The Lie We Were Sold About Britain

My speech at Reform UK Chippenham

The following is the transcript of a speech I gave at a Reform UK Chippenham event in April. You can view the speech here.

Well, good evening everyone. It's a great pleasure to be with you all tonight. Thank you very much for those warm words of introduction, Andrew.

Ann finished her speech by saying that with age comes wisdom. I think that is very true. But I also think that the lessons that my generation have been taught from every mouthpiece of power—from the schools to the universities to the media to the culture at large—have largely proven, well, ineffective. We as a generation are coming to realise that the narratives that we were sold from the day we were born about everything—about this country, everything about what it is to be a human being—were lies.

And I think that the emergence of Reform is a good thing because I think that this party can be a vehicle for truth—truth actually getting back into the halls of power. Because for my entire life, I have only known Britain as a multicultural, borderless economic zone. A land without much in the way of identity or culture or sense of self-confidence or self-belief. I was taught to believe that this country was not an ancient ancestral homeland of people and traditions and history, but rather a set of abstract values like democracy and tolerance and diversity—things that could have been taught off of a PowerPoint in a corporate seminar.

And there's no sense of identity to be found in that. And so it's no wonder so many people my age have been so drawn to the identity politics peddled by the Left. I mean, for the last 10 years we have seen our culture undergo a revolution as this ideology that champions these values of diversity, equality, and inclusion marches through the institutions and takes a stranglehold on every aspect of our culture.

When I was at university, I remember distinctly several occasions where I saw what this ideology did to the minds of the people that it took hold of. There was an occasion, for example, where I was in a seminar about free speech—ironically—where the professor told the class that he suspected anybody who flew the English flag to be a racist. Now, this was particularly insulting because I had that very flag on my wall at the time. And unsurprisingly, my classmates agreed with him because the propaganda has been so effective that it's taken in a huge number of people, especially my age.

As I said, when I was growing up, I was told that British culture was not something that actually really existed—that it was in some way boring or the default culture, nothing to be proud of, and that actually our pride was to be found in things like, well, abstract ideas of progress, for example, rather than our great achievements as a people and as a nation.

I had a good childhood. I couldn't have asked for a better one, actually, because in my childhood there was this great contrast between the notion of Britain that I was being sold by figures of authority in school and in the media and in the culture—this idea of Britain as a propositional nation—because at the same time I was experiencing England. Whether my parents knew it or not, they gave me the most English childhood imaginable.

My weekends were spent exploring castles and manor houses and gardens and ruins. Holidays were spent in places like Cornwall—where I'm going tomorrow, as it happens—Dorset and Sussex. We would have roast dinners in pubs older than the United States. We would have tea and scone in tea rooms that looked out across the waters. And I'd sit in those tea rooms and I would think, a thousand years ago, it's no wonder that my ancestors, who were standing in this very place, looked out across those waters and thought, "This is all that there is. This land, this beautiful country."

We'd also have picnics on the beach, long walks—all of these things that sound quaint and cliched, but I lived them. In the evenings, we'd watch Fawlty Towers and Alan Partridge. We'd listen to Oasis and the Beatles, and my father would read us The Wind in the Willows and The Lord of the Rings before bed. And I didn't realise it at the time, but what my parents were giving me in my childhood was the greatest gift that anybody can ask for, and that is the gift of an English childhood.

Over the course of my life, I never thought much of this. I never thought there was anything particularly unique, noteworthy, or special about my upbringing. But as I said, it was really only when I got to university that I came to realise that since before I was born, there has been a concerted effort from every place where power is concentrated in our society to erase what it means to be English and to be British.

I think there's a number of reasons for this, but chief among them is these people—the people who govern our society—are afraid, fearful, and hateful of excellence, of anything that smacks of tradition or hierarchy. They hate it. And I think part of the reason for that is because it shines them in a bad light.

That ideology really emerged in the aftermath of the Second World War and especially took hold in the 1960s, where this idea that individual self-expression is the greatest moral good that a society should pursue really came to the fore. I remember when I was growing up that that idea of individual self-expression—it was held up as the ultimate imaginable good, the ultimate goal of life. Happiness and satisfaction and fulfillment were to be found in some form of individual self-expression, whether that's the pursuit of a career or of consumerism or of credentials or indeed of identity in things like race and gender and sexuality.

And whilst there is this narrative that goes around that young people are super liberal and snowflakes and all the rest of it, I actually don't think that that's true. And whilst it's true that half of under-30s voted for Labour last year, I can tell you anecdotally that there is an emerging contingent of young people who are rejecting all of this stuff because they're finding that on the other side of it—on the other side of liberalism—is not fulfillment and satisfaction and happiness and belonging. It is emptiness and meaninglessness and depression and anxiety.

Twenty-five percent of young people suffer from depression and half feel anxious all the time. And it's no surprise why. Because without identity, without a sense that one is part of something greater than themselves—when all that is on offer is just meaningless immediate hedonistic pursuits or meaningless, you know, punching a clock in some corporate office for a manager who hates you, for a corporation who regards you purely as a number on a spreadsheet—unsurprisingly, there's not a lot of meaning to be found in that.

And so whilst the culture at large has decried those traditional sources of identity—like the family and the community and the nation and faith—as oppressive prisons to be broken out of, we're finding actually that maybe our ancestors who held those things up as being the ultimate sources of meaning in life, where the substance of life is to be found, perhaps they knew something. Perhaps they knew a thing or two. Perhaps there's a reason that those values held our civilisation together and made it great for over a thousand years.

As I say, there is a growing contingent—still a minority, but a growing contingent—of young people who are returning to these traditional sources of identity like family and community and nation. And they're finding actually that the substance of life is to be found in those things. And I think it's beautiful. I think it's fantastic.

And I can tell how much it bothers our elites because they know that it's in their interest for people to be atomised and without community and without belonging. It serves the interest, certainly, of the economic system that we live under for people to be basically consumer units—interchangeable economic numbers on a spreadsheet—because that leads to the greatest level of efficiency. It allows our nations to be torn apart in service of profit. And it means that our leaders will never be challenged for their position as elites because power and change come only through the concerted, organised efforts of small groups of people.

There is a narrative that goes around our circles which I think is optimistic but ultimately misguided, and that is that if we simply get enough people on side, then we will win and the change will come about naturally in some way. I don't think this is true. In fact, I know this isn't true because there's no example in history of this ever happening. Things change because people organise and stand up.

There's been a number of speakers today who have said words to this effect. And I think those of you who are candidates who are here tonight are putting this into practice. You're doing exactly this. And for that, I think you should be applauded. Because that’s all it takes. It takes a brave few to stand up and to be unafraid of what the establishment will call them, what names will be thrown at them, what risks they might take. Because God knows this nation needs those people to stand up right now.

Because things are bad. Things are really bad. And I'm an optimistic person—a very optimistic person—and I think we are in a bad place. And I think we've been in worse places. And I think we've come back from them. But as I walk the streets of this country, I am filled with fear.

I was in Swindon earlier today and—well, I think that reaction pretty much sums it up, doesn't it? Because like my hometown in Kent where I'm from, which was once a beautiful market town that has been settled for over a thousand years, Swindon is a vision of a post-apocalyptic dystopian hell. The high street is boarded up. The roads are full of potholes. There's litter everywhere. There is graffiti everywhere. And the people who walk the streets are strangers from every corner of the world whose language I don't recognise, whose values and customs I do not identify with. And this is increasingly becoming the case across the nation.

It's because our leaders treat people as these interchangeable economic units that they think it doesn't matter who makes up the demos of this country. But it does. I realised the other day that when I have children—which I'm hoping to have in the next couple of years—my children will probably see the turn of the century. God willing, they will see the year 2100. And I may well myself, but I'm not too optimistic.

I was imagining what this country is going to look like in the year 2100 if things continue as they are. I'd like you to picture in your mind's eye what somewhere like Swindon might look like, what somewhere like Royal Wootton Bassett might look like—anywhere you love, anywhere that you feel is part of your soul and part of your identity, where you belong. Imagine what that looks like in the year 2100 if things do not change quickly.

Now, I find it terrifying. And as I said, I'm an optimistic person—as hard to believe as that might be given the tone of this speech—but I really do think that in the coming years, unless something is done radically and soon, we are going to see scenes on the streets of Britain that are completely unprecedented. We're going to see things that make the Troubles look like a picnic. And I do not say that with any amount of joy or glee. It's simply, I think, the reality of the fact. And our leaders have stuck their heads in the sand to this reality. And some of them even seem like they want that to be the case.

But I know that a different vision of Britain is possible because for my entire life, especially in my childhood, I've seen glimpses of what this country actually is. I've seen glimpses of what this country could be again.

And this is the thing with conservatism. I'm not conservative. I don't call myself a conservative in any sense. There are plenty, I imagine, in this room actually that would still call themselves a small-c conservative. And I for some time called myself that as well. I am a conservative person. I, as Michael Oakeshott said, prefer the near to the far, the familiar to the unknown, the tried to the untried, the immediate to the universal. I don't overly approve of the use of drugs. In keeping with my generation, I don't drink very much. So, in that sense, I am conservative, I suppose.

But when it comes to politics, conservatism has failed. Conservatism as an ideology is not suited to the time in which we live because the conservative is so timid and so afraid of radical action and radical change that he does not have what it takes to save this nation.

So I don't know what to call myself, but I'm certainly not a conservative. Because I believe in a more radical, action-oriented type of politics that's not afraid of being called names, that's not afraid to do what's necessary. And again, there's a growing contingent of my peers who feel the same way. Because for our entire adult lives, these smears that the mainstream and the media and the power centers and the universities throw at us—like racist or sexist or bigot or whatever—all words that I've been called on national television, which is not a particularly pleasant experience—these words mean nothing to us. They are totally meaningless.

And whilst our elders sometimes cower in fear at these labels, we stare down the barrel and we don't blink. And when somebody accuses me of being any one of those things, I don't stand there and go, "I promise I'm not. I promise I'm not." Because that's exactly what they want you to do. They want you to buy into their language game. And for too long, we've done that.

But what we say is, do you realise that by accusing me of being a racist or a sexist or whatever, you've revealed yourself to be the foot soldier of the power structure that currently governs us? You're not acting for the downtrodden and the dispossessed. You're using the language of the regime against somebody who is dissatisfied and who is young and who is looking at the prospects in this country and is thinking, why should I stay here?

And so many of my peers feel that way as well. Why should we stay here? What does this country offer us? There was a time where the average cost of a house was three to four times the average salary. Today, it's over ten times the average salary. The culture is entirely subverted. Any expression of authentic Britishness is decried as old-fashioned or any number of those words that I've said already. And so it's no wonder that people want to leave.

But we face these accusations not with cowardice, but with fearlessness. And that's the only way that things will change—if people are prepared to be fearless and if people are prepared to say what needs to be said about what's being done to this country by an elite class who don't care about us. And I think that Reform is the most viable vehicle we have for bringing that kind of radical change into the halls of power.

And I'd like to once again say that those of you standing are to be commended. So I think I'll leave it there. I want to thank you all for being here tonight and for coming out and for standing up to actually do something about this great nation. And I hope that one day I can sit in my garden as an old man and feel that I live in the England that I knew when I was a child.

Thank you.