Although it was the brainchild of the older generation, Brexit has become a youth issue. Even Victorian factory overlord and chief backbench Brexiteer Jacob Rees-Mogg said we may not know the economic benefits of Brexit for another 50 years. If so, not even I, at the tender age of 27, let alone him, at the ripe old age of 167, will see that fanciful trough of money slide into our bank accounts once we’ve cut ties with Brussels until is too late.
So, assuming that Mogger’s prediction is accurate (it isn’t), why would the likes of him, spineless Boris Johnson and Michael Gove et al. want to call the Brexit shots? Why not immediately hand over the reins to the generation who will be affected by the UK’s withdrawal from the bloc? To leave a legacy? Doubtful.
It’s the longest game of I told you so in history.
In 50 years, when the last survivors of Britain come across a crackling radio buried deep in the radioactive snow that blankets the rubble where Birmingham once stood and tune in to hear a distant broadcast in Mandarin saying that the pound has risen one percent against the new euro and now equaled 0.002 cents, then, and only then, will Jacob Rees-Mogg ease out his dying breath to his 52nd grandchild: “I knew it would pay off, Etonious Harrowious Plonkerous, I knew it. “
Until then, the blame for everything that goes even slightly awry with Brexit will be laid at the feet of the EU or with those who don’t want it to happen at all.
Who can wait that long for a cash-out? Well, the Brexiteers can. Rees-Mogg has already started shifting some of his investment company’s assets over to Ireland, an EU member state, just to be sure. What a patriot. A good old top-hat wearing pinch of salt of the earth.
I can hear the clicking now as millions of regular working class Britons send their own savings offshore. Take that, EU, there’s a bloody app for that now, I’ve seen it on TV. But, of course, they’re not. They can’t. And that’s one of the many tragic things about Brexit.
The arch-Brexiteers, all from the upper echelons of society, successfully tapped into reserves of working-class rage. Putting the obvious racist contingent of the pro-Brexit electorate to the side for the sake of word count, it’s not that hard to see why someone might have voted to leave.
During the referendum, there was a strong showing from the UK’s forgotten corners. If you wake up in a blind panic every morning trying to figure how you’re going to put food on the table for the rest of the week and then someone comes along saying all that can change with a simple vote, you might just hedge your bets. You’ve got nothing to lose. Except, of course, you do.
Recent research published in the Financial Times suggests that a no-deal Brexit would cost the average UK household a grand. And yet, a no-deal is being championed by Moggers, Johnson and the Male Daily. Rest assured that not one penny will be alleviated from their pockets for the cause. For many, a thousand pounds is the difference between surviving or not.
Our resident I’m not a fascist I’m just a regular bloke Nigel Farage recently had the audacity to claim he was skint, conveniently forgetting about his measly 8,500 euro (pre-tax) monthly salary at the European Parliament, which is just a side job for him. I’ll do it if you want, Nige.
He won’t be there much longer, though, and while that is a cause for celebration, it also rings in a darker era in the UK’s relationship with the bureaucrats in Brussels at a time when the far-right is on the march across the continent.
This is where our knight in shining cardigan ambles in. The absolute Jeremy Corbyn boi.
Ever a eurosceptic, Corbyn seems fairly content letting the Brexit process run its course until May’s government inevitably crumbles and she is forced to live in his allotment shed. He might like that, he could get back to nationalizing his carrots and making sure Liam Fox doesn’t get into his chlorinated chickens.
By that time, UK politicians will not only have reduced their international clout, but they will have absolutely no tools at hand to influence the EU. This is music to the ears of die-hard leavers, but surely not to Jeremy Corbyn? As the messiah of the British progressive left, does he not want to be at the frontlines of the looming political battle with the far-right?
From Italy to Germany, Austria to the Czech Republic, the far-right is hoovering up the vacuum left by the nigh on total collapse of the center-left. Center-right outfits are budging up to make room. In these turbulent times, when controversies are swiftly forgotten with the swipe of a thumb and fascism has put on a fake mustache to sneak back into government, the left-wing needs to put its myriad differences aside and unite.
The battleground has been set for the European Parliament during the elections in May 2019, after officials have clicked Ctrl+Alt+Del on the UK’s seats. Corbyn’s willingness to slide out of the EU recuses him from the task of sticking up to Europe’s far-right bullies on behalf of those without a voice, those will suffer the most with fascists in charge.
At this rate, by the time Corbyn gets into government, he’ll be stood on the white cliffs of Dover with a homemade jam sandwich watching on as the EU’s democratic institutions are slowly dismantled. Steve Bannon wouldn’t miss it for the world, Corbyn would. If he doesn’t feel up for it, maybe it’s time he passed the buck to someone who is going to feel the full brunt of Brexit personally.
But then again, perhaps this is all a lost cause. We’ve stepped off a political cliff edge already and are venturing into uncharted territory. Politicians are improvising. Everything they learned in their journey to the top became irrelevant on June 23, 2016. This new chapter of global politics is looking fierce and I doubt history will smile kindly on those who asked us to turn the page. I’d like to put the book down now, please.
At least Mogger’s money is safe, I guess.