Am I Becoming A Brexiteer?

On a typical weekday evening when all scheduled programmes were taken off air simply because the powers-that-be decides to hold the Six Nations Rugby Final on a Friday evening instead of a Saturday afternoon, we made our own decision to switch to the BBC iplayer. Not that I was totally uninterested in rugby - I prefer to watch rugby rather than Association Football. That is Soccer to all American readers. The Final was between France and Scotland. I guess that anyone with a trace of common sense would conclude that either France or Scotland would lift the trophy. Not so. If Scotland wins this game, then the trophy would be lifted by Wales, who didn't make it into the finals.

Six-Nations Trophy - won by Wales, 2021.

Confusing? Maybe I should be, but again, for a game which is played among posh boys attending fee-paying private and public schools, we plebs wouldn't understand, would we? Indeed, Scotland did defeat France by a narrow margin, and so all the Welsh celebrate with jubilation.

And so, what did we watch on the BBC iplayer? A movie based on a true story. The movie was called The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind, which tells the story of a young Malawian teenager, William Kamkwamba (played by Chiwetel Ejiofor) who saves his family from poverty due to the deforestation of the land for industrialisation. And the son's dream was against the wishes of his father, Trywell Kamkwamba, who was hostile to his son's ideas and even gave him a beating.

When the boy was escorted by his proud father into his bedroom, my heart fell, as he saw, for the first time in his life, his school uniform arranged neatly across his bed. It was identical to the uniform worn by any English schoolboy. Not surprising, as Malawi was a protectorate of the UK for 73 years between 1891 and 1964. Therefore, his new set of clothes would include a tie - to be worn at school even within a tropical region. But his wearing of the uniform was short-lived. His family was unable to keep up with the school fees, and he was eventually expelled.

But during his short spell at school, he saw a dynamo fixed to a bicycle belonging to one of the teachers. And from there, he crept into the school library (after he was expelled) to find a book on how electric power was generated. Eventually, he developed within his active mind a way to salvage his family's welfare and fortunes during a time of drought.

His solution was a windmill, which he designed and built with the help of his friends. Once fully erected, and as the sails rotated by wind power, this turned the wheel of a bicycle on which the dynamo was attached. This charged the batteries which powered an electric pump, itself found at a local dumpsite. This pump drew water from a well and irrigated the field on which the family would grow their own crops - even during a drought.

The beatings the boy had received from a sceptical parent turned into a tight hug from a believing and very grateful father. Even the school staff came to visit to inspect the windmill. Both Alex and I were taken aback - feeling rather aghast, really. This was a true story. It actually happened - an intelligent young black teenager and his incredible active, optimistic and reassuring mind, who can shame the so-called "civilised" minds of some English public school students. 

As the family was sliding into poverty and hunger, yet it took a bright teenager with an imaginative mind to turn around his family fortunes. Despite having formerly been expelled from school, he did end up at university - Dartmouth College in New Hampshire. What a contrast all this is to a report I read in today's Daily Mail.

The report, from two journalists, Paul Bracchi and Clara Gaspar, centres on two schoolgirls, Izzy Myatt, a former pupil of the James Allen School for Girls, and Georgina Edwards from the same school, who were both sexually harassed by the boys of the neighbouring Dulwich College, a prestigious public school. According to their testimonies, the frequency of such misogyny has normalised into a culture of its own which was kept under cover - that is - until the recent rape and murder of Sarah Everard after being abducted from Clapham Common by a Metropolitan police officer, Wayne Couzens. This had motivated many of the girls to bring into the light this kind of misogyny to the public's attention. The kind of harassment that had taken place among public schoolboys was not only at Dulwich College, but also at Latymer Upper School, St Pauls, Eton, and Westminster, among others.*

It is this type of misogynic culture which had made me look upon this glorious country with an element of embarrassment. Then to add the 1993 killing of Stephen Lawrence by a gang of white racist youths, along with the institutional racism among the Metropolitan Police dating as far back as the post-war Windrush generation entering the UK on June 22, 1948. With such imperialistic history associated with the UK which many an Englishman holds with pride, I find the concept of European Union membership an excellent idea, in a sense being one in a kind of international family.

The real William Kamkwamba

The same nation that dipped its hand into black profits during the slave years, denouncing the Negro to that of a mere animal, and then having the audacity to show African children how to dress smartly for school - wow! That beats me! Hence my sense of disappointment when William Kamkwamba, a son of a family of farmers, was shown the uniform for the first time. I know this is just me, and most likely alone in such thinking, I'll admit that.  But when considering that the tie was worn by the criminal fraternity. Ron and Reg Kray, for a start, of the notorious East London gangsters, wore suits and ties during their active career of crime. The killers of Stephen Lawrence wore ties as they walked from Court as acquitted men, due to a lack of evidence from the racial-motivated Met Police, who also wore ties. Then not to mention the Mafia and other corrupt business tycoons who normally wear ties.

Then you wonder why I thought that this Malawian teenager wearing an English-style school uniform would corrupt his innocent mind, hence my disappointment. Thank God it didn't!

Back in the early 1970s, I voted for the UK to enter what was then the European Common Market. The EU, which grew out of this, was meant for all nations - all 28 of them, to allow all trades to flourish easily between them, along with the ability to settle in any country within the EU. On top of this, the issuing of the EHIC medical card, allowing for free healthcare across Europe, had mitigated much anxiety over the possibility of falling ill while on holiday or business. Furthermore, the Schengen Agreement allowed a traveller to enter different countries without border checks. Thus, when we crossed into Belgium from France on the Eurostar in 2019, the train didn't even slow down. What a contrast to 1973-1975 when the train stopped for a long while at the French town of Modane for individual passport checks before crossing the border into Italy. Schengen has done away with such delays, but how unfortunate that the UK was never part of it.

And thus, with a closer tie to my ancestral Italian home, I have always been an ardent Remainer. And I get annoyed whenever I read the words, Remoaner, Remidiot, or Remainiac (although only the first word was commonly used.) And should I be surprised as such words were coined up by the smug Brexiteer whose gloat over the other side's loss would have been shamed by the likes of young Kamkwamba?

My crushing disappointment after the 2016 referendum was never allayed. Even at present, there's that lingering wish that we had stayed in the EU and carried on enjoying the benefits such membership would have offered. But it's more recently, with the present vaccine fiasco, that I'm wondering whether we had done the right thing to leave the European Union. Whether we would now benefit economically or not, or whether trade tariffs would get in the way at our ports, this is not the point. The Concept of EU membership, to me, is magnificent. Just as the idea of internal combustion is the best way to get a vehicle moving without involving horses or bulls. But if the car breaks down, you don't question the concept of the internal combustion system. Instead, you fix or replace the engine.

Three principal leaders have brought the whole of the EU into bad repute. Ursula von der Leyen, who is President of the EU since December 2019, along with German Chancellor Angela Merkel, and French President Emmanuel Macron, has each hesitated to allow the rollout to go full power while, at the same time, threatening the exportation of the vaccines into Britain, hence heightening the risk of a rise in infections over here while our own rollout slows down as a result.

I won't hesitate to admit that the UK had done extremely well with the vaccine rollout compared with the bloc. I think the main contribution to this was instead of hesitating, as the EU leaders did, we signed contracts with various companies for the import of vaccines as soon as the pandemic began, long before any vaccine was developed.

I'll be clear:

Due to a crisis in the vaccine rollout, voting to leave the EU in 2016 was the right thing to do.

But that doesn't make me a Brexiteer. It doesn't make me a patriot. It does not make me a Royalist or even a supporter of the Monarchy. It does not make me believe that the English are superior in nationality, race, moral, religious or civil ethics. It won't change my bloodline from Italian to English. Neither would I ever embrace the delusion that England is God's country (this claim is for Israel only.) Rather, I'm pointing the finger at the bad leadership under which the EU is suffering.

As I'm aware of the incorrigibility of the human heart, the presence of sin and the need for atonement, forgiveness, and reconciliation. Therefore, it's no surprise that such behaviour arises from these leaders - the feeling of jealousy, and envy towards Britain for first voting to leave the EU and then setting contracts in place while across the Channel, the leaders over there baulk over the safety of the vaccine and hesitate.

The dynamo used by Kamkwambo

However, instead of sitting smugly on our sofas and with arrogance, gloating over Europe's misfortune, perhaps we need to follow the example of William Kamkwamba and make efforts to assist Europe in the manufacture and distribution of the vaccines - and that done in compassion and gritty determination - even when faced with opposition. Together, we need to fight this virus and make efforts to save the lives of these Europeans, as they are too made in God's image, just as William Kamkwamba is made in God's image, as we are.

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*Daily Mail Newspaper, Saturday, March 27, pages 10-11.  

A Cause for Tragedy and Hope. (Fiction)

Ninety year old David Bull coughed and spluttered slightly as he reclined rather cheerfully in his favourite armchair, after his son Graham had dropped him and his 87 year old wife back home from a short trip out. As he cleared his throat and relaxed, his wife sauntered to the kitchen to prepare for him a cup of tea. None of this modern tea-bag rubbish, but the traditional brew in a china teapot, from which a strainer over the mouth of the cup will keep the beverage relatively free from a sediment of spent tea leaves.

The weather outside was awful - cool for late June, dull, and wet. Not that it mattered to the elderly gentleman. For where it was cold and inhospitable outside, inside his heart was warm, glowing with happiness - and pride. As he reclined, he began to let his memories slip back to that dreadful day as a seven year old boy, frightened and with a deep sense of uncertainty. For that was the day he felt that his parents were abandoning him to the fate of the boarding prep school, the start of the long, eleven-year separation from home for a military-style curriculum of full-time education.

Every morning he and all the other boys were escorted to the school chapel for the worship service, where the Christian religion was presented to them in a cold, formal manner. If that was not enough, mandatory grace was said before meals, with which the food was practically inedible, purposely prepared that way to set them upon the road for military service and leadership, and for the hardships that would come their way throughout adult life. David had watched two or three other boys at first refusing to eat, but of no avail. For the strict Matron made sure they ate, force-feeding them amidst weeping and tears. David knew better than to suffer such humiliation. So he ate without relish three times a day, an ordeal to be endured, but never without the thanksgiving to God delivered before the cutlery were lifted from the table.

Day by day, the youngster dreaded the cane, the instrument for corporal punishment, which back in those days was administered by any member of staff, as well as at the headmaster's office. And such was administered rather liberally, for even the smallest offence. When David discovered that there was a news agency not far from the school gates, during one break he slipped out, and with the paltry sum of pocket money, bought himself a Mars bar, a wonderful moment of taste and enjoyment after an endless sequence of horrid dross passing over his tongue. He didn't get away with it. Midway into his next lesson, the headmaster summoned him into his office, and there received five strokes of the cane across the palm of his left hand, before returning to the classroom with tears running down his face.

Those were the worst years of his young life. How he longed for parental love. The comforting arms of his mother. A mother he can run to and shed tears without a shred of shame and embarrassment. The encouraging father-son relationship. Missed opportunities for father and son to spend time together, for example, on a fishing trip, or even just a walk in the park. And an occasional treat such as a bar of chocolate. But no. Father was too involved with his military-allied job. Mother devoted herself to his younger sister. David began to see himself as a nuisance to his parents, always getting in their way. So he believed back in those days. Therefore their best solution was boarding school. At least that was him out of the way. It was years later did he realise their sacrifice through the cost of such education clearing out their bank accounts.

By the time he arrived at public school, his heart was already hardening against showing of emotion. Big boys don't cry - it's the sign of weakness, and therefore a potential target for relentless bullying. One afternoon, the droning of the history master caused his thoughts to drift. Suddenly, the master cracked his cane right across his own desk, making an ear-splitting sound loud enough to wake up the dead. David jolted upright. With his eyes piercing the student's, he ordered him to repeat the last ten minutes of the lecture. David was unable to. So the master brought him to the front of the classroom and in front of everyone present, administered six hard strokes of the cane across his buttocks. The pain was excruciating, but still made every effort to refrain himself from shedding the slightest tear. He had in the past watched other students receive the same punishment, then turned around to smile, and thanked the cane-wielding master as they returned to their desks. David wasn't quite able to reach that point of emotional stoicism. Instead, he wiped a stray tear which managed to escape his lower eyelid, with discretion, hoping that no one in the classroom had seen what he had just done.

Eton College, a famous public school.

It was at that stage in his lifetime that David saw Englishness and Christianity being synonymous with each other, no longer able to tell them apart. Daily morning assembly under Church of England liturgy and the keeping of religious laws were no different from the strict school rules from which the slightest breach would result in corporal punishment. Faith equalled stoicism to such a degree, that any show of emotion was a sign of weakness, and therefore seen as a betrayal of God's purpose, particularly for the King, Country, and Empire. Up to that point in his teenage years, David accepted the Christian philosophy as it stood, that God is a God of war and conquest, and that strict discipline and stoicism to military excellence met his approval. But on one Sunday, when David was at the school chapel with all the other boys, that something occurred which turned his heart against religion altogether. It was the lesson - the reading of Scripture aloud in public - which caused the teenager to shudder, for it was delivered with such an insincere tone of piety. For the Scripture read was 1 Corinthians 13, from the King James Version, followed by an explanation that the word Charity to mean love, and not merely a benevolent organisation. And who took the lesson? None other than the history master who had not long before had publicly smarted his buttocks.

For the rest of his life, David hated God, and everything else to do with all religion, not just the Christian faith. As a result, he became a committed atheist, which carried him along for the rest of his life. However, on the positive side, the school curriculum was good, and despite the total lack of love in a cold, unwelcome atmosphere, he learnt how to play rugby well during the Autumn and Spring terms, spruced up his swimming skills at the school pool, and excelled in cricket and athletics during the Summer term. The gym also featured a boxing ring, where during some P.E. lessons, he found himself sparring with a partner. But the crown of his long years of boarding school was to leave with five A Levels, which gave him a good standing for a University degree.

But after leaving school, he remembered having to join the Forces before attending University, and he chose the Army, the best way to release his pent-up frustrations, with a promise that he would attend the Officer's Training College based at Sandhurst instead of a civil University. But as this was still the War years, and after a few months of training (not a lot different from school discipline, except that the Sergeant had a louder voice) he was posted to Rhodesia, to keep a possible skirmish under control. It was there, as an indigenous uprising against colonialism was threatening the peace, that he was firing his machine gun pell-mell, without proper aim, through a village. As he was returning to base, he saw a young mother lying dead outside the front door of her home in a pool of blood, her dead newborn's mouth still attached to her breast. He realised that it was his bullets which passed through the baby and through its mother while breastfeeding. He felt an emotional blade piercing his heart, perhaps for the first time since it was deprived of all emotion during his school years. Instead, his upbringing compelled him to quicken his pace, and put such a sight behind him. King, Country, and Colony must come first. But the stab continued as a dull ache for the rest of his life.

Back to the present, as the elderly gentleman relaxed in his armchair and sipping his tea, his memory of that shooting was as clear as it had taken place just yesterday. His felt his pride and happiness drift away at the haunting of such a vision. and he began to feel troubled in spirit, the aching of his heart resurging.

The next day, he awoke to the news that the United Kingdom has voted to leave the European Union. That should have brought him joy, after the short trip to the polling station with his wife and son on the previous day. Instead he felt very apprehensive. Seeing that the day's weather was a contrast to that of the previous day - warm, dry with some sunshine - he decided to take a stroll through the high street. And so with his son Graham, who lived just a few blocks away, along with his wife, the three sauntered along the shopping precinct. They approached a coffee shop, and at one of the tables set outside the window, a Mediterranean-looking young mother sat, breastfeeding her infant, his tiny head adorned with a mop of black hair. The dull emotional ache he had always felt suddenly became acute, and he stood as transfixed outside the shop window, close to them. Presently, a group of very disturbing young men approached, three wearing tee shirts bearing racist slogans. The fourth was actually wearing a red tie over a white collared shirt.

The four youths began to sneer at the mother as she cradled the child to further protect him from view. At this, one of the lads yelled, "WE ARE OUT! GO BACK TO YOUR OWN COUNTRY!" Then the smartly dressed youth threw a missile at the young woman, hitting her on the shoulder before lodging between her chest and the baby. David thinks the missile might have been the core left from an eaten apple.

Graham shouted "OY!" as all four cowardly youths took flight and ran off. Then both mother and son went over to console the young woman, and made sure she wasn't too distressed by the incident. Meanwhile, David's lower lip trembled and a tear rolled down his face. He also knew that love for Queen and Country had nothing to do with the racial abuse. Rather it was out of envy, disguised as patriotism, at the reality that someone had succeeded in fathering the next generation, whoever that person might be. Most likely, to them, some foreign pen-pusher with the sign Vote Remain proudly displayed on his desk.

The family returned home, with the son deciding to remain for lunch. As the senior citizen was weeping over his shocking reminder after so many years, his wife asked him if he would like to hear some words of Scripture. David knew that his wife was converted to faith in Jesus Christ some 25 years into their marriage, along with their son. Quite a contrast to the strong atheism she had when they first met at a ballroom while he was on leave. But throughout their marriage he would not buy it. His public school upbringing on State religion had made sure of that. But the haunting memories of that shooting in Rhodesia has made him think again about the best things in life. And one thing that was missing in his younger years was love. It was almost a miracle that he was able to love his wife as he did. He remembers her as a ravishing beauty that night he first set eyes on her. And to him, age has not faded such beauty, even if the world outside their home may think so.

She took out her Bible, and together they read these verses from the Authorised version:

And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up: 
That whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but hath eternal life.
For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but hath eternal life.
For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.
John 3:14-17.

She then flipped forward through some pages and then read out this:

That if you confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.
For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.
For the scripture saith, whosoever believeth on him shall not be ashamed.
For there is no difference between the Jew and the Greek: for the same Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon him.
For all whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.
Romans 10:9-13.

David lowered his head as in deep thought, while his wife and son felt it was right to retreat into the kitchen. While they were gone, he started to pray with sincerity, perhaps for the first time ever in his entire life, knowing within that Jesus Christ has came into the world to die, was buried, and rose physically from the dead three days later, to bring peace and hope. He then called on God to forgive him for everything he has done, and to ask God to dwell within him, then thanked him for his mercy and goodness. He then called his family back into the lounge.

"I have called on God for forgiveness and peace," he announced. "Already I feel at peace with God, with the world, and within myself."

His wife and his son both jumped for joy, then embraced each other in a tight hug. Then they both went over to him and tightly hugged, beaming with happiness and joy.

In the early hours of the morning, while his wife was soundly asleep, David woke up to find himself in the loving arms of the risen Christ in Heaven.

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Although the story is fiction, all the incidents, including the shooting, were taken from the past testimonies of others, including from one or two whom I talked, and therefore are all historic.