Elegy by a UKIP Voter

by Elias Blum

Skid softly, stone
That kicked by boot unpolished
Skips warm on nettle-hedged road
Through cider grove and barley field
As willow beats the butterflies
Behind the Ploughman, near the village green
Where ale-soaked gentlemen, ruddy faced
Roll and bellow in English summer’s jollity
While thin-suited men in Whitehall
Build by-passes to the Multiplex
So that B&Q suburbanites like me
Can drink European lager
And piss away all hope
Of reclaiming our England.

UKIP are not just wrong. They are dangerously wrong. They are a party of the radical, reactionary right: they are not only an anti-European and anti-immigrant party, but also a party whose policies on economic, regulatory, social and fiscal issues make the current crop of Tory ministers look like a bunch of compromising moderates. If  a Tory-LibDem coalition is bad enough, I’d be genuinely alarmed by a Tory-UKIP coalition after  2015. I’m very glad that UKIP have next to no showing in Scotland, and I hope, for all our sakes, that Scotland will be on the road to independence by then. Yet, I’m not unsympathetic to the feelings of loss and dislocation experienced and expressed by UKIP voters. They put the blame in the incorrect place, and their ‘remedies’ would only make matters much, much worse, but I can understand how they must feel. The old certainties are whipped away, the old assurances gone, the old glories faded. There is a sadness, a defeated, angry,  confused sadness, in the reactionary right. They cling to the mast of the British Empire, singing ‘Rule Britannia’, even as that old creaking ship sinks finally and silently beneath the waves of history.