by Mark Steyn
Steyn on the Commonwealth
April 1, 2019
~It’s April 1st, and this was supposed to be the first business day of a post-EU United Kingdom, with planes dropping from the skies, Mars Bars melting in your hand, and doughty Irishmen of north and south paralyzed in permanent immobility by the psychological terrors of an invisible Berlin Wall that had mysteriously arisen overnight across sleepy country lanes in Killeen. Instead, thanks to Theresa (“Brexit means Brexit”) May, Britain wakes up and finds itself still in the EU. It turns out Brexit doesn’t mean Brexit, but, if you give ’em a couple more weeks or months or years, the political class assures us that one day they’ll be able to agree on which unending and degrading vassal status Brussels should get to impose means Brexit.
In the midst of this uprising by the elites against the masses, enter John Major. No, I don’t know who he is, either. Oh, wait …it seems he was the bloke back in the Nineties keeping the “Most Useless Tory Prime Minister” seat warm until Mrs May came along. Just in time for All Fools’ Day, Sir John argues that to solve the “Brexit impasse” Britain may need a national government – ie, Conservative, Labour, Liberal, Scots Nats, Irish Republicans, Welsh Sheep-Dippers, whatever… A Ministry of All the Non-Talents, to modify Lord Grenville.
The press has already moved on to speculating who will succeed Theresa May. But, really, who cares? If Westminster can’t rouse itself to recover the sovereignty of the United Kingdom, what’s the point of a “Prime Minister”?
It is now necessary to have a crash-out no-deal Brexit just to teach a contemptible political class the vital lesson that nobody needs ’em.
~Speaking of which, in that other House of Commons in Ottawa, there were surprising developments in Justin Trudeau’s corruptocracy while I was holed up in court on Friday. For Americans, the easiest way to understand the SNC-Lavalin saga is the way I put it on the Oakley Show a couple of weeks back: what Trump was falsely accused of, Trudeau actually did. That’s to say, squeaky-clean twelve-year-old Justin made a serious and sustained effort to obstruct justice through political interference with the Crown’s prosecution of a criminal case. Lest you doubt that, on Friday a recorded telephone conversation between “Jody” and “Michael” was released to the world. “Michael” is Michael Wernick, Clerk of the Queen’s Privy Council for Canada, who is supposed to be an apolitical civil servant; “Jody” is Jody Wilson-Raybould, the then Attorney General, trying to remind “Michael” that he’s supposed to be an apolitical civil servant. Instead, it’s seventeen minutes of political strongarming:
You can find the transcript here:
JWR: … OK, so then…so I am having thoughts of the Saturday Night Massacre here Michael, to be honest with you, and this is not a great place for me to be in – I do not relish this place – but what I am confident of is that I have given the prime minister my best advice to protect him and to protect the constitutional principle of prosecutorial independence.
C: OK…alright but…l am worried about a collision then because he is pretty firm about this…l just saw him a few hours ago and this is really important to him… OK…um…
I don’t know why Michael Wernick is abbreviated to “C” (for Clerk), which gives him the aura of MI6 rather than grubby Liberal cronyism. Be that as it may, I have testified before the House of Commons Justice Committee myself and I cannot see why they would not recall Ms Wilson-Raybould to speak to them.
Justin affects a clean mien, but his once famously “sunny ways” are looking more like Sonny Corleone’s ways, and Canadians are beginning to sense that.
~From the Muslim Council of Hong Kong:
We just simply can’t get enough of the glad tidings that continue to come out of New Zealand since that tragic Christchurch massacre.
I’m sure. For the rest of us, it doesn’t seem an entirely healthy reaction to a freakish one-off mass murder. In the wake of the Prime Minister’s multiple public appearances in various hijabs and a ceremonial visit by Yusuf Islam (formerly Cat Stevens) to lead New Zealanders in a chorus of “Mourning Has Broken (Our Sanity)”, we now have the latest celebrity “reversions”:
Sonny Bill Williams, a Muslim who carries his Islamic faith on his shoulders, has been blessed with an incredible news – his beloved mother and his All Blacks rugby team[mate] Ofa Tu’ungafasi have both said the shahada today and have reverted to Islam. Allahu Akbar. This was confirmed by brother John Fontain, who is on a humantarian mission to New Zealand.
For American readers, the All Blacks are New Zealand’s iconic national rugger team – I once tried to explain it on Rush, but a befuddled Mr Snerdley kept interrupting me with, “Do they all have to be black?” and suchlike. Sonny Bill Williams “reverted” a few years back, but his mum decided to sign up following Christchurch, and Ofa Tu’ungafasi, his Tongan teammate, did so after visiting survivors in hospital.
All of this rang a vague bell with me: Prayers for the Assassin, Robert Ferrigno’s novel of an Islamic Republic of America in the year 2040. How did America become an Islamic Republic? Well, round about now-ish, there was a short nuclear exchange in the course of which Mecca got fried. And some sort of mass guilt trip deriving therefrom precipitated mass conversion to Islam:
Jill Stanton’s proclamation of faith while accepting her second Academy Award would have been enough to interest tens of millions of Americans in the truth of Islam, but she had also chosen that moment in the international spotlight to announce her betrothal to Assan Rachman, power forward and MVP of the world champion Los Angeles Lakers. Celebrity conversions cascaded in the weeks after that Oscars night…
I was skeptical then. But, after the Christchurch massacre, New Zealand seems to be giving the Ferrigno thesis an out-of-town tryout.