Steyn on Britain and Europe
The Victoria Cross is the Commonwealth's highest decoration for valour on the battlefield. Yesterday it was awarded to the first living Briton for action in the Afghan war (if memory serves, three living Aussies have been so honoured). Lance-Corporal Joshua Leakey was with the 1st Battalion the Parachute Regiment on a joint UK/US operation in Helmand when it all went pear-shaped, and he found himself having to rescue a fallen American Marine captain while fending off 20 Taliban single-handed:
L/Cpl Leakey is the second member of his family to win the Victoria Cross. His second cousin twice removed, Sergeant Nigel Leakey of the King's African Rifles, won his in 1941 in a fierce battle in Abyssinia, leaping on an Italian tank that was firing on them, wrenching open the turret, and killing the crew. It cost him his life. Sgt Leakey has no grave, only a name on the East African War Memorial on the outskirts of Nairobi.
His kinsman was more fortunate but no less brave. As I wrote last year, when Australia honoured its 100th Victoria Cross recipient, Corporal Cameron Baird:
L/Cpl Leakey pooh-poohed that kind of talk at yesterday's ceremony:
I would like to think he was "a normal bloke". But I worry these days that your "normal bloke" is fretting about micro-agressions in the safe space at Wesleyan University. The gulf between those who fight and those they fight for has never seemed wider.
from Steyn on Britain, February 26, 2015
The new British police state wages war on free speech
Free speech is in retreat around the western world
The French authorities killed three murderous savages yesterday. That was the only good news on a day in which a third hostage siege began in Montpellier. The bad news started at the top, with President Hollande's statement after the Charlie Hebdo slaughter and the Kosher grocery siege: Those who committed these acts have nothing to do with the Muslim religion. Yeah, right. I would use my standard line on these occasions - "Allahu Akbar" is Arabic for "Nothing to see here" - but it's not quite ...
My column on Britain's and Europe's Christmas holiday without end attracted a bit of pushback from readers across the pond. For example: Oh dear. I do like your stuff normally but this nonsense you have produced about the Xmas holidays us lazy Brits take is irritating crap. Just because the Yanks are good little wage slaves it's not a template. In any event average hours for a full time job per year in the UK are around 1950 for a 37.5 hour week. Most are lucky to get a couple of days for Xmas ...
Rotherham and the multicultural cringe
Just about the only part of my career I truly regret was the time I spent at the BBC, who very kindly fired me back in the Nineties. Otherwise, I'd have a lot more time to regret. Notwithstanding two years of headlines re Jimmy Savile, Stuart Hall and others, not everyone at the Beeb in my day was a paedophile - or at least I don't think so...
As I was saying: "Ukip â€” like Nigel Farage's bar bill at ten in the evening â€” will climb a lot higher yet." And so it did...
Today Britain goes to the polls to vote in the European elections. Nigel Farage has had a rough ride, to the point where a casual observer might easily assume the election was being fought between Farage's UKIP and a Tory-Labour-Liberal-Media coalition...
In the new Britain, quoting Winston gets you arrested
Who will rid Dutch liberals of this turbulent blond?
"Neo-Nazis" and "anti-government people" on the march!
Behold the infidels - bystanders in their own fate: Steyn on an act of savagery in a London street - and the appalling aftermath
The picture on the right is from the Nineties, and I'm rather fond of it, because I manage to look both goofy and shifty but Mrs Thatcher's cool is undiminished. I don't know why the harp was there...
Steyn salutes a great man...
I scrammed out of London a few days before the Olympics began, but after getting an earful on what the locals make of it. On the whole, the residents of that great city would rather the honor of hosting the world's most disruptive sporting event had gone to some joint that needs the publicity more – Alma Ata, or Ouagadougou, or Oakland. In 21st century London, traffic moves at fewer miles per hour than it did before the internal combustion engine was invented without the added complication of fleets of Third World thug bureaucrats and the permanent floating crap game of transnationalist freeloaders being dumped on its medieval street plan. Nevertheless, having drawn the short straw of hosting the Games, Londoners felt it a point of honor that the city be able to demonstrate the ability to ferry minor globalist hangers-on from their favorite whorehouse in Mayfair to the Olympic Village in the unfashionable East End in time for the quarter-finals of the flatwater taekwondo.
The last of the 20th century's Big Ideas is dying before our eyes: The sick man of Europe is ...Europe
My weekend column is on London ablaze and a society summed up by the relevant chapter title in my new book ("The New Britannia: The Depraved City"). The scenes we've witnessed this last week ought to prompt some serious soul-searching by liberal elites. I nearly said "paternalist," but, as Tocqueville noted, the word paternalism implies that your object is to raise your charges to adulthood, whereas the children of dependency are maintained by government in a state of permanent and increasingly ...
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