Following the announcement of the British Election on July 4th, America’s Independence Day, I thought I’d dust off an old poem I was looking to bring up to date and share it. Note: Tory is British slang for a Conservative party member, it is taken from the Irish word meaning ‘robber’. I think many of the concepts apply to the upcoming American election too.
Do those Tory politicians really look like you?
Did they go to the school your children do?
Do they look for deals each week at Tesco?1
Are they regulars at the same local pub where you go?
Do they know what it was like to struggle?
Are they just ordinary common or garden muggles?2
When you look at their faces and their monocles3
Do you really think ‘those guys look cool’?
When they lounges around on the Commons benches4
And put up their noses at the Hoi Palloi's stenches5
And ride around on their Penny Farthings.6
Do you think understand living on a shoestring?
Looking down at you from their perch on the right wing?
Are you sure they feel for you in their stone cold hearts?
That you'd like to smell their rose scented farts?
That they understand your sorrows and pain?
Instead of peering at you with a look of disdain?
Because they come and appears at your local fete7
Do you think they'd like to pal around as your mate?
That while they are counting their mountainous shares?
That they really gives a toss about your cares?8
They long for the days when there were children down mines
Not kids like theirs, mind you - ones like yours and mine
They wish we were back finding countries to invade
to steal their riches and with unwilling natives get laid
All as long as the inhabitants barely get paid
They believe thats how how the world should've stayed
Because they told you they'd stop the ‘invasion’
of refugees and make England more Caucasian
When your children end up their slaves again
Maybe you'll pause before thinking they're on your side then
But by then it will be far too late
You'll be sold as serfs to corporations by your Tory mate9
And wear out your life in their unsafe factories
And there'll be little joy left for you or for me
But the Torys will be happy that we're back in our place
And they'll respond with a smile that would crack any face
Thats unless all you carpenters take some planks
And set up a scaffold outside of the banks
And get some sheets of metal and sharpen the steel
Make some guillotines to let them know how you really feel10
And take back the factories, the shops and the fields11
And show that this land belongs to us - not the well heeled12
But if you don't want to hurt those who kill with their policies
You could just let just let the Torys and their toadies be13
And refuse to do another day or work for their profit
Throw the spanner in the gears of the machine in order to stop it14
Stand shoulder to shoulder before scabs and police15
Then the working man might finally have enough bread and peace16
And Tories may remain Lords in their little minds
In their little castles, but without courtiers serving their kind17
And there'll be no honours or privileges any more for these berks18
And if they want to eat high on the hog they'll have to work19
Then maybe - though unlikely - they'll feel some empathy
But they'd never again rule over the likes of you and me20
What would an American version of this poem look like?
Do those D.C. politicians really look like you?
Did they go to the schools your children do?
Do they hunt for bargains at Walmart or Target?
Are they regulars at the diner where you get your omelet?
Do they know what it’s like to live paycheck to paycheck?
Are they just regular folks, like you at your job desk?
…
But if you don’t want to fight those who kill with their policies
You could just let those politicians and their cronies be
And refuse to work another day for their gain
Throw a wrench in the gears and make it break under the strain
Stand shoulder to shoulder against strike-breakers and police
Then maybe the working man will finally have his peace
And politicians may remain rulers in their own eyes
In their big mansions, with their slick lies
And there’ll be no honours or privileges anymore for these jerks
And if they want to live large, they’ll have to work
Then maybe - though unlikely - they’ll feel some empathy
But they’d never again rule over the likes of you and me
Tesco is a common British grocery store, similar to Walmart.
A person who possesses no magical skills or abilities (originated from the ‘Harry Potter’ novels).
Some British Conservatives idealise the Victorian era when Monocles were popular, although they were still used up until the Second World War, with some of the upper class wearing them beyond that.
Commons are the British parliamentary equivalent to the U.S. Congress.
The Hoi Palloi are the masses or common people.
A bicycle popular in the 1870s and 1880s. It is the logo of The Village in the cult 1960s television series The Prisoner, whose star Patrick McGoohan stated that the bike represented slowing down the wheels of progress.
Pronounced ‘fate’ - it is a small town English fair.
‘Give a toss’ is to care at all.
Serfs were Feudal indentured servants.
This is not literal - See https://crimethinc.com/2019/04/08/against-the-logic-of-the-guillotine-why-the-paris-commune-burned-the-guillotine-and-we-should-too
Expropriation: Sieve the means of production.
‘Well heeled’ means having plenty of money
A sycophant, one who flatters in the hope of gaining favours.
U.K. Spanner = U.S. wrench. Industrial sabotage. See https://www.cia.gov/static/5c875f3ec660e092cf893f60b4a288df/SimpleSabotage.pdf
A ‘Scab’ is a union member who refuses to strike or returns to work before a strike has ended.
See The Conquest Of Bread, Peter Kropotkin.
A ‘Courtier’ is a person who attends a royal court as a companion to the king.
Berk is British slang for a stupid person, but Burkes Peerage is a listing of the peerage titled aristocracy of the United Kingdom.
High on the hog’ is American slang for living in a luxurious style.
A fun song about this is ‘Purge Your Inner Tory’ by Colour Me Wednesday:
Tory boy, you can't solve anything
We all know your hiding something
Tory boy, money controls everything
But you’ll never have any real friends
I’ve heard your wet dreams
Dividing and conquering everything you see
Til it’s you and your mates running the country
You really think it will make you happy?