate the clueless to ruin our lives. It was such a comforting discovery when the Brits, (sorry […]

I freaking like me. I mean the Naija in me. I thought we were the only ones who leave those with better ideas on how to govern firmly gummed to their spectator seats while we select, garland, and coronate the clueless to ruin our lives. It was such a comforting discovery when the Brits, (sorry I meant Brexits) go to the polls to show that cluelessness is no respecter of nations.
The European Union is an unelected party of bureaucrats draped in red tape and lording it over those who did not elect them. But they get some things right. They make Africa’s regional talkshops look like the real kindergarten of first ladies’ fashion parade. But at least if your camel hump passed through the needle eye of entry clearance officers at any European embassy, you could enjoy a Eurostar trip to several nations on one visa. Britain was too paranoid to join that, which is good because the English weather is hardly friendly to its natives, so nobody else should blame it for being nasty to its August guests, even in July, not those that Ukip want to keep out. So if you had the cash and the choice, a trip to more weather-friendly lands – from leadership-deficient Italy to economically bedraggled Greece is always a welcome break from the English weather.
Brits, or Brexits love big talks; it is a national deficit disorder that it shares with other islanders. The other thing being a leadership that looks the other way while fantastically corrupt individuals launder looted wealth into its cosmopolitan skyline or its real estate business only to whine to the Queen after a few cups of cheap wine. There’s no incurable disease worse than delusion. Skinheads sustained by psychotic pills prescribed by immigrant doctors somehow convinced themselves that they would be better off unleashed on society free of the presence of prescription medication and the eagle eye of social and health care providers of colour.
So, Cameron who apparently loves the sound of his own voice believed that a yefeyendum (apology to that now popular British girl whose video has gone viral) might shore up his leadership popularity ratings. Nobody knows what powers Cameron’s reputation thermometer; it is now clear that it’s neither the old reliable mercury nor the code behind its digital replacement. As for the English gentry who think politics is too dirty to be run by anyone but nitwits, they sat behind their desks, sipping caffeinated tea, munching cookies and dreaming of how shameful it would be to leave the EU. By wishing long enough that it couldn’t happen, they convinced themselves it wouldn’t. Although they were wrong, they did not realise it until the shocking results altered their loud snoring.
Now that the deal is done, they are so dazed they’re wondering what hit them. But the English have a way of wriggling themselves out of bad situations. When signatures failed to torpedo the legitimacy of the yefeyendum, they’re toying with the idea of parliamentary endorsement. That too looks far from reality and now a law firm has taken a fait accompli to a law court. This is rigmarole genius from a country which once colonized the old world and whose jurisprudence are the foundation of many global laws and produced the likes of Lord Denning.
This strident attempt to save face may yet prove that miracles can happen except that it looks like the Brexit proponents such as Nick Farage and Boris Johnson have no balls, and that has nothing to do with being neutered. To think that Boris once traversed the world calling on people of all races and climes to make his London the centre of global commerce shows how time changes opportunists. Nothing exposes closet racists like opportunity. The name Boris is 100 per cent British and it should be sad to see his one time office as Mayor being democratically inherited by the son of a Pakistani immigrant bus driver who also happened to be Muslim.
So after plunging their country into the worst political crisis since Great was exorcised as a prefix, these weak-kneed bozos suddenly realized that they have no leadership qualities needed to help their nation take on the deleterious effects of their morbid exit campaign. This is one confirmation that proves shame is not a commodity on display in the flea market of London’s politics or the stores of Oxford Street.
After injecting unprecedented hate rhetoric into the exit campaign, these cowards have snuckered back to the relative safety of their wives aprons, the only place where they can feel like true giants. Their political CT scan has revealed leadership atrophy. Not to worry, with eternal allies in Marine Le Pen and the ever-rising profile of Donald Dumb, there should be enough sickos in the right-wing pantheon to open the Nazi address book and make leadership recommendations suited to Brexiting. After all Brexit has not severed phone links with global right wing elements but cemented it. With the collapse of communism, the new rallying cry should be – Haters of the world, unite!