The key moral question related to the European Genocide is whether the European peoples have given authentic democratic consent to their own replacement, their minoritisation within their own ancestral homelands. I contend that they haven't. The battery of "hate speech" laws and regulations, systematic disinformation from establishment media, state persecution of dissident political formations and their leaders have made authentic democratic debate and consent impossible. Part of the machinery of state repression has involved the infiltration of dissident parties and groups and their disruption from within.
I've been reading Tommy Robinson's book "Enemy of the State". In it he describes how the government machine mobilised against him and tried to get him to pressure him into becoming a state operative leading an emasculated, controlled opposition movement, the EDL. To his credit, he refused and paid the penalty. But how many other leaders of dissident groups or parties have been faced with similar dilemmas and have made the choice differently?
If there were any decent members of the Left remaining - even if they disagreed utterly with Robinson's worldview, even if they were absolutely convinced that immigration was great and Islam was a religion of peace - they would be outraged at this abuse of state power, which sounds like something out of East Germany, and would be writing about it. Instead, they are shamefully silent. Because they approve of the persecution.
From the moment we started the English Defence League and began aggravating the authorities, the British state decided that it would do the same back to us. Or specifically to me, as the public face of the EDL. They – the police, Special Branch, MI5 and James Bond too for all I know – descended on me and my family like a ton of bricks. They scrutinised every penny I had ever earned, every bill, invoice and receipt I’d ever issued or collected. They swarmed all over my family. They even got a warrant to go through my mum and dad’s bank account – they did it to anyone I had ever done business with.
And after years of trying, on that at least, they got absolutely nowhere, found nothing wrong. It took them long enough, but they eventually found something they could hang on me, the mortgage case. That’s why I ended up with the time to tell this story. It’s why I’ve spent probably too much time tweeting about the evils and dangers of radical Islam. Even that isn’t without its dangers.
I was convicted of a minor white collar offence, but I was hit with licence conditions that all related to the EDL, for some inexplicable reason. People could tweet death threats to me, say they were going to rape my mum and behead my children, but simply by responding to them my liberty was physically taken from me. I was locked back up. And did the police go after those haters, the people making those vile threats? Don’t be silly. There’s only room for one pantomime villain in this story.
Until July 23rd 2015, I had to keep my nose clean, and if I knew what was best for me, my mouth shut. I had to report regularly to a pain-in-the-arse probation officer in Bedford who saw her main goal in life as turning me into one of her Politically Corrected puppets, and I now have to somehow plan a life beyond the EDL and, most probably, beyond Luton. It isn’t as if I can go down Bury Park – the town’s hotbed of extreme Islam – and fix Mrs Khan’s broken boiler, is it? I used to have a plumbing business among other things, until the state closed me down, froze my bank accounts, declared me a financial non-person. If I tried plying my trade down Bury Park tomorrow it’s a toss up whether they’d find my head in a different part of town from my body, or whether they’d find either of them at all. Tommy Robinson is very well known in that neck of the woods, by the violent Muslim gangsters and the extremist Muslim preachers. Even the ordinary locals going about their daily business feel justified to take a swing if they see me passing, as has happened more than once, even while working with film crews. But the law doesn’t apply in those instances. So I have to be careful where I go, needless to say.
An everyday job in Luton isn’t on the cards then, yet my family has taken a massive financial hit of £ 125,000 over the mortgage case under Proceeds of Crime legislation. I’ll go into more detail later, but when I pleaded guilty in that deal with the Crown Prosecution Service, it limited what they would pursue me for financially, along with leaving my wife out of it. That was the axe they hung over my head. Plead guilty Tommy, and we’ll leave your wife alone. What would you do? What would any man do?
My agreement with the CPS was that they wouldn’t pursue me for getting what they call ‘particular benefit’ from the offence. I’d lent my brother-in-law £ 20,000, he overstated his earnings on his mortgage and made £ 30,000 when he sold the house on and paid me back. That was all. Then after I pleaded guilty for what my lawyer thought would be a non-custodial sentence, and still got jailed, the police went back on their word anyway, going after me for £ 315,000, the total value of all the equity in the property my wife and I owned. The lying bastards.
I don’t know if that’s because I told officers from the Metropolitan Investigation Bureau, people who claimed to be a division of Scotland Yard, to go fuck themselves. Those people promised to make all of my problems go away, if only I went back to lead the EDL, to be their man on the inside. What were they after? I’m still not sure. A way of controlling the EDL perhaps, to suit whatever their own political agendas were. I also think they were worrying about this Paul Golding character, who has started another protest movement, Britain First. He’s the man you might have seen in the news but mostly on social media networks, storming into mosques and taking his followers into the fray quite a bit more forcefully than I ever did at the EDL.
Anyway, whoever the MIB really are, they wanted me back on the inside, as their informer, running the EDL. They came to see me in prison, at home, they kept phoning me – every time I was at a low ebb, and thought things couldn’t get worse, along came this crew dangling an offer to ‘help’. I told them where to shove it. I’d rather do the jail time than be an informer.