Enemy at the Gates

THERE is devilment and mischief abroad. A dangerous and unrelenting scourge is sweeping through the land like the gangrenous pustules of a medieval plague. Make no mistake, this a frightening pandemic of immense proportions and neither a designer mask nor a bottle of sanitised hand-gel will save you from the worst infestation the world has ever seen.

Away from the centre, where the disease first appeared, transplanted globules of swarming bacteria take root on foreign soil and quickly begin to imitate the source. It begins with chewing gum and jazz music, soap operas and guttural slang, but soon multiplies into the morphological catastrophe of a festering social, political and economic sore that will ultimately devour its host.

What are we to make of QAnon signs on the streets of Germany? Why were Far Right demonstrators in England wearing Trump t-shirts? How did American events come to dominate our lives? When did an international sickness become a remedy for the ailing, somnambulistic frame of Mother Europe?

Despite the everyday fiction that emanates from the psychological madness eating-away at the disturbed minds of those who line-up with the bedraggled legions of Right and Left, none of the images you see on your television screens have anything to do with black people being murdered by the police or with the laughable threat of communism. The real enemy is not the fascist/antifa idiot who stares back at you from the other side of a carefully positioned barricade, but the creeping pestilence of Americanisation and those whom it serves. That, my friends, is the real narrative and something all proud Europeans should be fighting against tooth and nail.