Like all mainstream party leaders, Nick Griffin is very keen to be seen in a positive light. Hence his party's position on race being reduced to one of clear-sighted beneficence; its policy of divide and cultivate proof that the BNP care as passionately for other cultures of the world as they do for their own. It's a difficult furrow to plough and Griffin, who is perhaps the only public figure in this country with less charisma than John Redwood, is not able to pull it off. Thankfully, he has one more wicked weapon in his weary arsenal: his creative writing talent, which was evident in spades in the BNP's Part Election Broadcast.
An edited - or, if you prefer, censored - version of the PEB was broadcast last Thursday. The full version, complete with coverage of Griffin's triumphant Truth speech outside of Halifax police station three weeks ago, was made available online this week. Check it.
The lyrics to the rather haunting song you just heard addressing 'the disgrace of old soldiers without homes' were written by Griffin himself. In January they were posted on the BNP website with 'a brief word sketch' explaining the inspiration behind the song. Griffin has 'a very early childhood memory of seeing a bearded tramp with a fox on a lead.' Many years later, he heard that around 20% of Britain's homeless are ex-servicemen, and he remembered that old tramp and 'realised that most 'tramps' in the early 1960s would have been veterans of the Second World War.'
So, so far, so bad at maths. But then Griffin hit upon his master conceit, turning base suffering into political gold: 'Having promoted his fox to Corporal, the veteran of two recent conflicts brings him chicken bones from the bin outside KFC so he doesn't lose his only companion. He seems to be going mad - or is it the society that lets such men down so badly that's truly crazy?' And the BNP is the ONLY political party in Britain to even raise that question in any form, let alone in song form.
Here are a couple of our favourite bits:
My God, I was angry to hear,
When home from the army I came,
There were flats for Iraqis and Afghans,
But never a flat with my name.
My God, we were thirsty in Kuwait,
And choking in dust we went dry.
But we shed a few tears for our Gary,
When a mine took his legs and he died.
Boom-boom! It's easy to mock of course. And thank God for that. If Nick Griffin weren't such an uproariously risible caricature with a fringe-flicking tic and a glass eye, he might actually be something to fear.
However, the fact that he is *almost* something to fear is perhaps reason enough to fear him. He seems to understand the theory of manipulating the media, but happily he is destined always to appear as a highly unattractive, shambling, hateful cunt. On the BNP site, after his own overstated paean to his own piece-of-shit fascist folk song, he gloats that 'this and various other fine songs will soon be appearing on a growing range of professionally produced CDs.' Unfortunately, at the moment they are in desperate need of 'youngsters doing patriotically-inspired rock and dance music.' So Griffin wants to know, 'Are there any budding Mike Oldfields out there? Lyrics encouraging or condoning race-mixing, homosexuality, drugs and similar decadence, and that tired old 'Oi' sound, are not required, but if you are making any kind of music that you think may be suitable, please get in touch.'
Mike Fucking Oldfield?
The real fear of course is that, thanks to the moribund ideas- wasteland of the political mainstream, the immigration band-wagon will continue to pick up speed, and that sometime over the next couple of years, someone with genuine charm will emerge from the far right, someone who actually understands the media and is able to manipulate people successfully rather than merely making them spit and chortle. Then we'll be properly fucked.