A sea of heaving backs behind Nelson

Over 3,000 Muslims occupied (or colonised, if you’d rather) Trafalgar Square on Monday to celebrate iftar, the meal that breaks the Ramadan.

They were holding a mass prayer, with London mayor Sadiq Khan in attendance as host or perhaps imam – I’m not quite up on Islamic arcana. But I’m glad the festivities took place behind Admiral Nelson, not in front of him.

Had he been able to see the revelries, Nelson would have come alive, gasped “I’m petrified, Hardy” and ordered a grapeshot broadside. Scenes of that nature smack in the middle of London aren’t what the good admiral died for at Trafalgar.

This reminds me of a conversation I had with a big, perpetually thirsty Irishman over 20 years ago at just about this time of the year. Some urgent business had taken me to the area around Trafalgar Square on St Patrick’s Day, only for me to realise that urgency wasn’t on.

The whole area was taken over by boisterous green-clad crowds, with many drinking out of Guinness cans and most belting out Oh, Danny Boy or songs I didn’t know. Even though they were in no way threatening, they were unbearably noisy. I detest crowds of any kind, but on that day I was especially annoyed because I had to shoulder my way through that mass of inebriated humanity and as a result was late for my meeting.

When I shared my feelings with my Irish co-worker the next day, he said I was a miserable sod who just hated to see people have a good time. I objected, saying I was all for people having a good time. I just didn’t think some people should have a good time at the expense of many others, in that case paralysing both vehicular and pedestrian traffic through central London.

But at least St Patrick’s Day is a Christian holiday venerating a saint recognised as such by both apostolic confessions of Christianity, Catholic and Orthodox, and also by the Lutheran Church and the Church of Ireland (part of the Anglican communion). Hence both the saint and his commemoration are in line with our formative tenets and 1,500 years of tradition.

That wasn’t the case with all those thousands doing their Muslim press-ups in Trafalgar Square. That sight had to be offensive even to those who, unlike me, don’t suffer from an acute case of enochlophobia.

They were celebrating a tradition not only alien to our civilisation, but actively hostile to it in every way you care to name: historical, religious, cultural, even sartorial. Still, they are entitled, I suppose, to exercise the freedom of religion guaranteed by the same British constitution so many of them despise.

The question arises, however, of why they chose to exercise it in Trafalgar Square. After all, most of those gathered there don’t live in that area. The Muslim population of Westminster does stand at 20 per cent, but most of it is concentrated around Westbourne, Paddington and Edgware Road, about three miles away.

Why didn’t they choose those areas for their devotions or, better still, Tower Hamlets, a borough that might as well be in Dhaka, not in London?

Shadow Justice Secretary Nick Timothy provided a credible answer to that question. The costume show in Trafalgar Square, he said, was an “act of domination and division”. In other words, it was radical Muslims showing Londoners who’s boss.

They’ve already demonstrated their electoral power by electing a socialist Muslim mayor, who is happily running London into the ground, replicating on a smaller scale the outrages being committed by other socialists, those working in Westminster and specifically Downing Street. And it was Starmer, with Sadiq Khan bringing up the rear, who led the counterattack.

Starmer described Timothy’s comments as “utterly appalling” and demanded that the Tory leader “sack him”. That Kemi Badenoch refused to do, offering a cogent explanation why.

It’s not about religious freedom, she said. “It is about how religion is expressed in a shared public space, and whether those expressions fit within the norms of a British culture.” Just so.

Moreover, she jogged Starmer’s memory by reminding him that in 2021 he himself refused to take part in an event organised by the Ramadan Tent Project, the same group that was behind the display in Trafalgar Square.

Badenoch didn’t say so, but at that time Labour was reeling from a series of anti-Semitic scandals at the top of the party. The very top, actually, starting with the previous leader, Jeremy Corbyn, whose position became untenable in 2020, partly for that reason.

Hence Starmer had to develop ad hoc philo-Semitism and boycott radical Muslim events. The situation now is different: as the recent by-election in Manchester showed, Muslims will vote as a bloc for a party that loves them the most. And, on that evidence, that party isn’t Labour but Green.

Hence Starmer’s urgent need to “suck up to Muslims”, in Badenoch’s phrase. It should go without saying that Mrs Badenoch, the rest of her party and Reform in its entirety were instantly accused of being secretly run by Tommy Robinson.

The logic behind it is typically Left-wing – after all, people capable of rational, sequential thought don’t become Left-wing. Hence anyone sharing a single view with a demonstrably revolting personage like Tommy has to be his closet admirer.

If you’ll excuse another foray into my personal experience, I once had an argument about the EU with an American neocon, to whom I have the misfortune of being related. Neocons in general are pro-EU, mainly because they don’t know enough about it, but also because American ‘paleo-conservatives’ whom they dislike are against it.

Having heard my arguments, which I won’t repeat here to save space, my opponent used the same line of thought currently practised by Labour: if you are against the EU, he said, you are for Putin, its known enemy.

Absolutely. And every dog-loving Briton is a crypto-Nazi because Hitler loved his Alsatian Blondi.

As an aspiring PM, Kemi Badenoch can’t express herself with the same freedom I can. So I’ll say this for her, without, I’m sure, deviating too far from what she thinks. It’s possible to despise that disgusting thug Robinson while at the same time being appalled by watching a great nation commit civilisational suicide.

For the accumulation of Muslims in Britain is rapidly approaching, if it hasn’t already reached, the critical mass where they’ll become king makers, if not quite kings yet. If they can force at least three of the five major political parties to do their bidding, they can gain political control of the country.

That would be a gift that keeps on giving because all those parties support easing (in the Greens’ case, eliminating) immigration controls. In effect, this means that the Muslim population of Britain could easily double within a few years – especially since those same parties also support abiding by EU laws.

One of those laws is about free movement of people, meaning that a Muslim setting foot anywhere on the European continent could proceed to Britain unimpeded. Experience shows that many will do just that, even though in theory they are supposed to settle in the first free country they reach.

God save us all if the only tangible force opposing this development is Tommy Robinson types. In their own way, they are as un-British as the possessors of those heaving backs in Trafalgar Square. Whichever side wins, the future is grim.

P.S. If you have doubts about cultural erosion, just look at one small aspect of our culture: Imperial units. Britain went metric to be in line with the EU, and by 2000 grocers could be arrested for selling food in pounds rather than kilos.

Even though Britain left the EU in 2016, that abomination has persisted. Today, most grocers, especially young ones, don’t even know what an ounce or a pound is. Since I stubbornly demand my food in Imperial units, I have to provide translation services on the spot.

This morning I asked my local butcher for three pounds of short ribs and realised I might as well be talking to a deaf Martian. “A kilo and a half,” I said because I didn’t want to go hungry.

You can extrapolate from there, can’t you? Penelope certainly can.

Yesterday, she received a circular e-mail from Smythson, whose (prohibitively expensive) leather goods she occasionally patronises. The message showed a crescent and said: “Eid Mubarak. From all of us at Smythson, we wish you and your loved ones a joyous and happy Eid.”