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But that Britishness is buried rather deep. The day after Christmas in the United Kingdom is Boxing Day, a sort of Black Friday in this country. It’s a nightmare to navigate the crowded streets, and the shops are packed solid.
It was precisely this day that the British Tube employees – workers of the British subway system – chose to strike for 24 hours. This meant that everyone was now obliged to use taxis, which were charging double rates, or take a bus – and the traffic was snarled more horribly than Matthew Pocket’s hair. What were these employees striking for? Triple pay on holidays – and an offset day to make up for having to work on Boxing Day. They were already slated to make double pay.
In any rational society, the British government would fire these ne’er-do-wells forthwith and hire scabs to replace them. But Britain’s post-WWII bargain with the devil has been the same as the rest of the West’s: go Marxist and remove your imperial aggression by doing so. Capitalism, in the Marxist view, leads to imperialism; breed the capitalism out, and so too will the imperialism fade into history. And so Britain has castrated itself, both economically and socially.
But deep in the British soul, there stirs the echo of heroism: the echo of Churchill and Henry V, the echo of Elizabeth I and Cromwell. As time passes, that echo will grow ever louder. The question is whether the echo will restore Britain’s fortitude before it descends into a self-imposed dark night of final decline.
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