Postby treeman » Fri Apr 12, 2013 1:23 pm

Thatcher’s true legacy: Her Majesty’s national socialist state

By Richard Cottrell

Contributing writer for End the Lie

The death at a great age of Margaret Hilda Thatcher should provide the British people with a perfect opportunity to draw a line in the sand between the Iron’s Lady’s ruthless neo-fascism and the enlightened forms of government which, by some grace of God, might succeed the interregnum represented by the clueless and weak caretaker David Cameron. I am not optimistic.

Editor’s note: read Richard’s latest articles “The empire strikes back: Luftwaffe bombs Cyprus” and “Gagged! UK government brings in full press censorship, pledges death to the internet”

Thatcher’s greatest crime was to transfer to the public consciousness her own entrenched hatred for the mores of decent society, for individualism, for respect of the privacy of individuals and all the ancient rites long stored in the British state such as the Runnymede Charter and the Statutes of Westminster.

Thatcher let rip the mania of destructive consumerism and debased capitalism which has led directly to the police state that is now steadily displacing the paternal welfare state.

Indeed ‘welfarism’ is now equated – particularly in bottom trawling (literally) rags such as the Daily Mail and the Daily Express – as the natural replacement for communism.

‘Welfare dependency’ is the new plague stalking the nation, while the crooked banksters and city trading types steal millions every day and park it in sunny South Seas islands.

That’s called prudent independency, and it was Thatcher who created that culture of greed and unbridled dishonesty with the famous Big Bang that transformed the City of London into one gigantic roulette wheel.

When Thatcher told a popular woman’s journal that there was no such thing as society, only individuals ‘striving’ for a better life she was thinking of her own warped, dystopian upbringing in a small and dull Lincolnshire town.

She never possessed sound political principals or instincts, except the endless ‘striving’ in which her glorious alderman-grocer father indulged behind his shop counter in Grantham, unremarkable capital of the Lincolnshire potato growing country.

His virtues of thrift and hard work were doubtless real enough, but revealingly throughout her life and career in politics she failed to indicate the same degree of devotion to her mother and sister. Her family life mirrored what had gone on in Grantham.

She idolized her largely witless son Mark, precisely because he was a son, while his clever and witty sister, Mark’s twin Carol, found herself, like her grandmother and aunt, consigned very much to the sidelines. Margaret Hilda Thatcher did not like women, to the extent that she considered she had been born in the wrong form.

Very early in her prime ministerial career, the word ‘conservative’ as applied to the party that she led (bullied and harangued) was replaced by ‘Thatcherism.’ This was a doggerel creed she picked up from her chief guru, Milton Friedman, and neocon backwoodsmen like the remote and icy John Boyd-Carpenter.

For all her idolizing of the old scoundrel Winston Churchill and the Monarch of the Grouse Moor, Harold Macmillan, she had nothing in common with either their thoughts or principles. In fact she was not really a conservative at all in any meaningful sense.

She was, in fact, a socialist of the nationalist and corporatist hue which placed her very much in the line of pre-war national socialism and of course, Soviet corporatism. Truly, a creature of Hegel.

The Britain that she built shifted the scale of power away from individuals and their personal relationships to the state in favor of the power of big corporations who were allowed to grab the ‘family silver’ – as Macmillan, who despised her, called the nationalized industries – at knock down prizes.

Her great programme of flogging off the state enterprises – gas, water, electricity, airlines, telephones – was trumpeted as the ultimate freedom, whereas in fact the millions who came into the market for the first time were out again in two shakes of a dog’s tail.

On the back of this mass illusion she created profit hungry cartels that gleefully sodomised their customers, maximizing shareholder profits and gigantic boardroom rewards before investments, exactly as the Austrian-born thinker Peter Drucker prescribed as the new course of modern capitalism.

Of course behind the scenes, her millionaire oil baron husband Denis, a daguerreotype racist and all-round reactionary, egged her on to ever more extremes of daylight robbery.

Bewitched by this apparently mad woman, the perfect fountain of duplicity, the British public reacted like slaves who come to love their chains. The ‘prosperity’ she created was false and shallow, since inequality in British society widened to unprecedented levels. The Brits partied on and begged for more.

Like the ersatz shareholder democracy, the prosperity of the UK was constructed on the false foundations of soaring house prices and runaway IPOs in the City of London.

After the Bing Bang blew up the old medieval ways of open call, the City abandoned all pretence at acting as a store of investor value. Caution was thrown to the wind as one tin pot worthless outfit after another took a bucket to the magic well in search of flyaway fortunes.

It was bound to end badly and it did. Thatcher was the true grandmother of the great financial collapse which began in 2008.

Perpetually frustrated by her skirts, Thatcher loved any scrap she could wade into. In one of her famous demonstrations of respect for democracy, she entirely demolished the Greater London Authority because Londoners persistently voted for socialists to run it.

Greater London, home to eight million people, was thus Balkanized into a cabal of squabbling parish councils. She called denying Londoners the right to choose their governors a victory.

She itched for a good war and duly got one when the Argentineans invaded the Falklands, home to just about enough people to fill the average morning London commuter train and a lot of sheep.

In fact, her own Foreign Secretary Lord Carrington had quietly put the Argies up to it, by withdrawing the only naval patrolling vessel cruising the local waters.

No one in their maddest dreams thought the old bat would launch a counter-invasion, but she did and duly earned her Empire Strikes Back moment of fame. Yet the lasting scar of that affair was the lost lives of scores of British military personnel, taken from their families for the hubris of a woman who soaked the entire affair with her overbearing, outlandish pride.

She loved bashing garlicky foreigners. It was always difficult to get her to go on holiday, and on the rare occasions that she did venture across the great silvery ditch known as the English Channel (la Manche to the French) she chose Switzerland, because of the tinkle of the Alpine cow bells among the whizzing of the money markets.

Thatcher was the culmination of the steady transformation of the British political personality into a national socialist state. Thatcher’s corporatism would have been recognizable to Mussolini. Her flattery and encouragement of great state champions shamelessly aped the Third Reich.

The Nazi programme was designed with tricks of mirrors and light to convince Middle Class Germans that they had at last discovered true salvation and security. This was the same elementary message of Thatcherism which – and this cannot be said too often – was intended as a permanent force. The rival Opposition was never intended to govern again and in reality, it never has.
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