Democracy as Performed by the Unelected


By Jason Michael

Apparently nothing can happen in the parliament we elected until some old woman no one elected arrives and reads out a speech someone else wrote for her. If her grandson wants a republic then we should give him what he wants.


In the interests of transparency I might as well put my cards on the table and state right from the get-go that I am no monarchist. So if you are easily upset by some opinionated Scot taking a literary dump on the divine right of the family Sachsen-Coburg und Gotha – whether masquerading as Battenbergs or Windsors – you’d better click on something else now. Earlier today, in the aftermath of some of London’s most marginal residents being burnt alive in the name of grotesque social inequality, and before being whisked off to another glorious day at the races, Mrs Saxe-Coburg-Gotha officially opened the English parliament.

We pay our taxes in Britain and Northern Ireland to ensure our government – correction: her government – can slash social welfare spending, cut essential services, and cripple the health service, while paying her almost £40m annually. For a sum over four times the amount it cost Kensington and Chelsea to clad Grenfell tower – a name she couldn’t even get right in her speech – in a pretty but toxic and flammable façade the least we would expect is that she could write her own speech, but no; that is all done for her by Number 10. Rather than being the final fail-safe of our now dangerously chaotic democratic institutions she is nothing but the astronomically expensive mouthpiece of slightly less-well-paid idiots. This monarchy of ours is the very definition of pointlessness.

Not to worry, Prince Harry assures us that no one in the royal family actually wants the crown when Britain’s longest serving monarch pops her clogs. Isn’t that a relief? It’s a £37.9m a year effortless job no one wants. Here, at least, I think Harry – or to give him his full name, Henry Charles Albert David Mountbatten-Windsor – is telling the truth. He wants the cash alright, but the crown brings with it the inconvenient intrusion of cameras. Who’d blame him; there are few fabulously wealthy guys who enjoy doing cocaine in Las Vegas hotels’ presidential suits with call girls fancy being in the limelight of the press. Our media voyeurism puts an end to the notion that blue blood equates to moral superiority. Not one of them wants that sort of exposure.

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The fifth in line to the throne on his fifth line of coke.

Some will suggest that this repulsive institution is a sideshow, not an immediately pressing issue in our struggle for a better Scotland or Britain. My thinking is that this is a load of garbage. The monarchy – all that it is and all that it stands for – cuts right to the heart of what’s wrong with Britain. It is the very constitutional enshrinement of social hierarchy and privilege that makes poverty, foodbanks, and the criminality of social housing inevitable. We cannot have a fair society where such a disgusting class system – topped by a constitutionally useless old lady and her ne’er-do-well family of state-dependent wasters – is written into law. Any law built on this midden can only serve one purpose; theft – pure and simple. It’s time we started writing our own laws.

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Breakdown of a Royal Fortune


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