March of the Immortals
Britain’s ruling oligarchs could learn a lot from Russia’s March of the Immortals where relatives of those who fought in the Great Patriotic War march through Russia’s cities and towns to remember and salute their relatives.
Britain’s ruling oligarchs could learn a lot from Russia’s March of the Immortals where relatives of those who fought in the Great Patriotic War march through Russia’s cities and towns to remember and salute their relatives, who fought, bled and died. It is a somber occasion and Russia’s President marches too, carrying a photo of his father, Vladimir Spiridonovich Putin, who was severely wounded during Finland’s Siege of Leningrad (where Victor, his younger brother, starved to death, along with many tens of thousands of others).
The March of the Immortals is as such marches should be. The fallen, those who bled, hold centre court, and their relatives, Russia’s President included, march in homage to them.
Not so in England, which is currently splurging on a spending spree because their Head of State’s Royal posterior has been ensconced on her gold crusted throne for the last 70 years. The seemingly never ending spectacles to salute this old fraud are, in a word, disgusting. The woman, who married a penniless Greek philanderer, is 96 and should be living in an old folks’ home with views of Dover, or some other pastoral coastline where coke smugglers and illegal immigrants, hoping for a better life, clamber ashore.
But no. Despite her infirmities, she is wheeled out for Hollywood cultist Tom Cruise to address a few platitudes to her and to watch some dancers from “darkest Africa” perform some pretentious mumbo jumbo that would better belong in a 1970s’ Carry On Up the Jungle movie.
Any country, Thailand excepted (because of their late King’s Buddhist links), that reveres royalty in the sycophantic way so many British flunkeys do this old fraud and her family is a country with incurable mental health issues. This British Royal Family is the most dangerous and treacherous family in history. The First World War, more properly known as The War of the Three Cousins, was a war between Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany and his cousins, Tzar Nicholas, the King of Finland, and Britain’s King George V, the grand son of Britain’s Famine Queen, whose armies looted much of the known world and who only left the Pyramids behind in Egypt because they were too heavy to haul back to the British Museum, which houses billions of dollars of looted artefacts, from Syria, Iraq and Egypt.
Although Egypt’s deposed King Farouk quipped that soon there would be only five kings left in the world (the Kings of hearts, clubs, spades, diamonds and England), the wonder is why and how these Anglo-Germanic frauds have got away with their scam for so long.
Much of the answer to that conundrum can be found in, of all places, Liverpool, famous for its music, its football and its antipathy to these old frauds. When Prince William, recently returned from being ridiculed and booed in the Caribbean, installed himself into the heart of the FA Cup Final between Liverpool FC and Chelsea, the apprentice fraud was thoroughly booed during the course of their national anthem, whose racist lyrics run as follows:
Lord grant that Marshal Wade
May by thy mighty aid
Victory bring.
May he sedition hush,
And like a torrent rush,
Rebellious Scots to crush.
God save the Queen
Note that a military band, surrounded by an entire battalion of other Marshal Wades, hogged the field for this grotesque spectacle, which belongs more in Hitler’s Nuremberg than it does in a modern democracy (sic).
This is just a clash of civilizations, between the Jamaicans and the good people of Liverpool on one side and, on the other, their overlords, who have always regarded them as little more than anthropological freaks, as this 1964 piece on Liverpool football, done by a plum accented chum of the BBC’s resident child molester Jimmy Savile, shows.
Britain’s oligarchs see things differently. These fascists not only think Liverpudlians should lap up their bling like they are one of the Queen’s corgis but feel it necessary to warn them that the Queen’s Loyalist thugs in Belfast would happily crush them like so many rebellious Scots for daring to have such egalitarian views in their pretend democracy.
It has often been quipped that, in Liverpool, football is more than a game and even more than life itself. It was, as that 1964 piece shows, the working man’s game, his Saturday afternoon relaxation after a week’s work. But the problem with Britain’s oligarchs is they must opiate the minds of Liverpool, of Jamaica and other places where they, their Princes, their ponces and their Hollywood cultists are not welcome.
People just want to live in peace, free from these pernicious leeches. In Liverpool, they want to relax by watching Liverpool or Everton. In Russia they want to remember their families and in Jamaica, they want to cast off Royalists who manacled their ancestors.
But for the Royal D listers, though the show must go on, the fear is that Liverpool’s example might spread, and that the threat the level playing field that football represents might upturn their apple cart. There are even calls to sanction Liverpool because their fans are not Royalist sheep and because they still boycott the oligarchs’ newspapers over their disgraceful attacks on the people of Liverpool at the time of the 1989 Hillsborough football disaster, where one particular rebellious Scot won the eternal admiration of all of Liverpool for his common humanity and decency.
So, yes, though football runs deep in Liverpool, it shows Liverpudlians and similar folk do not need that much in life. They have simpler tastes, earthier tastes that don’t need the pomp and circumstance Royalist under achievers need to shimmy over their crimes.
All the Royalist oligarchs have going for them is they and their flunkeys control the levers of power. Though they can and will gate crash all the FA Cup and Wimbledon Finals they can, they cannot capture the spirit of the ordinary Liverpudlian as, for example, this well received 1985 Letter to Brezhnev movie does. This is not a matter of musical or cinematic taste. It is to say that one group, Liverpudlians and Jamaicans in this case, do not need another group, Royalist oligarchs and their sycophants, to lord over and leech off them.
Though the British, then, have much to learn and much to do, they should begin by emulating the examples 100 years earlier of Russia and Germany and divesting themselves of the world’s most dangerous and despicable family. Liverpool and England would be much better for it.
