by an Objective Observer

I recently had the first opportunity in my life to visit the capital of the United Kingdom, a nation about which I have read many history books, on account of my personal fascination with the British Isles.

I sensed something awfully wrong as soon as I landed at the airport. Because, when you do this in the capital of most nations, you will immediately see that the majority of passengers are natives returning home.

But in the United Kingdom, that is not the case, as I found it difficult to discern in the crowd more than 10% of the persons as of British Descent. — As a note, to get my degree in Cultural Anthropology we had to study the forms and shapes of human beings from around the world: this is a discipline known as physical anthropology, and it was invented, in part, in the United Kingdom, so it is a native science there, in a sense.

But what I saw was an airport filled with passengers who appeared to all share heritage from the former British Empire. I felt immediately as if I was in Calcutta, Lahore, or Singapore.

The situation did not change when I arrived in the town where I was staying. The Barber shop looked in every way British, but for the sign on the wall, in the most elegant Arabic Script, announcing that there is only One God but Allah!

Even the beggar at the street corner concealed his islamic prayer beads as he sought alms from those whose skin was much whiter than himself. A strange form of racism indeed!

I had great difficulty at the Food Court in one major shopping mall, because the help at the counter tried to speak British English with an accent from anywhere from Jamaica to Lahore. They also spoke in such a broken English, that I had to ask several times what they met.

The maxim of my British professor of world History came immediately back to mind, as I sough directions to go to center city London.  A man vested as an official, whose duty it was to give directions, told me to seek the line I needed to board on the other side of the passage way. But upon arriving there and seeing no indication, I ask the man at the newstand, who repleat with white tubular hat, would not have seemed out  of place in Cairo or Baghdad.  He however told me that the the line I sought was where I came from.  But after following his advice and finding that was also wrong, I understood what my history professor had said:  Telling the truth is not a value in most of the world: what they think is important is giving you whatever answer will make you feel satisfied and go away.

The height of the amusement, which I encountered, was on the day I returned home. At the airport, wanting to obtain a few British Pounds to purchase a meal, the Money Exchange person, who was evidently hired just for his skin colour, which was definitely not African, told me I could purchase 35 Sterling for the price of 17 Euros. “Really!”, I said, “That’s would be wonderful.” — But being a Christian, I remarked, “Are you sure you are right?” He said, “Yes, sir!”. Whereupon his colleague, who was much more bright in both skin color and wit, said, to his colleague, “He wants to buy Pounds, not sell Pounds”, which was a most intelligent and charitable way of telling him to think about what he was saying.

Everywhere I was happy to seek baby carriages being pushed along the sidewalks, which is something you seen rarely anywhere in the West today. But in every case, if I the parent passed me by in suchwise that I could catch a glimpse of the face of the little one, I recognized that he future of England is not English.

As I reflected on these things, I began to notice many others which all pointed to an explanation.  Unlike most European nations, the thing you notice first about England, at least at London, is that every building incorporates at least one grotesque aspect. It is almost a rule of architecture, for newly built buildings.

There are regulations everywhere as numerous as the cameras. Yes, there are more cameras on the average street, to watch the populace, than there are at Fort Knox, in the USA. They say it is for your own protection, but where are all the criminals that we need protecting from. I saw, rather, a population which is obsessed with complying with everything.

Even when I jaywalked, people looked aghast. (Though not as much as in Australia, some 30 years ago).

Talking to one of my cabbies, I discovered a case in point, which was remarkable.  We had just passed a couple and little child, who on the grassy side of a high speed carriageway (British for “highway”), seemed to be sitting to have lunch. I remarked to my cabby, how ridiculous that they would think to take lunch in such a spot, along side their parked car, in the shoulder of the way.

But he told me that they were forced to do so, because it is a regulation in the United Kingdom, that if your car breaks down anywhere, at any time, you must exit the vehicle and await assistance.  “Really?” I said out loud with amazement. So I contested with him, if that was obligatory in the rain? He said yes. Again, I contested, if it was obligatory in the Winter’s cold? He said yes, again. And then I contested again, saying if it were obligatory if you did not have the clothing to survive the wait in the cold and rain. And he said this: “Oh, yes, sir. Because this regulation is for the good of the passengers in the car, who would be hit by another car passing by”, as happened on one occasion!

So after taking a series of trains, busses and subways, I arrived at the Parliament, to watch Big Ben stroke the hour and hear its bells. I walked further along to Westminster Abby and asked the guard where I might obtain a tourist guide so I could read about the buildings I was seeing, and he said he knew not where. While a man who looked like an academic from New Dehli and speaking a refined British English informed me that, when it opened, a bookshop down the way near the old Scotland Yard, might have one. — I was quite surprised, in this, since in many nations, there are more kiosks with travel information than restaurants. Evidently the majority of visitors of London do not give a bleep about the history of England.

It is also the only nation where, when crossing an overpass above a major highway, I saw affixed to the high wall along the pedestrian walk, a message from some group pleasing with the population not to throw themselves to their death.

I think I was beginning to understand, then, the problem with England.

England is a nation of pretense.

She pretends to be Christian, but wars against Christ’s Vicar and Kings for 400 years. She pretends to be civilized, even after emptying God out entirely from society, law and culture. She pretends to pomposity, with no more reason except self-glorification. She pretends to modernity, when really she simply wants to erase the past and forget about it.

Britain is obviously ruled by an elite which hates everything British, because either their elites — the ones truly in power — are not British, or because there is no way they could ever legitimately hold power, if they accepted British values of old as their judges.

And a pretense can only continue by inducing those duped by it into accepting further frauds, thefts and swindles, and when no voice in the society unmasks it.

It was then I understood why there were stickers on the pedestrian way over the carriage way.

Oh, and yes, it makes sense why the New Scotland Yard is now located on the Thames, opposite a Ferris Wheel.

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