The "Labour" establishment has all but destroyed what it means to be British; what it means to be human. They have nearly completed their mission to impose socialism upon every part of a society which is giving way to a state; and a socialist state only works when no people are involved. Socialism is feasible only as an imagined state of being, not consciousness; it is agreeable only when there is no-one there to disagree with it. It fears intelligence, because with intelligence comes dissent, questions, verbosity, verbiage. With intelligence comes ideas, challenges, a re-ordering of the status quo; an end to blind obedience. And here I risk the full retribution of the mob (once my premise has been explained to it) for daring to say that no wonder our country has become so stupid, so Alice Through The Looking Glass; because the Averages Labour support to the exclusion of the intellectuals care nothing for liberty. They cannot think in axiomatic terms: liberty and freedom and justice and truth have no real meaning for them. They can only recognise them by their opposites: that it is "bad" when someone is brutalised or tortured (and often they will led to believe that there is a "good" reason for such brutalizing by the perpetrators when it becomes not quite so bad). They know not that such axioms exist and should be upheld for their own sake as bright, beautiful, shining things that are so precious they are infinitely worthless and entirely priceless.
The mob will take security over liberty always. It will give up what are innate freedoms - not knowing of their existence, let alone of their importance - and allows them to be sold back to its children as 'rights'. It has to be told what to do: being directed makes it feel safe, except when it hears the primal call and must obey its urge to spill blood. It will hand over its body and soul willingly in return for money; a prostitution of flesh and spirit. It upholds a system of government pernicious beyond words, it goes through the inhuman process of celebrating the fact that it chooses its leaders based upon a popularity contest and accepts their total dominance. It considers not that it votes only against failure, not for success. It allows itself to be told what it likes and what it dislikes by those who stand to gain from its mental manipulation. And this, this marching in place, it calls "free".
No, the mob possesses no reason, nothing of the exquisite or fine: it is dulled and coarse, badly milled, full of chaff. At most, a thread of animal cunning runs through it; but collectively, it is little more than an unruly child which is either beaten into submission and retires sullenly, or bands together with other children and creates anarchy. Its power can be summed up thus: weapons in the hands of grown men with the minds of infants. It pollutes all that it touches, all that epitomises humankind's greatest achievements and separates it from the animals. Show it a Wren masterpiece, show it an Adams staircase that flies like a ribbon through the air, show it Titian and Rembrandt and Dali and Rothko, and it will tear them all down in favour of cheap glittering trash and instant gratification.
The mob is not only cunning, but resentful. Its slow-moving collective brain sees that others gain wealth and influence and things of beauty; it hides in the dark places, thirsting with greed and hatred, and waits for the day in which it can storm the citadels of learning with envy running through its veins like poison. And I fear not the wrath of the mob who reading this would understand little and care less; I fear more the political masters who would stir up the mob's vengeance and let them run amok. The mob, given liberty, sells it; and those who fight for liberty on the mob's behalf tend to end up dead. The mob would have riven Rousseau and Voltaire limb from limb and sucked the marrow from their bones, yet not ingested one particle of their will-to-liberty; they would have burnt Franklin alive, and laughed savagely as they shredded Paine's 'Rights of Man' before his dying eyes.
The Founding Fathers feared the mob, and justly so; they believed it self-evident that all men had the right to the pursuit of happiness, but not a free-for-all in the way they pursued it; for men may be created equally, but they are not - will never be - equal. Too well did they know what violence may be wreaked by those maddened by hot blood, lust, bloodlust; that in the throes of animal passion no-one and nothing can be distinguished, no justice may be served, no reason employed, no lives saved. And once the baying mob has been subdued it dons its smock once more, hoses the streets clear of blood, has very little clear recollection of its anarchy; it all seems like a dream somehow, something that happened to someone else. And those rulers of men believing that they have tamed the savage beast make grandiose declarations promising a better life, a safer life, a more equal kind of life, a fantasy that exists only until the next time the mob answers the call of the wild.