Katie Hopkins

The media is <a href="https://www.axios.com/2022/05/26/gun-deaths-children-america">pushing</a> this misleading CDC press release because it fits the gun control agenda after the latest school shooting.

<blockquote>
	
		Firearms were the&nbsp;leading cause of death&nbsp;for kids one and older for the first time in 2020, the most recent year for which&nbsp;CDC data&nbsp;is available.

	
		Why it matters:&nbsp;The firearm death rate among children is steadily rising, as more kids are involved in gun-related homicides like Tuesday's&nbsp;mass shooting in Uvalde, Texas,&nbsp;as well as suicides and accidents.
</blockquote>


	Yeah, no.


	The CDC <a href="https://www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJMc2201761">release</a> to the New England Journal of Medicine, which normally loves to talk up racial demographics in the name of equity, buries them in its appendix. Here's what those look like.


	<img height="519" width="571" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="1" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2022/05/cdc_appendix_1.png" alt="" />


	Those aren't school shootings, they're the black nationalists of Black Lives Matter at work.&nbsp;


	Crime shot up due to pro-crime measures, like police defunding and bail elimination, as well as the massive BLM riots. But the impact among most groups, including white people, was limited.


	There was however a massive increase in the already staggeringly high death rate among black kids.


	But this just means that the CDC's numbers for black kids are in line with <a href="https://www.frontpagemag.com/fpm/2021/09/black-lives-matter-killed-2000-black-people-daniel-greenfield/">black men in general</a>.

<blockquote>
	
		Homicide doesn't even make the CDC's&nbsp;top 10 causes&nbsp;of death for men in America, but it's number four for black men. In 2017, it caused 5% of the deaths of black men, more than strokes, diabetes, or most diseases. The only things more likely to kill black men than black-on-black crime are heart disease, cancer, and accidents.

	
		Among black men under the age of 20, homicide is the leading cause of death at 35.3%.

	
		It's also the leading cause of death for black men from 20-44 years old at 27.6%.

	
		Only at the age of 65 does homicide drop out of the top 10 causes of death for black men.
</blockquote>


	Since we can't blame "white supremacy" for this, we also can't talk about it.&nbsp;


	And the CDC buries this data inside the overall numbers for kids and then tries to act like school shootings, a rare event, have suddenly made guns a leading cause of death for kids.


	Look for the media to keep pushing this same lie, blaming guns, instead of crime and its BLM enablers.

CDC Releases Numbers Showing BLM is Killing Black Kids

The media is pushing this misleading CDC press release because it fits the gun control agenda after the latest school shooting.


	
		Firearms were the

CDC Releases Numbers Showing BLM is Killing Black Kids

Why did school shootings go from being a rare horror to an ongoing phenomenon? A big part of the puzzle is the Columbine Massacre.


	While there were school shootings before Columbine, the media frenzy, the live coverage, was a sea change, and police have often found that school shooters studied the Columbine psychos and wanted to be like them.


	We know mass shooters imitate each other and inspire copycat attacks. That's why school shootings<a href="https://www.center4research.org/copy-cats-kill/"> continue to pop up</a>.

<blockquote>
	
		In the month that followed, 400 related incidents were reported across the country. Students called in bomb threats and praised the shooters’ actions. Some schools feared additional shootings and shut down temporarily.

	
		In 2007, a Virginia Tech student killed 32 students and faculty at the university. Prior to the shooting, he expressed a desire in writing to repeat the shooting at Columbine. Since then, many shooters have cited the Virginia Tech gunman as an inspiration and others have threatened to kill more than the 32 victims killed.

	
		Studies indicate that the more media attention a shooter gets, the more likely the event will inspire a future mass shooter. For example, a 2015 study found that after a mass shooting, there was an increased chance of another one occurring in the next 13 days.&nbsp;A 2017 study found that media coverage of a mass shooting may increase the frequency and lethality of future shootings for much longer than two weeks.
</blockquote>


	The media knows perfectly well <a href="http://www.danielgreenfield.org/2013/02/the-wrong-track.html">the impact that it has</a>.

<blockquote>
	
		Suicides spike after front page coverage of a suicide. After Marilyn Monroe's death, 197 more people killed themselves than the statistical norm. Suicides rise even after fictional suicides on soap operas. And murders are also influenced by the coverage of real and fictional murders.
</blockquote>


	The internet makes the genie harder to put back in the bottle, but the media doesn't even try.


	Columbine broke the unspoken rule about covering teenage suicides to avoid the copycat effect. The media breaks it every time since while blaming Republicans for not abolishing the Bill of Rights. The media understands perfectly well that it's promoting similar mass killings and it wants that to happen because it helps its agenda.

The Media's Obsession With School Shootings is Killing Kids

Why did school shootings go from being a rare horror to an ongoing phenomenon? A big part of the puzzle is the Columbine Massacre.


	While there were

The Media's Obsession With School Shootings is Killing Kids

“The Second Amendment is not absolute. When it was passed you couldn’t own a cannon, you couldn’t own certain kinds of weapons. There’s just always been limitations," Biden <a href="https://thehill.com/opinion/criminal-justice/3501244-the-haunting-reason-congress-wont-pass-sensible-gun-laws/">insisted</a>, during remarks exploiting the mass shooting in Texas.


	The thing about Biden is that he tells the same lies, gets called on it, and does it again.&nbsp;


	He does it when talking about his own made-up biography and when discussing America.&nbsp;


	Biden's dumb "cannon" line has been repeatedly fact-checked to death even by mainstream media outlets.


	Here's Glenn Kessler at the Washington Post <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2021/06/28/bidens-false-claim-that-2nd-amendment-bans-cannon-ownership/">dealing with</a> this same Biden line last year.

<blockquote>
	
		“And I might add: The Second Amendment, from the day it was passed, limited the type of people who could own a gun and what type of weapon you could own. You couldn’t buy a cannon.”
</blockquote>


	As Kessler noted then, "In this case, he repeated a claim — that Americans were prohibited from owning cannons — that has already been&nbsp;fact-checked as false&nbsp;when he made it during the presidential campaign."


	Variations of this same lie had already been fact-checked by lefty fact-checkers like Politifact. That's how completely groundless it is.


	And yet it says something that Biden and, quite likely, his staffers won't stop pushing the same lie. And that there's no actual accountability for it. When the media disagreed with something Trump said, they made a spectacle of it, they would assemble lists of what they claimed were lies and declared that political norms were being violated.


	Nothing like that for Biden, who we're told never lies, just "misspeaks". Again and again and again.

Biden Lies About Gun Control Again

“The Second Amendment is not absolute. When it was passed you couldn’t own a cannon, you couldn’t own certain kinds of weapons. There’s just always been

Wokeness is a symptom of brokeness. The harder they virtue signal, the worse they are at doing their jobs.


	Anyone who thought that San Francisco schools were going to dump the absurd wokeness and focus on education has <a href="https://www.sfchronicle.com/sf/article/SFUSD-drops-the-word-chief-from-job-titles-17199311.php">another thing</a> coming.

<blockquote>
	
		The word “chief” will no longer be used in reference to job titles in the San Francisco Unified School District in an effort, school officials said, to avoid the word’s connotation with Native Americans.
</blockquote>


	One can only imagine how the parents who watched their children's education<a href="https://sfstandard.com/education/new-data-show-s-f-public-school-students-slipped-further-behind-amid-pandemic/"> get nuked</a> feel about the exciting new SFUSD focus.

<blockquote>
	
		In math, every student group saw a drop in proficiency from the year prior, though some drops were more pronounced. Thirty-eight percent of African American students were marked “Proficient or above” in 2020-21, down from 46% one year earlier. Pacific Islander students with “Proficient of above” math marks dropped to 47% from 60%. District-wide proficiency was at 67%, down from 74%.
</blockquote>


	Now it's fixed though.


	If the scores drop anymore, teachers will get another raise, SFUSD will spend a fortune on equity consultants and rename some schools.&nbsp;


	That's bound to work, chief.

SF School System Solves 38% Black Student Proficiency Problem With Wokeness

Wokeness is a symptom of brokeness. The harder they virtue signal, the worse they are at doing their jobs.


	Anyone who thought that San Francisco schools

SF School System Solves 38% Black Student Proficiency Problem With Wokeness

Another way of reading this is that the majority party has abandoned its legislative agenda and will govern through executive orders while trying to hold test votes on whatever outrage is trending right now.


	Is this supposed to turn the public against Republicans?


	Since no one pays attention to Senate&nbsp;votes, mostly it's a stop-loss effort to placate furious Dem donors.


	Schumer tried this with abortion and it didn't go anywhere. Next up, <a href="https://thehill.com/news/senate/3502557-schumer-vows-to-force-vote-on-gun-control-legislation-after-memorial-day-recess/">guns, guns, guns</a>.

<blockquote>
	
		Senate Majority Leader&nbsp;Charles Schumer&nbsp;(D-N.Y.) told colleagues Thursday morning that they should be prepared to vote on gun control legislation when they return to Washington next month after the Memorial Day recess, promising a showdown with Republicans after mass shootings in New York and Texas this month left 31 people dead.
</blockquote>


	Next&nbsp;week, it'll be more BLM or #MeToo or whatever is trending in the media right now.


	This is what virtue signaling defeatism looks like.


	Schumer is announcing his own irrelevance.

Schumer Will Continue Holding Meaningless Votes on Whatever Issue is Trending Right Now

Another way of reading this is that the majority party has abandoned its legislative agenda and will govern through executive orders while trying to hold test

Schumer Will Continue Holding Meaningless Votes on Whatever Issue is Trending Right Now

We are used to counting down to good things: Advent before Christmas, New Year’s Eve fireworks, a rocket blasting into space, anything that ends with the word “GO!”


	Here across the pond, Brits are counting down to something altogether darker. On 7 Feb, the British government regulator (Ofgem) has to reset the energy price cap — an artificial limit on the amount energy companies can charge customers. And the new figure is terrifying.


	Analysts warn that energy bills will probably rise more than 50 percent to £2,000 a year for millions of households. This could plunge millions more people into fuel poverty and contribute to a cost of living crisis. We are back to the dark days of choosing between heat or eat.


	Alongside a punitive inflation rate trending upwards from 5.1%, the ordinary working classes of this country are feeling the pain, thinking hard about what they can afford to buy in a supermarket or if they can afford to turn on their heating.


	The Resolution Foundation think-tank warned last week that families face a hit of £1,200 a year to their income from April as a result of the sharp rise in energy bills, as well as tax increases.


	The reason for the impending cost of living crisis is two-fold.


	The British government’s push for competition in the energy market, combined with a price cap, meant new entrants signed customers over to their account by offering fixed-price contracts and deals that were too good to be true.


	Failing to hedge against these risks and selling cheaper than the purchase cost meant many new companies went to the wall in 2021.


	Secondly, Boris Johnson’s determination to be a Green Leader has exposed Britain. Britain has cut energy emissions faster than any other wealthy country in the last two decades. This may allow the Blond Thunderwhomp to puff his chest at Climate Change summits, but it does not help Average Dave and his family on $40,000 a year who can no longer afford to shower.


	Phasing out coal and investing in renewables sounds like a vegan’s dream. But when the wind does not blow (as it has not done for the last few months) and gas wholesale prices surge, our lack of energy resilience is sorely exposed.


	As commentators and politicians start to scurry about looking for solutions (or at least, wanting to be seen to be looking for solutions), the unvarnished truth is that this crisis has been looming large on the horizon throughout 2021. Now, the countdown has begun beforehand; grenades are thrown into British people’s homes disguised as energy bills that bear no relation to the sorts of costs ordinary English people are expecting to pay.


	It is gut-wrenching at so many levels, not only because we have watched Boris parading about like a peacock on Viagra at Climate Summits pleasuring his very woke wife. But because all the globalists' good intentions are so far removed from the ordinary people I know and love. Men who get up at 6 a.m. to be at work by 8 a.m. and don’t get home until 8 p.m. just in time for the wife to leave for a night shift. These people deserve better than worrying about whether they can afford to warm their homes.


	It is desperate to live above gas and coal supplies that could fuel this country for decades to come but to fail to exploit these to collect brownie points from the elite, even as China throws up ten new coal-fired power plants a week.


	But mostly, I fear the dark hand of government control, restricting, curtailing, and penalising the “little people,” reducing our lives to the tiniest things they can be. I fear the government taking away certainty, comfort, and basic needs, boasting of British successes at reducing carbon emissions all the while.


	The definition of success has gone very awry.


	The solutions presented by the financial analysts and energy experts are predictably dull:

<ul>
	<li>
		Tighter gas market regulation</li>
	<li>
		Stricter hedging requirements for suppliers</li>
	<li>
		Gas storage capacity, and</li>
	<li>
		Renewable energy storage capacity</li>
</ul>


	But all of these are more of the same. None of these leads us toward energy stability or increased independent supply.


	I recall the great days of Trump pre-COVID when America was flying, the economy was booming, and your great country had achieved energy independence for the first time in decades. The significance of that last achievement was a little lost on me—until now. Now, I feel it. And it was a magnificent thing.


	Britain is much diminished, and the lights are going out in every sense—literally and figuratively. Meanwhile, Average Dave and his family will be faced with unprecedented energy bills, and to add insult to injury, a 15% Green Tax on top of the cost to help fund more green nonsense that has inflicted this wound.


	I tell all this not to be a doom-monger. God knows I love to lift people up. I tell this because I ask you not to become like us -- people being forced into fuel poverty so that their leaders can claim they saved a polar bear.


	England may be a Green leader. But it is a cold, dark country for those unable to afford to heat or light their homes.

The UK's Cost of Living Crisis

We are used to counting down to good things: Advent before Christmas, New Year’s Eve fireworks, a rocket blasting into space, anything that ends with the word

The latest announcement regarding new lockdown restrictions here in the UK&nbsp;has transpired. It's the so-called Plan B.


	I appreciate that Plan B has a very different meaning in the USA, where it is available in CVS for those who have forgotten contraception is necessary to avoid pregnancy. But Plan B in the UK, as announced by Prime Minister Boris Johnson at a press briefing, means the Brits are once more reduced to working from home, masking up in all places, and facing the threat of a complete lockdown for Christmas.


	We can all agree it is pointless trying to rationalize with the irrational. It serves no purpose to repeat the obvious evidence that the lockdowns are neither a) necessary nor b) effective.


	Something far more sinister than an irrational government policy is at play. And Middle England - that great barometer called the voice of the ordinary Brit - is not playing ball anymore.


	On the same day that Boris announced Plan B measures, horrible footage was “leaked” to the press about a Christmas Party held at Number 10 Downing Street - Boris’s actual home - with cheese, wine, Secret Santas, and no social distancing. The kicker: this was December 2021.


	It was a practice press conference for Boris Johnson’s spokesperson Allegra Stratton, but both the optics and the content are crucifying for a supposedly serious government determined for us to believe they are “following the science” and that “no rules were broken.”

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	I am no party pooper. Believe me: I have been encouraging people to dance naked on tables for the last two years - way before such things known as the Delta variant and Omicron were just a twinkle in Doctor Fauci’s eye.


	Not only did Boris and his team deny such a party ever took place, even as video leaked proving it took place. But the party also took place in the week he obliterated the country with lockdowns, separated dying family members from their own, and effectively canceled Christmas.


	Twelve months on, many families and individuals are still carrying the pain they endured last year. Unfortunately, many are still traumatized by being unable to be with their relatives as they passed or having their final words to their father happen down a phone line. Emotionally, the shock of watching members of Number Ten appear to be laughing at their pain, sniggering about their own party, has been too much.


	From the perspective of principle, Boris appears to have stretched the elasticity of human decency beyond breaking point. He has proven he is willing to lie, lie, and lie again to try to keep power. No surprise from a politician perhaps, but still somehow shocking when the evidence of his lies is there on film for everyone to see.


	Yet, it might be the impact on policy that the wheels come off the wagon. Forcing a nation to endure hardship under the guise of public health or public good is one thing. People are sufficiently altruistic to wish to protect those they care about or their family members, at least.


	But if the leadership enforcing the hardship is proven to be lying and, worse, mocking the measures others are supposed to adhere to, then even the most compliant start to question their willingness to do more of the same.


	#IWILLNOTCOMPLY trended on Twitter after Boris' Christmas Party, partly as an angry retort to a Prime Minister desperate to divert attention away from a political sh*t-storm of his own making and partly as a statement of intent by the many who see the idiocy of crippling a country for a “variant” which appears about as harmless as a baby beaver.


	This leaves the country in a very uncomfortable position. I can almost hear the fizz of anger amongst ordinary Brits and feel the turmoil on our sidewalks. The Emperor’s clothes are off, and the British people are not enjoying the tiny excuse for manhood they are now at liberty to see.


	It is quite a moment.


	Unsure of who would replace Boris if he could be ousted, we must be careful to choose our monsters wisely. Australia, Canada, and New Zealand are horrifying examples of what happens when the Left have control.


	But we do not need all the answers to be asking the right questions: Why should the lesser monster lead the British people? We deserve better. We need a saviour figure right now.


	Given the naked insolence of the man setting the rules for the country, for how much longer will even the most cowed and COVID-fearful continue to comply?

Boris Johnson's No Social Distancing Christmas Party

The latest announcement regarding new lockdown restrictions here in the UK&nbsp;has transpired. It's the so-called Plan B.


	I appreciate that Plan B has a

Good friends say I’m stubborn as hell. My own mother has slightly less choice words for it — pig-headed, she says, and I guess she knows best.


	Either way, as a result of my unwillingness to acknowledge I am struggling, or asking for help last week, I ended up in the back of an ambulance headed to the ER.


	I knew I was sick. Even after I regained consciousness, vomiting on my bathroom floor, I thought sleep and a NyQuil would sort me out…pig-headed, you see.


	I was wrong. Do not fear, this is not a splurge about myself and the inner workings of my intestines or nasal passages. Nor is it a self-pitying lament about how jolly hard it can be on the road. My affliction was my old adversary, meningitis, returned to remind me I am mortal and need to be a great deal more grateful to be alive.


	Rather, this is a glimpse into the inside of an American ER, and a peek into the inner workings of a hospital, in the grip of the COVID storm.


	<img height="305" width="268" style="float: left;" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="1" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/10/kh.jpg" alt="" />The ambulance men were brusque on arrival, finding my British accent indecipherable and unable to fathom how I had washed up at a hotel on the Oklahoma border without car or a loved one to get me to the hospital. Impatient with my feeble answers, they marked me down as homeless and warned me the hospital was swamped, I should be prepared for a 6-hour wait, and that I should watch my back because “this place is COVID soup.”


	Feeling like death and willing it to come, I thanked him anyway, wondering if all American ambulance-men have this kind of bedside manner. I’ve met more sympathetic butchers in the abattoir, but I don’t doubt this has been a year from hell, and perhaps he is just sick of the sight of sick people.


	Oblivious to the signage, I sat in the area that seemed emptier than the rest. Only when another woman who appeared to be bleeding from the ear gestured to her husband to come sit away from the COVID plague area did I realize I was in it. How COVID is supposed to know there are different seating areas for the appointed and the not-appointed I am unsure, but in the Age of Insanity we stopped questioning such details a long time ago.


	A woman rushed in briskly, half poking, half pushing her companion towards an oversized wheelchair. Her friend was rasping, struggling for breath. Like a fish pulled from the water, she was gasping open-mouthed for air that would not come.


	“She can’t breathe” informed her friend, without drama or emotion. No time for that right now, all that mattered was getting help and fast.&nbsp;


	The nurse went straight to the public address system. “Shortage of breath, area 4, shortage of breath, area 4.”


	I heard other PA announcements during my time in the ER. Two were "Code Blue" with their associated room number and I wondered about those souls. I don’t think I want to know what Code Blue is, or why it needs to be fanned across a big building with such urgency, but I hope those people are OK.


	Ushered to a temporary bed in a makeshift ER ward and shivering like a newborn, I was surrounded by the sick, some of them very sick indeed. One was calling out in pain and my whole heart wanted to mend her better. I remembered my last little lecture to my elderly parents, that the last place you go if you are sick is the hospital. There is a reason for that.


	This place used to be a break room, now hastily filled with temporary beds circled by curtains, nothing quite fitting the way it should. One lady asked when she would be transferred to the "real ER" and was told this is as real as it gets, under COVID. Nurses remembered how they used to eat their snacks in this space, before it was overrun. There is no break room now.


	A nurse brought me a blanket all warm and comfy and my tears just wouldn’t stop coming: gratitude — partly, self-pity — no doubt, but mostly the kindness of this stranger on her twelve-hour shift, and the overwhelming sense they really are up against it in these places, deluged by the COVID sick and the otherwise unwell.


	Across from me a husband was helping his cancer-stricken wife, reduced to a rail-thin shadow of herself, barely able to get to the bed. He sat quietly, uncomfortable in his chair, curtain annoying his face, just holding her hand. I am certain he is an angel.


	Next to me a blind man with a suspected heart attack, his grown son never leaving his side, like a loyal dog ready to defend his master.


	People need an advocate in these places, or they do not stand a chance.


	All about I could hear the painful sighs of the others, and the sounds of struggles. The PA blasted the emergencies of others across us all, and the hurt never seemed to stop. And yet there was one sound that was louder than all the rest. It was the sound of kindness.


	I have been guilty of suggesting hospitals are all exaggerating the struggles they face, beset only by inefficiency and COVID melodrama.


	But I have been served a lesson, cold. The ER is overwhelmed; I suspect it was long before COVID and will continue to be long after. But in the face of it all, and despite it all, somehow basic humanity prevails.


	I sense that at the edge of life, we are reminded about just how great humanity can be.

24 Hours in the ER

Good friends say I’m stubborn as hell. My own mother has slightly less choice words for it — pig-headed, she says, and I guess she knows best.


	Either way

[See Katie Hopkins' exclusive video report on Apartheid NYC right below this article.]


	I’m not quite sure how I thought this trip to New York City would work out. I kind of figured the crazy new rules regarding vaccination passes didn’t apply to me, or somehow that reality would be different to the headlines -- stating that you needed to be vaccinated to go into bars, restaurants, and hotels in the city that never sleeps. I have faith in humanity and no fear. I couldn’t believe for a moment this place I used to call home would actually be enforcing the rules fabricated by de Blasio and the drug-pushers in power.


	But I was wrong.


	Every hotel, bar, and business is pushing this vaccination apartheid. There are signs on every doorway, and just in case you missed those, there are more signs at eye height in the foyers. You may only be inside, sit inside, or dine inside if you are double-jabbed and have a vaccination card and ID to prove it.


	<img height="197" width="206" style="float: left;" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="1" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/10/katie1.jpg" alt="" />Even in the dodgy backstreet Thai kitchens of 9th street where you can reliably get a Pad Thai for $5 are checking papers and policing documents, fearful of being caught by inspectors and closed down.


	Wooden shelters and fabricated huts are hastily thrown up onto the sidewalks outside these places -- crashing into the gutter alongside the trash and the parked cars. Restaurant owners are scrambling to create some kind of outdoor alternative for the unclean and non-compliant who have failed to get their jabs and are excluded from the privileges accorded to the rest.


	I plonk myself down outside the Midtown Bar and Grill and order a large glass of Merlot to try and calm myself from the rage I feel.


	I am beyond angry that politicians have been able to exert this power level on the people they are supposed to serve. I am raging for these businesses that have been compelled to post these signs at their doors after two brutal years of lockdowns and staff shortages.


	But mostly, I want to scream at the legion of smug diners sitting inside these places. Apparently, they see no problem at all with having to show their papers to eat in a restaurant. They’ve had the jab, and now, they are reaping the benefits, perfectly content that others are excluded because of the personal choices they make.


	I ask the waitress how the bathroom situation works. Are the people outside allowed to use a bathroom? Are the unclean masses still allowed the privilege of taking a private pee?


	She tells me we are. The unvaccinated are allowed to use the facilities as long as they wear a mask. And I watch her telling me these rules as if they make sense, and I politely nod along as she speaks with a smile behind her eyes, encouraging me to understand.


	<img height="231" width="207" style="float: left;" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="2" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/10/katie3.jpg" alt="" />I understand perfectly well. It makes zero sense for the unvaccinated to walk past the vaccinated and share bathroom facilities but be excluded from eating together, but you cannot rationalize with the irrational. It is a fool’s errand, and it is certainly not her fault.


	I wander away from restaurants, past bars segregated by vaccine status and theaters, where performances may only be enjoyed by the injected, and I am still preferring the belief that this is all a dream, and any moment now, I am going to wake up and feel better.


	But I don’t.


	The city is divided. And yet, because it’s not about race or color, somehow, no one seems to care. Apartheid is acceptable here -- as long as it’s about medical choice or lack thereof. But the signs of yester-year are clearly back: no Blacks, no Irish, no dogs. Except, this time, it's the non-compliant who are unwanted, and as winter draws in, they will truly feel the effects of being left out in the cold.


	78% of young black New Yorkers have resisted the vaccine. Wealthy white Upper East Side types have taken it, and the young white professional couples with two incomes and cash to spare. Spend a moment here on the sidewalk in the city, and you quickly see how unpleasant this all starts to look.


	It’s only when I am back amongst the crowds and the chaos of Times Square that my world seems to right itself again. Here, young stunt riders show off their skills to the crowds, dangling and occasionally falling from their bikes. Two women dressed in the briefest of briefs with I ️LOVE NYC on their buttocks draw the attention of every young man in sight. Superman, Minnie Mouse, and the Incredible Hulk are hard at work taking pictures.


	The last time I was here, as the city was shuttered in March 2021, this place was deserted. I was the last man standing in this bonkers city. And it is just magical to see it filled to overflowing once more. The familiar smells of pretzels, old urine, and pizza are all about, and it is comforting to be amongst the stickiness of a thousand strangers.


	I feel much more at home here. This place is the opposite of segregated. It is humanity, smeared up against each other, sense overloaded, and buzzing from it all. This is how life should be.


	Apartheid NYC is not the place for me.


	KATIE HOPKINS: EXCLUSIVE FULL VIDEO REPORT:

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	&nbsp;

Inside Apartheid NYC

[See Katie Hopkins' exclusive video report on Apartheid NYC right below this article.]


	I’m not quite sure how I thought this trip to New York City would

Sixty days into my latest foray on the road around America, I finally find myself alone with a desk, time, and the warm evening skies of Orlando to enjoy.


	I am trusting you will forgive the irregularity of my reporting these last few weeks. Sadly, the quieter art of writing has been somewhat pushed to the corners of my days between speaking, traveling, and documenting my time noisily on social media. And I miss it.


	From California to Arizona, then Dallas to Denver, I have been given a temperature check on where America is at, as a foreigner and respectful outsider. Now, I wanted to share my six lessons from the road as I listen to people laughing down by the pool and fireworks thudding somewhere Disney-ish in the distance.


	1) America is filled with good people. 


	I am constantly amazed by the polite and mannerly way Americans greet each other, share pleasantries and kindness, and encourage each other throughout their day. Some of it is professional customer service, where you are world-class in your ability to offer choice and endless options and do it all with a smile. But it is much greater than that. It is the kindly gesture in the elevator, the stepping back to allow another ahead of you in a line, or a shared joke about nothing in particular. This nation still has goodness running through it, like a seam of gold in a mine.


	2) Change and clean ups can happen. 


	When there is a political will, change is possible. I have seen it with my own eyes in Venice Beach and Skid Row, where former centers of squalor were swept clean (albeit temporarily) for disgraced Governor Newsom to survive the recall. The futility of this exercise is obvious, but it does give evidence to the fact that when a politician is concerned for their own survival, change can happen. When it is simply inconveniencing or distressing ordinary Americans, it goes unchecked.


	To effect change, politicians need to be made to feel much less comfortable in power.


	3) Downtowns have taken a hit. 


	No matter the state or city, the downtown areas have sunk furthest the fastest, sometimes shockingly so. I have walked difficult streets many times in these past five years, so I have witnessed the change over time.


	Downtown Denver has long been declining, but all normalcy is fading fast, as with so many other downtown areas. The public park I used to run through has been fenced off from the public, overwhelmed as it is by human waste and needles. Banks have closed their doors leaving empty units, retail doesn’t stand a chance, and barely stocked CVS and Walgreens have Security details patrolling low-cost stock. When you can’t afford to stock a CVS, your city is in trouble.


	Retailers tell me it’s simply not worth the cost of trying to be open when theft and aggravation are so high. You will recognise this from your own Downtown—whether it is Minnesota, Portland, Denver, LA…it’s a bleak glimpse into a future no American wants to see.


	4) Some airline staff really love power. 


	I remember a time when the world of aviation was a glamorous affair, like a scene from "Catch Me If You Can,” where pretty air stewardesses would buzz around dashing captains and serve champagne before take-off.


	No more. Now, thuddingly dull women in angry polyester bark their demands about masks whilst expecting you to be grateful for half a glass of water and a pretzel.


	“Due to Covid,” these chafing morons spend the entire flight on their oversized rear-playing Candy Crush. I fail to see how this is making anyone healthier or happier. I resent every airplane trip I am obliged to take and every encounter with these surly women who finally feel that they have power.


	5) Every state in America has a different climate.


	Weird but true. Sometimes, I wonder how a particular climate knows where the state boundaries are to keep so carefully within them, but as sure as the sun rises in the morning, each state is its own little weather center.


	In Colorado, people hand me water bottles, cautioning me about the dryness and the height, as if I might need oxygen at short notice. In Florida, it’s all about the dampness and the effect this will have on my clothes, hair, and wrinkles. I am told humidity is great for the skin? It makes us plump, and I am led to believe this is a good thing. And in Arizona, the locals still manage to talk quite a lot about the obvious point that living in the desert is very hot, indeed.


	I wonder if and how we will prevail when I look at my one little suitcase versus this fourth-month climate marathon.


	6) Americans are different from the rest of us.


	You are different from Brits, Australians, or any other nation I have lived in or been banned or deported from! I wonder if it’s because you are not subjects of a Royal dynasty. Sometimes, I wonder if it is in your upbringing and schooling, but I tend to think it is much deeper than that.


	I strongly suspect it is because of your Constitution, and I am certain it is defended by your Second Amendment, and in turn, your First.


	But, whenever tyranny shows itself in the States, somewhere else, someone stands and says no. When DeBlasio cripples New York, DeSantis stands up for the Free State of Florida. As Newsom crushes California, Arizona is emboldened to be more red. This country is like a seesaw: when one side is pushed down or depressed, another rises up to resist it.


	It gives me faith. And it is the reason so many of us—myself included—look to this great country for hope.

Six Lessons from The Road -- in America

Sixty days into my latest foray on the road around America, I finally find myself alone with a desk, time, and the warm evening skies of Orlando to enjoy

The video clip below is hard to watch. It is the Prime Minister of Australia giving a press statement regarding the ‘mass vaccination’ of 24,000 Australian children.

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	Scott Morrison is talking about children in Year 12 — usually aged 16 and 17.


	You will hear him say they are planning to "get through" 24,000 kids "this week."


	You will hear him say that mums and dads are NOT permitted to be present.


	You will hear him say the children will be ushered to their jabs by members of the Youth Command and Police.


	And he goes on to liken this mass injection of children as an opportunity -- an opportunity to be grasped with both hands. He even tries to draw a parallel with Olympic athletes (presumably because this mass event is happening at the Olympic Park), inferring that Olympic athletes would also tell parents to grab this opportunity, like their child might win a gold medal for compliance.


	Many people’s first reaction to this clip is to presume it is a hoax. It feels too deeply weird for a leader of a Western democracy to be separating children from parents to inject them at a mass event in a public stadium.


	When the clip is proven to be real, hyped up by news headlines and articles confirming its validity, the next reaction is usually one of deep distrust. Some feel nauseous; others want to know what on earth has happened to Australia.


	And the answer is that it was easier to completely isolate from the rest of the world. Australians are not allowed to leave the country, return to it, go out of their homes for longer than an hour, socialize or shop.


	Even if you truly believe the vaccine is the solution to all the world’s problems, the sound of a leader talking in these emotionally-loaded terms is surely enough to set your spidey-senses tingling.


	Can you tell me the last time a medical procedure was described to you as an opportunity to be grabbed with both hands?


	As the mother of two teenage girls I cannot think of a time when my daughters have been offered a medical procedure out of my sight — in fact, quite the opposite is true. Female assistants or observers are now very much a part of upholding medical standards in hospitals and clinics to provide reassurance for all. If anyone suggested doing anything to my child out of my sight, my hackles would be up faster than a Rottweiler’s at a cat shelter.


	On the matter of consent, I would never underestimate the intelligence or self-confidence of young people who know their own mind and are in possession of greater access to information than at any time in history.


	My concern is the manner in which the plethora of information is distilled — usually through teachers on state pay roll, who are among those pushing the jab. Approved-thought dictates ‘vaccinations’ are good, and any questioning of this line is the stuff of ‘far-right conspiracy theorists’ and ‘idiots who don’t understand’ or must be deported to be silenced (see my recent headlines for details!).


	I have also observed at first hand the impact of peer pressure on perfectly articulate and educated young people. Even the thought of standing out rather than fitting in, the very notion that you wouldn’t do what everyone else is doing, is unthinkable. My own daughter went through endless PCR testing in school so as not to cause any ripples with her peer group. Social isolation and ostracization in the age of social media are more acute than at any time in history, too.


	There are other, quieter matters that give me deep unease. I do not like it when political leaders cozily address parents as ‘mums and dads’, somehow trying to be our friends, as if we were a little bit simple and needed to be spoken to like idiots. Scott Morrison is a politician. If I were Australian I would be a voter to him, not a mum. We don’t do coffee together and I don’t ask him for parenting advice.


	Nor do I trust the terms ‘Youth Command’ and ‘Young Police’, which are supposed to make you think they are on the same level as your kids. All I hear is the sound of 1926: jackboots and Hitler-Jugend, Bund deutscher Arbeiterjugend (Hitler Youth, League of German Worker Youth). (You could argue I am projecting at this point.)


	But other verbiage troubles me too. He says the government is aiming to ‘get through’ 24,000 students. Usually we ‘get through’ things we don’t like. We try to get through pain, or heartache. When I am helping with sheep dipping we try and ‘get through’ 200 at a time as we know it’s going to be back-breaking stuff and the sheep will be morons, as they always are. Who on earth would try and ‘get through’ young people?


	Morrison says parents have ‘got to’ grab this ‘opportunity’ with both hands. No, they don’t, not for the moment at least. Then I hear the state premier say this will be a ‘roadmap’ for students wanting to study their HSC (higher school certificate — equivalent to USA study age 16-18), and I wonder how long it will be before kids have GOT TO have this state injectable before they are allowed to continue to study.


	Even with all these troubling issues at hand, you may be sitting there thinking: So what? So what for America? We’ve got our own problems to deal with.


	But I think the answer is a question.


	I ask you, what is it that separates America from Australia, other than 14,000 kilometers of largely unfriendly seas? What stops this happening in America? In Democrat-run states it is CLEARLY not the politicians. They see Australia as a learning moment. Biden has even mooted inter-state vaccine passports following the Australian example.


	I’d argue the thing that separates Americans from Australians is Americans themselves, armed with their Constitution and their Second Amendment.


	The thing that separates Australians from Americans is you. The only outstanding question is: What are you prepared to do to defend your child?

Australia Begins Mass Vaccination of Children

The video clip below is hard to watch. It is the Prime Minister of Australia giving a press statement regarding the ‘mass vaccination’ of 24,000 Australian

Australia is a Penal Colony Once More

Australia is in a very dark place.


	The army has been drafted in to force people to stay in their homes, going door-to-door to check for compliance.

My inbox is inundated—and not in a good way.


	Whispering in secret to their laptops in the middle of the night or early hours when the rest of their house is sleeping, strangers tell me their darkest fears. Some are researching how to kill themselves, trying to work out which is the least distressing for their family and friends, trying to be thoughtful still—for a time even after they are gone.


	Others tell me they simply cannot find a reason to carry on. Not because they hate their own life or have a burden too big to carry. They simply do not want an existence that looks like the one we are being shown: watched, curtailed and restricted. They feel unable to live the life they used to love.


	For most, the impact of lockdown is deeply personal. Some have been separated from American partners and family for well over two years. Australians seemingly have no hope of being reunited with their loved ones. Sydney just extended its lockdown for another four weeks; their political leaders seemingly compete over who can lock down the hardest. &nbsp;&nbsp;


	I worry I am not giving these desperate people the hope they need to hold on. I wonder if I am failing them?


	Worse still, in France, Macron is drunk on power, announcing cruel curbs for the unvaccinated. By forcing through a new law mandating vaccine passports, his government is demanding that those without such passports be excluded from restaurants, trains, workplaces, and art galleries. It will even be illegal to enter a hospital without such a pass, except in emergencies.


	There is a suggestion you may require a vaccination passport to vote—a proposal rapidly morphing into reality, now&nbsp;that an amendment specifically to exclude such a step was rejected by Macron’s parliamentary majority.


	My American friends hear some of what Macron suggests and implore me to tell them it is not true.


	“This cannot be true, please tell me this is fake news,” and I have to tell them, despondently, that it is true.


	Macron is implementing vaccine apartheid in France. It is hard to believe that at the same time Black Lives Matter protesters are arguing over voter ID being a tool of voter suppression, in Western Europe, citizens may need a medical procedure to earn their suffrage.


	All this has felt unstoppable, like a train headed down the track fueled by some force greater than ourselves. Individually, we’ve tried to reach for the emergency brake, only to find that it is no longer there. Helpless, these individuals write to me in the darkness to tell me they are thinking of jumping from the train.


	The Worldwide Rally for Freedom came not a moment too soon. Finally, we found some kind of collective voice, a kind of warning horn blaring across continents to wake people up or remind them they are not alone—to not jump and hold on a little longer.


	<img height="1154" width="777" style="width: 293px; height: 436px; float: left;" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="2" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/07/jkl2_1.jpg" alt="" />


	I became part of it—more unintentionally than not—and can faithfully report that it was every bit as glorious and uplifting as those present will attest it to have been. I watched the crowds walking together in Sydney, Melbourne, and Victoria. My heart filled up with pride at these brave souls -- defying government orders to stay in their homes and&nbsp; threatened with $10,000 fines and arrest -- still turned out to show the world their compliance in this madness is only by coercion.


	The river of people spilling out through Sydney’s Central Business District stood in defiance to all that Australians have been made to feel: that everyone is compliant, that no one questions the science, that lockdown is absolutely the right decision. Every single person walking signaled the depth of that lie. The media has not allowed the voices of these people to be heard, but now, they were shouting directly into the universe.


	So, too, in London, where the Freedom Rally in Trafalgar Square attracted 35,000 of the voiceless all looking for some kind of sign; they were not the only ones feeling this way: sickened by lockdown, rejecting masks or vaccine passports or the vaccine itself.


	I want people to know I hear their cries for help and that I will try to give them a voice.


	I went to the London Rally because of them and for them, to represent all those pushed dangerously near the edge of life by the cruelty they have faced. I went to have their voices heard, and perhaps selfishly, to be surrounded by my own tribe (after some fairly brutal treatment at the hands of the Australian government — more on that another day).


	Uncertain of my use, I like to spend time in the shadows of these events, quietly watching on. Occasionally recognised in the margins, I love the quiet conversations I can have with these ordinary everyday people just like me who simply want the best for each other. I snap selfies with them, thank them for being here, hug them tight and tell them we will be OK.


	Word reached the organizer that I was here in the Square and she brought me to the stage and asked me to speak. I thought of all those quiet messages in my inbox. This was their moment too, their moment to be heard and I would not fail them now: “We may be the little people, but when we stand together we are strong. Together we are lions, and you will hear us roar.”


	WATCH KATIE SPEAKING AT TRAFALGAR SQUARE:

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	I watched the crowd power each other up with happiness and light — fizzing almost with the energy of it all. It is a power you cannot see, but you can feel it all the same — humming like electricity lines, supercharging everything around. We all felt it. We all felt hope at last.


	I left filled with certainty. We will strengthen, we will endure and we will prevail — because hope, hope lives on.

At the Worldwide Freedom Rally

My inbox is inundated—and not in a good way.


	Whispering in secret to their laptops in the middle of the night or early hours when the rest of their house

Freedom Day has finally arrived in England.


	After 482 days of Covid restrictions, Boris Johnson declared the English should be set free again on Monday, July 19.


	Well, sort of.


	Not fully free, you understand; cognoscente of the perilous risks of breathing the same air as a stranger, super-loaded with the latest number of cases and deaths, and unsure if it’s OK to go on holiday in case the perceived Covid risk at your destination changes whilst you are there and you are forced into quarantine on your return.


	It’s a bit like taking in a baby rabbit abandoned by its mother, but showing it the foxes lurking in the bushes before you re-release it out into the wild. The poor thing comes out terrified to death.


	The English are sort of free, but not free in the sense that if your track and trace app pings you have to spend ten days in isolation in your bedroom. Two million are currently stuck at home because of it, with 550,000 ‘pinged’ last week alone. The Ping-demic has taken certain train lines out of action and forced businesses to close due to lack of available staff. It is lockdown by stealth.


	And Britain is cleft in two once more. There are those who are desperate for Freedom Day, and those who are desperate for it to be overturned and are enthusiastic for a lockdown extension.


	It is almost as if Brexit created a perforated line through the English, (marked by black dashed line and a little picture of scissors), and you can still cut along this where there are major decisions being made for the country with just a minimal reshuffling of the characters on each side.


	Brexiteers and those who wanted to Leave the EU typically celebrate Freedom Day and the idea of a return to individual responsibility. They are done with lockdown, sick of enforced isolation and the government app that put you there, and more than ready to throw their masks in the trash. Many of these people have felt this way for all of the 482 days they have had their basic freedoms denied and are desperate for a life that feels normal.


	Remainers and those who still identify as European rather than British, or (God forbid) English, decry the day. The same old tropes thrown at those of us who voted Leave, are being used for Covid: That the ‘little people are too stupid to know what is best for them’ and ‘ignorant white gammons will be a health risk to the decent upstanding folk who know better.’


	It’s desperately Orwellian. Mask-less man, bad. Masked man, good.


	And the masked tribe has political leaders only too willing to capitalize on this divide. Even as Boris Johnson was outlining the ‘freedoms’ that would be bestowed on the people on July 19, the little London Mayor was fog-horning his own set of rules, at odds with those of the rest of England.


	Sadiq Khan announced that masks would still be mandatory for all public transport in London and would be a requirement of passage, instructing staff to enforce this rule or remove passengers for non-compliance. He is the masked tribe leader in London.


	Other retailers followed this lead. Waterstones - the largest Hugh Street book seller in the UK — said it was keeping its face mask policy for all staff and customers, leading to an outpouring of praise from the masked mafia on twitter.


	You can almost feel the sanctimonious smugness dripping from tweets like the one below, luxuriating in the idea that once more, a better sort of person can shop and live their life untroubled by the lesser, little people. There is an explicit assumption mask-wearers are ‘well read,' and the massless are, by extension, dumb as a deplorable with a Dollar Store discount card.


	<img height="1100" width="777" style="width: 265px; height: 359px; float: left;" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="2" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/07/katie.jpg" alt="" />


	‘Encouraging’ masks after freedom day is also a sensible business decision&nbsp;for Waterstones&nbsp;because its customer demographic closely matches the demographic most likely to comply with mask-wearing guidelines. In the UK women &nbsp;buy 57.5 per cent of all print&nbsp;books and women are also more likely to voluntarily wear a mask in a shop.


	Waterstones’ customers are also more likely to be from urban or suburban areas, because that’s where its shops are, and this, too, correlates with a higher likelihood of mask-wearing. Londoners are the most likely to say they will continue to observe infection control this summer.&nbsp;


	Americans will see the same pattern with leftist Californians and New York elites who believe they’re simply a ‘better type of person’.


	Politicians and retailers are playing to their crowds. And the crowds are lapping it up, jumping on to Twitter to declare they will be continuing to wear a mask because they are not selfish, enjoying the applause for their virtue.


	This all feels very trite, very surface level — in the same way as a mask is ‘just’ a piece of fabric covering your face. Until you really think about what it means.


	Politicized ‘science’ now has a uniform. If you are wearing a mask you are considered superior, well-read, selfless, thoughtful, and you are a foot-soldier for the Socialized Health Care system. You are an enforcer of all that is ‘good’. 
	 
	If you are mask-less you are an ignorant individualist, with no place in civilized society, no right to travel, and no right to browse in civilized stores, even though masks are no longer lawfully enforceable in the UK.


	<img height="796" width="777" style="width: 259px; height: 264px; float: left;" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="4" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/07/kh2_1.jpg" alt="" />Other countries are reinforcing this attitude. France has just banned vaccinated Brits without a negative COVID test. Denmark just moved England to its red list ‘unsafe for travel’. And all the while the enforcer-class here in the UK is encouraging more countries to ostracize us for as long as we continue to be #PlagueIsland.


	[See tweet on left, *cuss-word deleted.]


	As with so many issues, like Defund the Police or kneeling for the National Anthem, these people are so desperate to be morally or personally right, they are more than willing to watch their country fail to prove it.


	I am old enough to remember when Boris Johnson told us our captivity would be ‘three weeks to flatten the curve.’ And yet after 482 days of confinement I fully expect Freedom Day to being a brief glimpse of the sunshine before the country is forced back into the shadows again.


	And the enforcer class will applaud the darkness, even as it descends.

Freedom Day Arrives in England

Freedom Day has finally arrived in England.


	After 482 days of Covid restrictions, Boris Johnson declared the English should be set free again on Monday,

Batley and Spen is a small, seemingly insignificant old mill town in the British Midlands. Its drabness and decay are depressing in their ordinariness, but behind these old tenement houses -- where outside toilets have been clumsily reattached -- is a seething rage no one is prepared to talk about. It’s the reason I have spent time there in the past, to try and force this conversation into the open.


	And right now, these awkward truths are glaring the country in the face.


	Batley and Spen’s Member of Parliament (similar to a US Congressman) recently stood down, so a by-election was recently held on Thursday, June 30 to find a replacement. That’s the dull mechanics of the thing. The reality is that this tiny town is a glimpse into the political future of Britain (and, by extension, America) -- and it is anything but pretty. It has earned the title: the most divisive by-election in British political history.


	Muslim voters are SUPPOSED to vote Labor in the same way black America is SUPPOSED to vote Democrat. But here in this place, religious Muslims oppose Labor's support for LGBT. This is not politics based on policies. This is politics based on one faith group pitting its grievances against all faith groups. And it’s a faith group that refuses to accept tolerance of LGBT or of Israel. It is a voting block that wants LGBT teaching removed from schools, and wants to express its commitment to "free Palestine" at the polling stations of this tiny Midlands town.


	Batley and Spen has made headlines more often than most small towns set miles away from the capital. It drew national attention in 2015 when its MP, Jo Cox, was murdered on the streets in the run up to Brexit, allegedly by an "anti-Muslim white supremacist" -- or, in other words, a man with a history of severe mental illness. Cox’s sister, Kim Leadbeater, was put in as the Labor candidate and for perceived righteous reasons, should have been the frontrunner for a win. But this town is not so easily swayed by the emotions of mere mortals. Muhammad matters more.


	Perhaps you saw the headlines about a British teacher suspended for showing his Religious Education class a picture of the prophet Muhammad? That, too, happened in this tiny town. A Muslim mob gathered at the gates of the school demanding that he be killed for blasphemy.&nbsp;


	<img height="327" width="262" style="float: left;" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="1" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/07/k1.jpg" alt="" />


	This poor man remains in hiding with his family, in fear for his life. I have been supporting the schoolchildren championing his return and I can tell you firsthand, this former teacher will never again be a free man in the UK. He will spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.


	A well-known rabble rouser, George Galloway, also stood in this election to capitalize on the anger of the Muslim mob. I loathe the ease with which the term "dog-whistle politics" is bandied about, but Mr. Galloway whistled harder than a shepherd with a deaf dog. By splitting the vote on the Left he hoped to destroy Labor’s easy run here.


	He spoon-fed the angry Muslims with everything they wanted to hear, ratcheting up their fury, and vilifying opponents. “I believe in the judgement day that all of you do,” he told predominantly Muslim voters in 2012.


	“I just say this… how will you explain on the last day that… you voted because of village politics for a party that killed a million Iraqis, that killed a hundred thousand Afghans, which has supported Israel killing uncountable numbers of Palestinians. How are you going to explain that one?”


	Tensions between supporters of Galloway’s Workers Party and Labor brought ugly scenes out onto the streets. Labor’s Kim Leadbeater was shouted at in the street by one group of Muslim men, known to me through my work: “Are you going to support Muslim parents who don’t want their children to learn about LGBT domination?”


	<img height="1267" width="844" style="width: 257px; height: 387px; float: left;" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="2" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/07/vfe.jpg" alt="" />I spent time with some of these men to better understand their views. (It is confusing to the Left that a supposed "Islamophobe" like me has taken time to listen respectfully to the opinions of those who do not want to see the LGBT agenda forced down the necks of children in class.) I support them on this matter.


	Another group of Labor activists was pelted with eggs, and then attacked.


	“I was terrified, to be honest,” one campaigner said. “They reached in their bags to grab eggs but I was terrified they were going to pull out a knife. I’m scared to go out campaigning.”


	It has been brutal.


	Despite agitating the Muslim mob to the point of violence, Galloway failed in his efforts to push Labor into third place, and courtesy of a massive effort by Jewish Labor groups in the area, Labor won by just 323 votes.


	All the while, no one will speak the plain truth: the future of political power in the UK sits with the Muslim majority -- who will tolerate neither LGBT rights nor Jewish communities. The Left will have to choose.


	Jewish families have been intimidated into hiding by rowdy pro-Palestinian groups descending on other towns and cities across the UK. One mother messaged me frantically, hearing the mob in the street shouting for the rape of her daughters. She does not have the luxury of pretending this is not happening in the UK.


	Batley and Spen must begin to force this conversation, a conversation I have been trying to have heard for well over a decade. Britain is no longer voting by party, but by deeply-held religious beliefs, and with The Squad gaining ground, it is not hard to see this repeating itself in America.


	An insignificant by-election in a tiny town in the UK has become a glimpse into the future of political power in Britain -- and America. It sits with the Muslim majority and it is truly dark for the LGBT and Jewish communities.

A Glimpse into the Future of Muslim-Majority Britain

Batley and Spen is a small, seemingly insignificant old mill town in the British Midlands. Its drabness and decay are depressing in their ordinariness, but

“This is not just any cheesecake; this is a Marks &amp; Spencer cheesecake.”


	Or so the advertising bods at the British High Street bastion of retailing would have you believe.


	Marks &amp; Spencer (fondly known as M&amp;S) is as British as a cup of tea, as old as my knees feel, a place of comfort for women of a certain age who know what they like and like what they know. Some might say it’s dependably dull or, as my 72-year-old mother would say, perfectly British.


	<img height="298" width="483" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="1" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/06/kh1.jpg" alt="" /> 
	 
	[Britain’s Marks &amp; Spencer, trading since 1884 — the same year construction began on the Statue of Liberty.] 
	 
	M&amp;S is also the UK market leader in bras and knickers. If you don’t buy your underwear from M&amp;S, you are a woman of poor standing in my mother’s eyes. And when my own daughters needed their first bras, where else would instinct lead us than Marks &amp; Spencer? 
	 
	However, in the Age of Madness that we are currently enduring, not even this British stalwart is safe from the squid-like tentacles of Black Lives Matter. After a century and a half of being as reliable as a Ford pickup, the red mist has descended and Marks &amp; Spencer has just launched a range of underwear inspired by — you guessed it — George Floyd. 
	 
	And here it is for your viewing pleasure:


	<img height="322" width="480" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="2" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/06/kt2.jpg" alt="" /> 
	 
	<img height="829" width="480" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="5" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/06/katie7.jpg" alt="" /> 
	 
	M&amp;S director of lingerie Laura Charles said:

<blockquote>
	
		"The global conversation on racial inequality, following the horrific death of George Floyd, spurred us to go faster in creating a better, more inclusive range. . . .From the product offer to the names, to the marketing, we’ve worked hand in hand with our colleague Culture &amp; Heritage network to deliver a campaign we’re proud of and an underwear range that provides more colors, more sizes and more choice so that all of our customers have the freedom to complement or contrast with their individual skin tone in a way that suits their own personal style."
</blockquote>


	Well, isn’t that just lovely? Because of the death of George Floyd, we now have bras and panties in colors that avoid words like tobacco and tan and sound altogether more jazzy: Opaline, Rich Amber, Rose Quartz and Topaz.


	I think you can agree ladies (and gentlemen) that NOTHING says progressive feminism more than celebrating the life of a drug-addled criminal who held a gun to a pregnant woman’s belly with a range of brown panties. (There is a joke there that even I am not going to make.) 
	 
	Who wouldn’t want to have their lady bits cradled by panties inspired by the George Floyd narrative? Of course we could NEVER let the tragedy of a death be a tragedy without having to hook onto it some moronic marketing campaign to bolster the leftist agenda and appeal to the PC crowd. 
	 
	Even the wide-eyed youth who call themselves ‘dangerous’ can see through this tawdry nonsense: 
	&nbsp;


	<img height="509" width="509" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="4" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/06/kh4.jpg" alt="" />


	I am not saying that the ladies in the ads don’t look like they are having a great time posing in their panties for the camera. I am not saying that they don’t look great (although, frankly, in some of the cases, I don’t think we need to worry about any of them blowing over in a breeze, and I do think type II diabetes should be a concern).


	Overall, I think it's high time we stop yielding to the utter insanity we live in, to stop massaging the needy egos of the victim mafia and to allow something, maybe just one thing, to be defiantly, proudly British.&nbsp;


	Conforming to the endless need to kneel, wave a pride flag or celebrate trans-awareness day and dress male store mannequins as women has grown very tedious, very fast.


	Some days I almost miss things being dependably dull.


	This is not just political correctness.


	This is Marks &amp; Spencer political correctness.

How George Floyd Got Into British Panties

“This is not just any cheesecake; this is a Marks &amp; Spencer cheesecake.”


	Or so the advertising bods at the British High Street bastion of retailing

It has been quite the week here in the UK. On Monday, Boris Johnson canceled ‘Freedom Day’. On Wednesday, he started the forced vaccination of Care Home staff. And the week isn’t over yet.


	First, Boris and his G7 chums stopped milling about on a private beach in Cornwall having BBQs and taking pretend-socially-distanced photographs while leg humping each other in private. Then, Boris posed like a stranded beluga whale on the Cornish shoreline for the press, before returning to Number Ten.


	Next, replete with tan and sea salt in his hair from his morning swimming adventures, Boris crushed the hopes of every hardworking Brit hoping to go overseas on holiday by canceling Freedom Day.


	The cursed day was supposed to be June 21. I say cursed because all fabricated ‘goalposts’ are cursed by their very nature. Remember ‘three weeks to flatten the curve’ before it became ‘freedom is a vaccine’? That was just before it became ‘hospitalizations and deaths’, before it became cases, and only slightly after it becomes ‘vaccination rates in the 18-40 age group’. And all that before we get going on the so-called "variants" that are imagined up to cage the nation a little longer.


	Either hung-over or just bored by his own lies — it was difficult to tell which under his weird hair which now grows at a constant 40 degrees from his head — Boris even managed to conjure up a new ‘pretend’ Freedom Day, announcing it first as July 29, then July 19. The British people are so sick of all this painful captivity that they barely flinched — like a patient who’s been stuck with so many needles that another one doesn’t even register.


	The British Chief Medical Officer, Chris Whitty, was on hand to bore everyone into disinterest with a series of slides pretending to provide the data for this decision. Given there is no data, this was a tough job. But Whitty has been well-lubricated by Bill Gates in the past and is absolutely prepared to keep bending over in the name of the state injectable he likes to refer to as a ‘vaccine’.


	I should point out for the unaware what Chris Whitty (our Fauci) looks like. 
	 
	<img height="797" width="888" style="width: 254px; height: 227px; float: left;" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="1" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/06/lplp_1.jpg" alt="" />[Image on the Left: Chris Whitty, United Kingdom Chief Medical Officer.]


	Unsurprisingly, he has never been married, never had children and I would go so far as to suggest has never had sex in his entire life. Like Fauci, he is supposed to be ‘the science’, and like Fauci, he is also well rewarded by the Gates/Big Pharma brigade for doing their dirty work.


	The nonsense didn’t end there, of course. The silly rules in the UK are so preposterous that the media doesn't&nbsp;talk of them because the inconsistency and incoherency of the approach are laughingly awful. You cannot rationalize the irrational.


	"Postponing" Freedom Day on the calendar was just that for these politicians in poorly-fitting suits — akin to moving a scheduled Zoom meeting. But for ordinary Brits it was heartbreaking.


	The wedding plans of thousands of couples were in tatters once again; extending the lunacy of social distancing means no drinks, receptions, or dancing at weddings. Venues spoke of brides in tears, not wanting to cancel yet again but knowing their day would be somehow less special than it should be. (If you aren’t dancing at a wedding, you are obliged to talk to family and relatives you might rather avoid.)


	My own mother and father had booked a holiday with their grandchildren on the basis, ‘things would be back to normal’. This change of date means they would all be required to quarantine and test multiple times on their return. As with so many other families, this vacation was a replacement for an earlier one canceled ‘due to COVID’. A nation of decent people who don’t have much spare cash and need to be able to budget and plan is being worn down to the point of not bothering.


	I don’t think this is by chance.


	While the little people are banned from holidaying, dancing, or standing-up drinking at weddings, large-scale events that showcase England on a global stage and entertain the donor class are allowed to proceed.


	He is permitting Wimbledon, the great summer tennis tournament, to be at full capacity for the weekend of the finals; he has dictated the Euros can hold full capacity stadia for the finals.


	This Delta COVID variant sure is a smart cookie. It knows wedding dancing is deadly but standing next to 45,000 other people shouting at a referee is as harmless as a chicken sandwich. We shake our heads in unison at this madness, I am sure.


	However, while I may mock all the absurdities, the sinister side to this endless oppression and forced compliance showed its true face later this week when Boris pushed MANDATORY vaccinations for Care Home staff through Parliament. In the UK, in 2021, British citizens will be forced to accept the jab or lose their job. This is being presented as a personal choice.


	I hesitate to point out the blindingly obvious but ‘take this jab or we take your job’ is not a choice. At best it is blackmail, and at worst coercion, both of which are illegal in the UK. 1.5 million good souls work in the Care Home industry in the UK. It is low-paid, unrelenting, and often thankless work, regularly involving unpleasant tasks many of us lesser souls would not have the stomach for.


	There are already 100,000 vacancies in this sector because — put bluntly — most people would rather work anywhere else than in care.


	And yet the government is now pushing a recruitment and retention crisis in the very sector that took the brunt of COVID deaths in 2020.


	After a week like this, the Brits need a weekend. Just to get a break from Boris Johnson.

Beating Down Brits

It has been quite the week here in the UK. On Monday, Boris Johnson canceled ‘Freedom Day’. On Wednesday, he started the forced vaccination of Care Home staff

After three months on the road in America giving our side a reason to gather and be reminded that America remains the greatest nation on the face of the planet, my heart finally decided it was time to make a break for Britain.


	Each time a concerned-looking patriot asks me at my events, “When are you going home?” I tell them truthfully that I don’t know, that I throw myself to the wind without caution or a sell-by date and wait for my heart to decide.


	I truly believe that our paths are already set out in front of us, and in order to walk in your truth every day you have to let go of the control of some of the big stuff that you are taught as a child to think important — like having a plan, or living in certainty.


	(I sometimes wonder if those asking me “When are you going home?” are really asking me “When are you ever going to leave?”, like hosts whose guests have overstayed their welcome at a party. But I suspect I am overthinking somewhat.)


	Of course, it’s no mean feat breaking back into a country you weren’t supposed to leave (it was illegal to leave the UK or travel to America when I left the country) and returning from a country you weren’t supposed to have been in (the USA still has a ban on Brits entering the country due to our very special kind of COVID).


	Patriots at events would ask, “What’s going to happen to you when you return?” And in truth, I didn’t know. But I accepted it might not be pretty. I had an agreement with Frank Gaffney (of the Center for Security Policy) that if I were ever locked up at Her Majesty’s Pleasure in a British jail, he would co-ordinate with Mike Lindell to secure me a mattress topper for my bunk.


	Given the plight of the 1/6ers and the threat to liberty facing all patriots under Biden and the Global Cabal of COVID Idiots, a prison line could be a big seller for MyPillow, I am sure of it.


	However, there is a serious side to this joke. I explained to those asking that it didn’t really matter what would happen to me when I broke back into Blighty. If you strip away the nonsense of fabricated COVID laws and idiotic travel restrictions, I would be being punished for travelling to America to help make people feel better. The simple truth is that when you start making up bonkers rules, you end up having bonkers arguments. And I am more than willing to be the one who highlights the lunacy all around us.


	Despite my disregard for all of the major laws and rules around COVID, I still need to jump through bureaucratic hoops to make these trips happen. I am just more skilled at hoop-jumping than most. Sometimes the hoops are incredibly small; sometimes they are whisked away and changed at the last minute. But I am a desperate dog. And dogs are damn good at jumping through hoops.


	In order to get on a flight to the UK, I needed a PCR test taken no more than 72 hours before my flight. I was texted by the provider at American Emergency Healthcare to pull up at the curb in my car, with the driver’s side closest to the curb.


	I am car-less in America, so I pretended to sit at the curb, as if holding a steering wheel. The tester and I both laughed — not only at the madness of it all, but at my hangover. If COVID tests were sensitive to Merlot, I would not be getting the negative result I needed.


	I also needed to complete a Passenger Locator Form and bring it, printed out, to the airport. This form could not be completed until 48 hours before landing in the UK.


	You will understand, I am sure, that after three months on the road across the USA I was not travelling with a printer or full office suite. These are the kinds of facts that escape the bureaucrats who sit in their sweaty suits making these nonsense rules up over their morning latte and pain au chocolat.


	Not only this, but your Passenger Locator Form needs to be filled in with the reference code of your day 2 and day 8 COVID tests, which you have to pre-purchase to complete for your ten days in isolation on arrival in the UK.


	The day 2 and 8 testing kits can only be purchased online from a government-approved supplier and must be paid for in advance of travel. These cost $150. I paid for mine, got the reference numbers, inserted them into my form, and tried to save my endeavor – only to be told it was more than 48 hours before my arrival in the UK and I would need to resubmit all the details later.


	There is a temptation at this point to grab your MacBook and launch it across the room while shouting something that sounds a bit like FOR CLUCK’S SAKE very loudly indeed. Or cry.


	But instead, I make like a dog: tongue out, panting, looking at my sad little master with a challenge to find me another hoop, and make it harder, because I am sure as hell going to jump through that one as well.


	The flight crew on British Airways are just the most darling souls to me. I remain maskless for the entire flight and no one says a word. A delightful steward with whom I now have a text relationship trots off to hunt for a cheap Merlot to keep me occupied, and when I reach Border Control the officer thanks me for all I do and waves me through; he knows that this madness is nothing to do with COVID and everything to do with culling the human spirit and curtailing anyone’s wish to travel.


	Looking around me at the eyes flashing fear and disapproval above their tightly-fitted masks, and anticipating the prospect of ten days confined to my home address, I am not certain if I am glad to be home.

Breaking Back: My Return to the UK

After three months on the road in America giving our side a reason to gather and be reminded that America remains the greatest nation on the face of the planet

Have you stopped watching the news, or reading traditional media?


	A cursory glance across today's BBC headlines exemplifies the worst of it:


	'Germany bans travelers from the UK!' 
	 
	‘CDC advises Americans not to kiss chickens!’ (not a joke) 
	 
	‘Water so toxic it could burn your eyes!’ 
	 
	'Should all children get the COVID vaccine!'


	It is hard to imagine a world more utterly at odds with itself than the one we are living in now. I just took a break from my screen to grab some breakfast and was greeted by this:


	<img height="1008" width="999" style="width: 258px; height: 259px; float: left;" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="1" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/05/apples.jpg" alt="" />


	Individually wrapped apples. 
	 
	By the time some poor kitchen staffer wrapped these apples, two meters of plastic wrap have been used unnecessarily and most of these unappetizing things will hit the trash -- without so much as a bite being taken from them. 
	 
	I wonder: Just who we are saving and from what? 
	 
	Certainly not ourselves from our own insanity.


	But save ourselves we must. We cannot simply resign ourselves to looking the other way, or avoiding all the nonsense we are surrounded by. Our children remind us daily that we have to find a way to endure, and to prevail through this to get to the other side of it and to try and restore some kind of normality or dignity to humanity or the places we want to live.&nbsp;


	I have been accused of trivializing the horrors of our present humanity with my comedy. One lady from a church audience in Colorado emailed me to tell me that she was not impressed by me trying to be funny and that she was not prepared to laugh at the terrible state of the world we live in.


	And I have no wish to change her mind, I completely understand and accept her point of view. I remember my own father once being chastised for being too jovial at a family funeral. I wonder if it is our way of being awkward around pain, or our genuine wish to cheer other people up.


	Regardless, as I have traveled across America for the last three months on the road to lift up our side there are a few things that I like to remind us of:


	I am a respectful foreigner and an outsider, and readily acknowledge this. I like to say:


	“You chased our British asses out of this fine country once before.”


	The other day a tall gentleman with a fine beard leapt to his feet and shouted:


	“TWICE! WE CHASED YOUR BRITISH ASSES OUTTA HERE, TWICE!”


	This gentleman makes my first point for me. You have the fight within you. Americans are different from Brits because you are built differently, your Constitution is hard-wired into your soul. If I cut you open, somewhere inside you is a visceral understanding that your right to life and liberty and happiness is God-given, and no man has the power to take those rights away.


	You are different from us because you still have your Second Amendment, no matter how much it is challenged, or the target of incessant grabs by the Left. I assert that at no time in modern history has there been a greater cache of weapons across America. This nation is home to the greatest citizen militia of all time.


	Clearly I am not advocating violence of any kind, nor am I pushing for a time when the American people are pitted against the great America military.


	But please take it from this unarmed Brit, who has been told an attack on her family is imminent yet has been left without any way of defending my children: your position is far stronger because of your right to bear arms. And the generation of Americans who bore witness to George W. Bush will never let that be taken away.


	Finally, America is not — and never has been — a democracy. You are a Republic — the difference put succinctly by <a href="https://twitter.com/jemsinger/status/1312457634306424833">Loren Culp</a>, the long-shot Republican candidate for governor of Washington, who said in a recent interview: “democracy is mob rule” and “famous Chinese leaders like Mao Zedong and Mikhail Gorbachev loved democracy because democracy is a step toward socialism, which is a step towards communism.”


	I’d argue that the above point has never been more prescient.


	America is not one country in the English sense. As I move across this great Republic, individual states are rising to defend their God-given freedoms and it has been awe-inspiring to watch.


	Strong red states are preventing blue mob rule taking over. Florida has been unofficially rebranded to the “Free State of Florida” because of the fight put up by Governor DeSantis. South Dakotans refuse to be cowed. In Texas, there is defiance against tyrannical school boards and in Arizona, the people of Maricopa County refuse to be beaten down.


	Red Californians are as blood red as it is possible to be, refusing to leave their state, determined to fight back to make it Red again. Colorado rejects Bolder, just as Texans reject Austin or Minnesotans reject Minneapolis. Just as the stars align on your banner, so too the red states now align to defend your freedoms. The coalition of red states is building.


	It makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. America is not done yet, and nor will she be. You have your God-given freedoms. You have your Second Amendment and you belong to a mighty Republic.


	I say this as a respectful foreigner and a Brit (a people you have chased out of this country TWICE before): America is and remains the greatest nation on the face of the planet earth.

Take Heart, America: You Are Not Done Yet

Have you stopped watching the news, or reading traditional media?


	A cursory glance across today's BBC headlines exemplifies the worst of it:


	'

“But why are they dancing?” I asked the gentleman who had come to collect me for my speaking engagement at one of the nearby recreation centers.


	It was 5 p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon and the square was filled with the sound of a great band and a happy gathering of oldies in floral shirts or sparkling tops, dancing away in the sunshine.


	“Because it is Wednesday,” he replied without a hint of comedy.


	And that’s the thing here in the largest retirement community on the planet: people dance just because it is Wednesday and they are darned happy to be alive. I can confirm this firsthand because I went back the next day and joined them doing the same thing again because it was Thursday.


	Around 150,000 people now live in this place that some term Disneyland for the Old, and it is easy to see why. I used to work at Disneyland, Paris and the similarities are remarkable. Everything appears perfect, the buildings in the main squares are all fabricated to a theme, and an army of gardeners, food and beverage staff and community police keep the place looking Disney-perfect at all times.


	If there are 150,000 residents, each of them must own at least two golf carts, if the sheer volume of cart traffic is anything to go by. These retired folk whizz about in these things embossed with their names – his on the driver’s side, hers right beside him – with purpose and at speed, as if late for every tee-off on every golfing green.


	They form a seemingly endless stream of color and fun, defying age and the notion of immobility. One gentleman designed his as a fire truck, a nod to his working life no doubt. Another is a Rolls Royce complete with the Spirit of Ecstasy perched proudly on the little bonnet – tipping a wink, perhaps, to the reputation of The Villages as an enclave for energetic bedroom antics.


	The folklore on this subject is legendary. When my friends in America hear I have come to speak at The Villages they remind me — to a man — that this place has the highest rate of Sexually Transmitted Infections in the country. I don’t like to point out the obvious: that I am a) married and b) here to speak, and just because herpes is rampant doesn’t mean I am going to make an effort to catch it. But I know they are just poking fun.


	There are other rumors about the sexual proclivity of these retired folks, which I challenge them about at the bar over lunch. Is it folklore that The Villagers use their garage doors as a kind of "relationship status," as one might do on Facebook or a dating app, in order to indicate to a friendly passersby that they are open to all comers (garage door wide open), open to invitation (part open) or swingers indulging in a party (door ajar)?


	They look at me and laugh. Clearly that’s a contrivance too far but the little glint in their eyes and the extraordinary joie de vivre of so many of the residents filling bar and tables at lunch time, ready for bingo or pickleball or dragon boat racing tells me no one is refusing a good time if there is one to be had.


	And I love them for it. I glance out of my hotel room at 9 in the morning and there are two dragon boats racing across the lake, packed full of oldies paddling as if from a great white shark, competing against each other for victory.&nbsp; As I head out to pick up my own golf cart, a peloton of positivity is gathering in the parking lot for the morning bike ride. I look at them in their Lycra and smiles and contrast the elderly in homes and residential care communities in the chilly cold of Britain, perpetually arguing over which chair is theirs in the TV lounge. For $150 a month this community of bon-viveurs has access to more golf courses, pickleball courts, education and entertainment than they will ever have the time to enjoy. Their life is a perpetual cruise without the inconvenience of water.


	It is not for everyone.


	Among those who worship this place and their happy lives within it are others who cannot wait to get away.


	“We want to get out,” a lady tells me at the Brownwood Hotel and Spa with its Wolfgang Puck menu and plush decor. “We have had enough and we miss living with other people and other generations. This place is just so small.”


	Spanning three counties, with a further massive acreage under development, she is not talking about the physical space, but rather the mindset of some of its residents. A cursory glance at Villager News gives evidence to war between two residents after an argument over a lawn statue, and a scuffle in the square over a golf-cart parking incident. As I join the line for morning coffee, a gentleman in his late 60s (at a guess) grumbles behind me about how there is always a wait at this place, and scuffs at the back of my heels in his impatience to move the line forwards.


	Full of smiles, I ask him if he is in a rush – perhaps he has something pressing he needs to get to? He looks back at me, realizing my question is more pointed than literal.


	But you know, for those that love this place it is just as magical as Disney is to a child. In a time when our elderly have been treated so horribly in nursing homes, this place is the opposite of that. It is built with the purpose of making every day just as full, fun and happy as it can be. Even the darned crematorium is offering lunch and interesting chat, for goodness sake.


	<img height="478" width="377" style="float: left;" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="2" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/05/kh_1.jpg" alt="" />[Left: Flyer sent to people's homes in The Villages].


	I love my new friends here, befriended in an instant and as comfortable as old shoes in a heartbeat. My new pal Goldie at the bar confides: 
	 
	“You know what, girl? I am 80. I have lived a great life, and I am doing what the hell I please with who I want, and I really couldn’t care less what anyone thinks. I don’t owe anyone anything and I have nothing to prove. I am as free as I can be.”


	I laugh and watch her leave in her cute little shoes and top. She is going dancing. Because it is Wednesday.

Disneyland for the Old   

“But why are they dancing?” I asked the gentleman who had come to collect me for my speaking engagement at one of the nearby recreation centers.


	It was 5

I hear people talk about the recall of California Governor Gavin Newsom almost casually, as if talking about the weather or the price of gas.


	Scars from the recent election, "stolen" in the eyes of 80 million or so great Americans, are still fresh and understandably many expect House Speaker Nancy Pelosi and her band of half-wits to find a way around the recall itself, subverting democracy once again.


	Others have one eye on the horizon, looking over the shoulder of the recall itself to the possible replacements that have a chance to beat Newsom, like that guy at a party who talks at you whilst scanning the room to see whom he can prey on next.


	And conflicts are forming around the potential candidates, even before some of them declare their run. The former Mayor of San Diego, Kevin Faulconer, has the backing of the Sacramento GOP chair but has already drawn the ire of Donald Trump's eldest son after he declined to state whether he wanted a Trump endorsement ahead of his election. The word RINO follows him like a bad smell.


	Kaitlyn Jenner also says she will run. For her it is an opportunity for publicity and to feel politically relevant. I would call it willy-waving but with Kaitlyn... well, let’s just call it self-promotion.


	My email inbox is crammed with messages asking me to get Trump's former Director of National Intelligence Rick Grenell to run, as if my sheer forcefulness will make him announce. I am certain he will, but he appears to be waiting for the recall to be official before he does so, which is proper. I hear rumblings that his sexuality might hurt his Christian Conservative vote. But surely with Trump's backing and patriotic pastors by his side, these prejudices could be put aside for the greater good of California.


	Overall, the voters will be presented with a choice:


	Do they want to recall Gavin Newsom?


	If those answering in the affirmative equal 50% of the total plus 1, the recall stands and Newsom is out.


	Then they will select from the list of candidates for whom they want to replace him. It costs only $5000 to add your name to this roll, and there are mutterings that that list could be as many as 2,000 names strong, as Democrats seek to subvert the process and wealthy idiots who think this is a game look for a trophy to show their grandkids.


	But to move so swiftly to candidates and the recall process itself is to miss out on the truth of the recall of the Governor of California.


	At a BBQ hosted by friends kind enough to have me stay with them as I journey on the road bringing patriots together to feel better, I am talking to one of the women who has made this recall happen: Laura Nelson.


	She has an inner calmness about her -- and yet I can almost taste the metal core of steel running through her spine. It makes the hairs on my arms stand up even writing this now.


	As she talks, I know I have to capture what she is saying because it is historic. I want to film her, but am scared to stop her flow of thoughts -- so I run and grab my notebook and pen, so I can document what she says here at this BBQ in the California sunshine.


	And it changes my view of the world.


	This woman worked the recall stand at the Bass Pro Shop every single weekend from June 2020 through to March 2021, often both days, from 10 a.m. until 4 p.m.


	They brought in 350-400 signatures a day, handing out DIY envelopes to each signatory asking to take them home and collect just one more. She tells me in her typically understated way that these 10,000 DIY envelopes (containing 2 petitions, instructions and a return envelope and address) unlocked signatories in numbers previously unseen.


	I listen to her and feel small. I imagine the days when maybe she didn’t feel so great, or the wind was cold or her family needed her to do other things, and yet there she was, every damn weekend, collecting signatures because she knew it was the right thing to do.


	I ask her whether she ever thought, "‘What the hell am I doing?" and she barely blinks.


	“Never," she affirms. "The encouragement of the people is always enough.”


	She tells me some would come running up to her desk to sign, thanking her for her time, promising to help get others to sign as well. Newsom’s own cousin and his wife came to her to sign, explaining that the family is ashamed of Gavin and the hypocrite he has shown himself to be.


	There are 2.1 million signatures to recall Gavin because of this lady and others just like her.


	I ask how it is that she seems so calm and composed despite all the uncertainty, and she says it is because she has found true peace through the recall, whatever happens:

<blockquote>
	
		Newsom has exposed himself, not only to the state but to the nation. He has exposed himself as a liar, a hypocrite, a cruel tyrant, and now everybody knows. Any hope he might have had of a Presidential run is over. And all because of this recall.

	
		More than that, this recall brought us together. We didn’t let being shut down stop us, we made friends and have stayed together, and this effort gave us energy and made us certain we are not alone.
</blockquote>


	I could not love her more.


	The recall is so much more than a petition. It forced a man to expose himself on the national stage. It sent a message to all other governors that they are not invincible. And it shows the sheer strength and power of grassroots patriots to have their voices heard, not only to make change happen, but to feel less lonely.


	Grassroots patriots simply refuse to be beaten. All Laura asked of those signing the petition was to "find one more signature." It is a lesson for life.


	It is because of strong women just like Laura, dedicated to the fight without reward or recognition, that I feel ever-confident America will remain the Land of the Free.


	As she leaves, she reminds me not to write about her, or to credit her, because so many others worked alongside her just as hard. And I give her my word, knowing that through her, they will all be seen.

Gavin Newsom’s Cousin and His Wife Stopped By to Sign the Recall Petition

I hear people talk about the recall of California Governor Gavin Newsom almost casually, as if talking about the weather or the price of gas.


	Scars from

A Religious Studies teacher from a school in Batley, England is now in hiding under police protection because he used an illustration of the Muslim prophet Muhammad as part of his learning materials in class. His family has also been forced into hiding with him for their safety.


	The Muslim mob braying for his blood have blockaded the school gates, are actively inciting violence against the teacher in question, forcing the school to close and children to miss out on their education. A few of their number have posted a petition to have the teacher reinstated because they saw — first hand — that he was simply trying to teach them, not what to think, but how.


	In response, the School Headmaster has prostrated himself on the ground in deference to the mob swarming at the gates, the police are reading and re-reading his endless apologies, and the teacher has been suspended pending investigation. Work will be the least of his concerns right now. His life and the lives of all those who are close face immediate threat.


	Predictably, the British media are largely silent on the matter, preferring to prioritize other stories, or reporting with the kind of painful neutrality observed by Switzerland. And those who grift a living from "defending free speech" are mute, knowing their future income relies on their silence. They will try to protect what they have for just one more day — even though they will pay for their complicity in the end.


	If pushed, you will hear supposedly Conservative politicians talking about "avoiding offence" or asking for "calm." These are the most centrist positions you can take when trying to say nothing and avoid the wrath of everyone.


	Naturally the left-wing politicians from the area are siding with the Muslim mob (because their power depends on these votes) and every Islamic organization from here to Mecca is piling on with their condemnation and demands for reparations. This is an Islamic show of strength in the heart of Britain.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;


	It is not as if it needed reinforcing.


	In October 2020, Samuel Paty was beheaded close to his school after showing cartoons of the prophet Muhammad to his students. His killer, 18-year-old Abdullakh Anzorov, was shot dead by police shortly after the attack but seven other people, including two students and a parent of one of Mr. Paty's pupils, were detained in the days following the killing. This community works together to silence dissent.


	And this evil will stop at nothing. The British teacher at the center of this nightmare will never have a life again. He will never leave his front door without wondering if he will be jumped, and he will live carrying the fear that one day one of his children will not get off the school bus at the end of the day, or that his partner will have acid thrown at her on the street.


	I say this with certainty because I have lived it. It has been my truth also, every day for ten years since I became an outspoken critic of this religion of brutality. For some reason I even feel grateful the two jihadists who plotted and practiced beheading me are in prison. I am never certain gratitude is what I should be feeling, but anger and indignation are not healthy bedfellows and are best left lie alone.


	The cursory commentariat reference the events at this one school in Batley with dispassion. But all of them are missing the more meaningful points of what is actually going on at this school and in the UK more generally.


	Firstly, it is never about the individual involved. This is not about one school teacher or one illustration of Muhammad. When you want to make fundamental change against that which is reasonable, you make unreasonable demands and rush "status quo" with full force. You will not gain all the ground you were fighting for, but you make progress in a direction that is contra-normal or against freedoms of the many; for example, creating blasphemy laws in a secular country.


	Britain badges itself as a secular society, but the reality is completely at odds with this thin veneer. The Muslim majority in our major cities are the most powerful influence in the UK today. De facto blasphemy laws are already in place; even reasonable observers on my social media feeds are questioning, "Why would you deliberately cause offence?" failing to see the error of their logic. What happens when being LGBT is an unreasonable offence? Should the UK only have single-story buildings erected for the future faced by the gay community here?


	Fundamentally, Britain is being groomed to tolerate the intolerance of others. Because neither Islam nor those who practice it can be criticized, the intolerant beliefs held by many (both blockading the school gates in Batley and in wider British society) are also protected. When Muslim parents mounted an "It’s Not OK to be GAY" protest outside a school, replete with banners, loud hailers, and a truck bearing these words, nothing was said.


	Eventually the leftist lizard must eat its own tail. It will have to pick a side. Will the left choose the LGBT minority or the Muslim majority who hold the power? We know the answer to this already.


	The UK is not a safe country for my Jewish friends or my LGBT peers. Demographics alone confirm this where Muslim births outnumber births to all other religions by 2035. But every day events are highlighting the speed of our descent. De facto blasphemy laws already exist and are actively policed; soon they will be scribed into law.


	No school teacher will ever go near this subject in any way ever again, not as part of a teaching exercise or discussion. The mob has achieved a direct victory by threatening the life of the man involved, and the country has accepted that violence dictates what can be taught in British schools in a supposedly secular country.


	And yet again, white Christians have been forced to recognize their place in their own country, which is much diminished. If white Christian parents blockaded a school and demanded death to a teacher, I imagine the time between these utterances and a prison cell could be counted in mere minutes. At the school in question, the Muslim mob has a police force to protect them, and a society on its knees begging forgiveness for the offence caused. It is shaming to us all.

A British School Caves to the Muslim Mob

A Religious Studies teacher from a school in Batley, England is now in hiding under police protection because he used an illustration of the Muslim prophet

It's fair to say people don’t necessarily see me as the homely type. I am built like a stick insect with biceps. I never talk about my husband or kids in public. And through a recent short-haired phase of mine, I managed to convince most God-loving Americans I was a full-blown lesbian.


	It is true in part. I have been a catastrophic failure at much of what mothering is supposed to be. My first marriage lasted less than a year, leaving me as a single mother with two children under the age of two and a job that spanned both sides of the Atlantic.


	(The beady-eyed amongst you will have spotted that any notion of saving myself for the wedding night went out the window around the same time I learned to drive. According to my mother, you aren’t supposed to have a two-year-old when you have been married for less than a year).


	I have never been asked to be a godmother, ever. None of my friends have thought me worthy or capable enough of being the person to care for their child if the worst should befall them. When you are looking for a safe, capable, and secure pair of hands, my name is not the first name on the list.


	I tell you all this not out of self-pity (though the failure to be a godmother to any living thing is quite the indictment) but because lockdown has not impacted us all equally at all. And I recognize that cancer sufferers, COPD patients, and the very elderly have had a bit of a rough time with this flu.


	But spare a thought for ball-breaking bitches like me. We were not designed to be at home. At no point did I gain 350lbs after my wedding and start home-baking meringue pie and wearing aprons with frills on. And I have zero interest in life hacks for cleaning the slats in my window blinds. If they see a vacuum cleaner once a year, they can consider themselves blessed.


	I may have said “I do” to Lovely Mark (so nice he is called Lovely Mark by other women, in sympathy for what he has to endure with me). But I never said “I do” to spending life locked down together 24/7 when it becomes illegal to leave our damn home - or meet anyone more interesting than ourselves.


	And it is true: he is lovely and far too nice for me. But I swear to my maker, if the first thing he does when he comes into the kitchen is rearrange the dishes drying on the rack for “optimum air exposure,” I may grab a blunt spoon out of the drawer and scoop out my own eyeballs.


	I feel the same way about my three children. They are lovely too, by any reasonable measure. At 16, 15, and 12, they don’t smoke, drink, or take drugs. My eldest is far more sensible than I will ever be and as a grandchild he is much preferred by my mother and father to their errant daughter.


	My middle daughter has a side-hustle as a milkmaid at the farm down the road and milks a herd of cows at 4 a.m. each Saturday, which is pretty impressive given most girls her age spend the day pouting on Snapchat.


	And my cute son (nicknamed Golden Balls because he can do no wrong in his doting father’s eyes) must have been switched at birth as he is pretty darn perfect.


	But even so.


	<img height="2862" width="3987" style="width: 289px; height: 206px; float: left;" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="1" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/03/tr.jpg" alt="" />


	There is a point in which children still get to keep that title and all the trappings that go with it — food put on the table, washing done and returned in ironed piles, bathrooms cleaned, and bedsteads polished — but are actually the size of fully grown adults. Their shoes are the size of small boats, and their coats inflate to fill my little utility room. They are massive.&nbsp; We are five massive people under one roof 24/7. Without the daily release of school, there is no escaping their sheer size.


	My kitchen has become an industrial food-processing plant. One thing bored children do to pass the hours is to graze, endlessly, like the cows my middle daughter milks, with their heads down and their arses up.


	Other mothers will understand.


	I suggested to the Lovely Mark that we convert the end of our kitchen island table where we gather to feed the herd into a trough. We can just pump food into it, and the kids can suck it up with straws to cut out any unnecessary chinaware or cutlery.


	Perhaps we could convert the kitchen windows into a kind of drive-through? The kids can walk around the outside, and we can fling food to them out of the windows, like McDonald's but without the uniforms or packaging.


	On an altogether happier note, my sex life has bucked the lockdown trend and remained intact. Kate Moyle is a relationship psychotherapist — a job which sounds about as sexual as an instruction manual for a grabbed disposal unit. Regardless, she says: “The lack of context change can be a real dampener for couples unused to spending all their time together. They don’t see any change, novelty or excitement when working, living, parenting and coupling in the same space.”


	What Kate has overlooked, of course, is that lockdown means we all have a lot more time on our hands stuck indoors. And luckily for Lovely Mark, it means that for the first time in a long time, I am actually bothering to shave my legs.

Family Life Under UK's Lockdown

It's fair to say people don’t necessarily see me as the homely type. I am built like a stick insect with biceps. I never talk about my husband or kids in

For once in our lives we Brits have made it to the top of a league table, but for all the wrong reasons.


	According to academic types at the University of Oxford, Brits are enduring the sixth strictest lockdown in the world and the second harshest in Europe. Only Cuba, Eritrea, Ireland, Honduras, Lebanon and Peru have faced tougher lockdowns, and most of those places are no stranger to a military coup or a bread line or two.


	It does not end with lockdown. Lockdown was never the destination. In Britain, lockdown was only ever a pathway to mandatory vaccination, using unmarked backroads to mask the destination. But we’ve finally arrived.


	As things stand, mandatory vaccinations are not currently legal in the UK.


	And yet, this week’s headlines included ‘No jab! No job!’, indicating that employers will mandate vaccinations in new work contracts, forcing the unvaccinated out of work.


	If that weren’t enough, they are coming for our kids, too. Most parents with children in state schools received a letter just like this:


	‘Students will not be allowed to enter the school or return to lessons until they have been tested once and found to be negative.’


	In short, without a negative COVID test, your child is not coming in to school.


	<img height="611" width="583" class="media-element file-default" data-delta="1" src="https://cms.frontpagemag.com/sites/default/files/uploads/2021/02/here.jpg" alt="" />


	The lioness in me is already up on her haunches, ready to defend her cubs to the death. I want to roar in the faces of the authorities until their hair singes off at the roots: ’Get your hands off my kids. They are not part of your freaky social experiment and they are never going to be!’


	Parents have been emailing me in tears of disbelief, unable to comprehend they live in a time in which their child will be denied an education if they do not bend at the waist to the government’s will.


	One parent wrote: ‘I’ve been in tears tonight as I feel so powerless to argue this case. How can the government possibly enforce this? I’m sure many parents feel the same way.’


	Judging from my inbox, many certainly do.


	You might argue that mandatory testing is perfectly reasonable because it ensures the safety of teachers and others. But here’s where the vaccine comes in. If the vaccine is as marvelous as the government scientists and, indeed, all the vaccine enthusiasts out there say it is, then everybody has the option to protect themselves against COVID. That is their personal choice.


	Others, alternatively, can choose to continue to shield at home on the basis they are vulnerable. This, too, is personal choice.


	Education in return for forced testing is not personal choice. At best it is coercion, at worst it is blackmail. Where is the choice for a parent who wants their child to be educated, but in exchange is forced by the government to have their child invaded three times a week by swabs and strangers?


	Not only are COVID tests notoriously unreliable, but suddenly my 12-year-old will be tracked and traced. More fundamentally, I do not want him growing up imagining he needs some kind of medical intervention before he can rough and tumble with his mates.


	We are a few baby steps away from a dangerous double standard here. Interfering with children is a crime that carries an explicit terminology and stigma. Yet we are not only inviting medical interference with our children — we are enforcing it, with testing, with vaccinations. We are close to criminalizing those who try to prevent or refuse that interference.


	Vaccine passports are about to become a reality here in Communist Britain. Government contracts for their production were issued way back in 2020 and Boris says he is considering the ‘ethical, equalities, privacy, legal and operational aspects’ of vaccination certificates and whether limits should be placed on organizations using them.


	Notice the language here. Boris does not say they will not be used. He only ‘wonders’ if their use should be limited.


	Arguably, personal choice remains. You can choose not to have the vaccine and therefore accept you will live your life in a self-enforced lockdown, ostracized from socializing, travelling, family weddings or birthdays until you are forced by loneliness or desperation to comply.


	But all this whataboutery takes us far from the only two numbers that really matter: excess deaths and hospitalizations. Given excess deaths are trending negative, and hospitalizations are below average for the time of year, mandatory vaccinations or vaccine passports shouldn’t even BE a conversation. And yet somehow we are at the implementation stage in the blink of an eye.


	I feel like setting up one of those desks with a sign board: ‘COVID: Kill off the elderly, inject the young. Prove me wrong.’


	I find myself re-reading the official line, as if to reassure myself with the certainty of print: Neither the Public Health (Control of Disease) Act 1984 or Coronavirus Act 2020 currently permits making vaccination mandatory.


	But reading fact and watching reality are two very different things.


	Barrister Louise Hooper of Garden Court Chambers said: ‘…there are multiple human rights and civil liberties implications both globally and domestically arising from the response to COVID-19 and the current crisis. Some of them are very real and concerning…’


	She is not wrong, but her language is at 10,000 feet. Here on the ground as a mother, it feels like the net is closing in.


	When asked whether the COVID vaccine would be made mandatory in the UK, the Health Secretary Matt Hancock said he did not think so.


	‘I think the extent of the public’s reaction following the lockdown shows we will be able to achieve very, very high levels of vaccination without taking that step.’


	This feels about as reassuring as the orchestra playing on the Titanic when you could feel icy water lapping at your ankles.


	Take it or we will mandate it.


	This is called freedom of choice in the UK.

Mandatory Vaccinations Arrive in UK

For once in our lives we Brits have made it to the top of a league table, but for all the wrong reasons.


	According to academic types at the University of

My mother looked a bit flustered as I walked through her front door.

<blockquote>
	
		Do you know, a lady my age just stabbed her husband to death in their kitchen? They were a lovely couple, according to the neighbors. Always together, always working in their garden, always on holidays. Well, she stabbed him to death. Four times! In the kitchen!
</blockquote>


	Ok I told her I did not know that. Though, I assumed she stabbed him four times and not that he died in quadruple. I was also caught off guard by my mother’s repeated insistence&nbsp;that this had all happened IN THE KITCHEN as if that was some sacred place in the home where these things never happen. Unlike the study or the bedroom, for example, where Cluedo has taught us all sorts of maleficence can occur.


	My mother was not done yet.

<blockquote>
	
		Well, quite frankly, I quite understand how she must have been feeling. Your father is doing my head in.
</blockquote>


	My mother is not alone in how she feels. Not that every married wife of 50-year standing is poised in their kitchens, bread knife in hand, ready to end their beloved in a row over an iPad charger. But endless lockdown in the UK is making Brits who were perfectly happy before, question the point of going on.


	“On my drive to work, I seriously thought about driving my car into a wall” comments one follower on my Instagram feed. “I sat alone in my car from 5-6.30pm yesterday, just to have some time on my own away from my family. This is not life.” This, shared openly, by another.


	We just aren’t supposed to be trapped indoors with other people for this long. I know marriage is about sharing your life, but part of that is that you are sharing the most mundane bits of you that others don’t get to see -- amongst all the noise and chaos of others.


	Turned off from all external stimuli, the mundane stuff we are recycling at home feels terminal, like an air-conditioning unit returning polluted air. We are all set on repeat, scratching about for something interesting to think, or some different way to feel.


	And it’s the same for parents of younger kids. Of course, we all love our kids. But no parent is&nbsp;expected to be under one roof with their child 24/7 past the age of 5 without input from the things that make their eyes bright or tails bushy.


	I used to love my three coming back from school. You could feel the energy ball into our home as they all fell through the door, cold, excited, blasting out their news, and falling over each other in their rush to the fridge. Milk downed and coats off, the chorus of “Oh my God, it was so funny...” or “You are not going to believe what happened in French …” would be shouted about, kids in perpetual movement, shoes thrown off, bags scattered about, a riot of noise in our kitchen.


	Our schools have been closed for nearly a year.


	I bump into one mum on my morning run and she confides:

<blockquote>
	
		“I go behind the door of my bathroom, and I pretend to scream at them, I mouth F*ck OFF, F*CK OFF, F*CK OFF, as if I was shouting it—and then I feel better. And that’s at my own children. Isn’t that a terrible thing to say?”
</blockquote>


	I reassure her that it is not. It is honest, and not her fault. It is just that we never hear this kind of honesty shared in the media or on TV. Everything we hear is about people being ‘grateful’ for their vaccine or ‘thankful’ to still be here. The saccharine sweetness of it all is making my teeth ache.


	With nowhere to release their feelings, people carry them about like a loaded gun: distrust, anger, and even a sense of hatred for those who might cause them harm. They channel it in cruel barbs against those failing to give them space, or vent it on unfortunate customer service staff at supermarkets who feel the force of their wrath for no reason.


	People are more unreasonable than ever at a time where joy is so terribly hard to find.


	It is not simply that people can’t take it anymore. I wonder if it is more that the effort of staying alive is greater than the reason to do so. For many, the math isn’t adding up.


	We hear of them being cut from trees, or “dying suddenly” in their own home. One stays with me, and I don’t know why.


	Nickolas Lukic was found hanging from a tree in a park in a place called Huddersfield. He was 42.


	He was a stranger to me, but listening to how he is talked about, I can almost feel the life in him. He worked as a bartender across town, making strangers feel welcome and offering a friendly face to the regulars. I imagine him encouraging other strangers to pull up a seat and stay awhile at The Crown, The Old Hatte, and The Camel Club—names that will be as familiar to locals as comfortable shoes.


	Lockdown ended everything for Nickolas. Without other people, life is numb. Living or dying no longer feel a million miles apart, separated only by indifference.


	Friends paid their respects: “He was a great guy, and he was also my friend. RIP Bud. Save us a seat at the bar, mate!"

<blockquote>
	
		Absolutely gutted to hear this. He was such a funny guy and has watched over me for so many years. He had such a big heart. RIP Nick xx.
</blockquote>


	I sit here thinking of this friendly, funny stranger walking out to hang himself from a tree, and I wonder: Just how much separates him from you, or my mum, or me?

Formerly Happy Brits Now Sit Alone in their Cars

My mother looked a bit flustered as I walked through her front door.


	
		Do you know, a lady my age just stabbed her husband to death in their kitchen?

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