Brexit: How Kev and Jean took down a whole country.
I am in absolutely no doubt that January 31, 2020 is a day that will be remembered as one of the darkest in modern British history. Tomorrow, at 11pm UK time (midnight in Brussels) the UK will cease to be a member of the European Union. That’s it. It’s over. We lost. We will enter the transition period and have until December 31 to negotiate a new trade deal and future relationship with the EU (If Boris Johnson’s pledge not to extend the transition period is to be believed. Can you trust anything the man says though?).
The UK is about to be slapped in the face by reality like a wet fish. In an Emperor’s clothes-like situation, the truth about Brexit (which in human form would have the bloated body of Boris Johnson, the inbred, chinless head of Nigel Farage, and the leopard print kitten heels of Theresa May) will be exposed for all to see.
I’m almost glad of it. The last three and a half years have been an existential nightmare. I have been experiencing the whole gamut of human emotions on a daily basis: Rage, despair, hope, disgust, disbelief, more rage. And that’s just before noon. Even sitting down now to write this is so difficult because although I want to strike a conciliatory tone, I really do, the rage is still so real folks. It’s a Herculean task trying to keep a civil tongue in my head when the decision to leave is So. Clearly. Wrong. It’s wrong in every way. And not only that, but Brexit is so blatantly a racist, xenophobic project that as a black person it’s hard just to “keep calm and carry on.”
The truth is that (and despite arguing to the contrary until they’re blue in the face) most people voted for Brexit because they swallowed the lie that immigration was bad for the UK and that it had in some way degraded our national life. They lapped up these lies because on some subconscious level, Johnny Foreigner has, for them, always been responsible for anything that goes wrong in the UK. These people are the “moderate racists”. The ones that don’t recognise their own bigotry. They are overwhelmingly white, affluent, and above 45. Let’s call them Kev and Jean. Kev and Jean live in Solihull. Kev loves a Balti of a Friday, Jean loves Zumba, they’ve been to the Gambia several times (on an all-inclusive where their pasty daughter Kelsey got her hair cornrowed), they’ve got a second property in Spain, and they’ve got three black friends. Kev and Jean are the worst people on earth.
You see, there’s no hope for the raging EDL members and Tommy Robinsons of the world. Just as there’s no hope for the Priti Patels, Jacob Rees-Moggs, and Nigel Farages either. That lot have all gone over to the dark side, Darth Vader style. But Kev and Jean? Gambia visiting, Zumba dancing, curry eating Kev and Jean? Well they went into that voting booth on June 23, 2016 and shat all over everybody from a great height.
You see, Kev and Jean chose their narrow interpretation of Englishness (inextricably linked to whiteness) above everything else. And despite having the truth explained to them countless times over the last three and a half years, Kev and Jean have doubled down on their decision to vote leave. They knew exactly what they were voting for, they wanted a “clean break” Brexit all along, this country has survived two world wars, it’ll be fine. Dunkirk spirit and all that. Kev and Jean are fucking idiots. Kev and Jean have fed their Grandchildren’s future to the wolves for blue passports and commemorative 50p coins.
In a way I can’t blame them. Like all of us in the UK Kev and Jean were raised on a diet of glorious tales of empire and plucky Bigglesesque heroism during the second world war. They drank the Kool-Aid of English exceptionalism and then went back for seconds. There are those of us though who didn’t like the taste of the Kool-Aid. As we got older we went looking for alternative brands, ones with less sugar and a smaller carbon footprint. And thus we were able to wean ourselves off the lies and jingoism. Not Kev and Jean though. They can’t see what all the fuss is about. It was a democratic vote. We have to honour the result of the referendum. 17.4 million people!
I know this is a terrible thing to admit but there is an immense sense of Schadenfreude in knowing that Kev and Jean’s world is about to come crashing down.
The reality of Brexit is about to hit the UK like a brick to the teeth. Kev and Jean’s delusions of grandeur are about to meet a sticky end. Everything they believed to be true is about to be shown up as a barefaced lie. They finna get real angry, real quick.
Therein lies the danger though. Who are they going to direct their anger at?
I have had almost four years to come to terms with the fact that everything I thought I knew about my country is wrong. I understand rationally that Kev and Jean are not the real problem (although I will still read them for filth every time). The media is the real problem, the Tories are the problem, austerity is the problem, the fetishisation of wealth and demonisation of the poor is the problem, a total refusal to deal with the past is the problem. I have had time to digest all of this, understand it, direct most of my anger at the real culprits, and just about refrain from taking my rings off when it comes to Kev and Jean. I am worried that Kev and Jean lack both the will and intellectual capacity to understand their misdeeds.
Kev and Jean are pitiable saps. It sounds harsh, but Terry Christian hit the nail on the head in his appearance on Good Morning Britain the other day. Please understand I’m not trying to sneer at anyone here, but the truth remains. Anybody who can still believe in a project that is so clearly a con, is a pitiable sap. I said what I said.
Now look, there’s levels of pitiable sap here. My beef is not with the dispossessed people born in areas neglected for forty years, who have seen their high streets boarded up, businesses leaving, zero job opportunities, and for whom the vote to leave the EU was a cri de coeur (choke on my metropolitan elitism peasants). I may well have voted to leave too in their position. No, the real problem children in this family are Kev and Jean. The boomers (predominantly) who have benefited most from our membership of the EU, but now want to pull up the drawbridge and take us back to the 50s because there’s too many bloody foreigners.
The problem remains. Both these groups of people are, in totally different ways, pitiable saps and are easily manipulated by government propaganda and a compliant media. So I will ask my question again. Who are they going to direct their anger at? Or rather who will they be instructed to direct their anger at when the shit hits the fan? I don’t think I need to spell it out for you.
My truth is that the EU has had a major positive impact on my life. I live in Berlin and I used to live in Madrid. I participated in the Erasmus scheme and speak four languages fluently other than English. I am 100% the poster child for the European project, and I am eternally grateful to an organisation that has enabled Europe to enjoy a period of peace and prosperity unparalleled in its history, and that has enabled me personally to live, love, and work across the continent. Don’t misunderstand me. I am not a blind apologist for the EU. Its bureaucracy is bloated, and it needs reform. But the idea of the EU is, in my humble opinion, among the best we’ve had as a species in recent times, and it is a complete and utter disgrace that 65 million people are about to have their birth rights stripped from them in this way.
Brexit will bring the UK to its knees; economically, politically, and socially.
Brexit is a symptom of the wider culture war currently being waged in the UK. The country has been getting progressively browner and blacker since the 50s with the arrival of the Windrush generation. It has also been getting queerer, women are finding their voice, and there are visible signs of religions other than Christianity everywhere. Kev and Jean don’t like this too much. It’s why, when it all goes tits up, they will (rather than confront their own short-sightedness) turn that anger and ignorance outwards at all the people they deem guilty of ruining their beloved Blighty. A fifth column has already been invented in the media: Remainers and all we stand for. I dread to think what’s in store.
I am steeling myself for the next few years. I know that hate crime is going to rise. I know that we are going to see the level of our public discourse degrade even further, as the Tories start throwing people under the bus to cover themselves. I know that the schism at the heart of our society will become even more pronounced as the Brexit noose tightens around the UK’s neck, and that the most vulnerable people in our society, those poor pitiable saps I spoke of earlier, will suffer the most.
Brexit is part of the death throes of a worldview whose time is up. But what is it they say about an injured, dying animal? That it is exactly then when it is most dangerous. There is going to be a lot of violence, hatred, and ugliness coming our way over the next few years.
That’s why we have to be better than Kev and Jean. As much as I’d like to spinning bird kick them both in the face, Chun-Li style, those of us who know better have to be magnanimous. Some of them will never listen, but some will stop sipping the Kool-Aid for just long enough (once the real truth is laid bare) for us to convince them. And the only way we can do that is through patience, understanding, and kindness. We know better so we have to do better. Love really is the only way to defeat hate.
But not today. Today I loathe Ken and Jean. I’ll be magnanimous on Monday.
