Thatcher’s chicks have come home to roost – perfectly adapted to mondialisation since crime knows no frontiers. The barons yearn to be as openly bent contract as the orientals and latins they do business with. Thatcher released them from the idea of society – all there is is sex and shopping. They are the future and they know it. Dusty old tropes like democracy, civic virtue, public service have gone out of the window at about the same rate that the natural world has been destroyed. Extinct notions, extinct species.
The delicate protective structures we, the herbivores, assembled in centuries of patient work built are smashed by the baron’s clear-sighted amoral zeal (and heavy boots). And we can’t be sure who the forces of law and order will obey.
Watch the theatre of their appearance before the digital, culture, media and sport select committee of the UK parliament, jackets off straightaway – into battle. Their contempt was evident. They had the liberated shiny look of those who have thrown out everything except self-interest. The nobility of their transparent dishonesty contrasted with the woeful, compromised futility of the committee interviewing them. (see this account). Any attempt to diminish them as individuals called up how people laughed at the Brownshirts tk at first – before the windows went in.
The barons are the ones who will get the contracts to stem the flow from Africa, for the fences and camps now being projected in far far away vague places out of old-fashioned gaze – to be staffed by willing butchers from the sorry Balkan statelets – themselves heavily mafiosisch.
But that’s another story – to which we will return. Didn’t we try the camps before with a people we felt uneasy about? Didn’t turn out too well did it.