The
Police Are Not Your Friend
by Phillip Day
We've dealt with many aspects of Britain's slow motion coup d'état by the powers of Europe but one aspect of this takeover, thrust to the fore in recent times, involves the disturbing change in the police.
There used to be a time when the British police protected those who paid them. Nothing was more reassuring than the sight of a British bobby or those featured on Z Cars or Dixon of Dock Green hauling villains off to the nick. They were a force to be reckoned with, a force to trust, who lived among us patrolling the neighbourhood with a kindly word here, a piece of advice there, and a sharp smack round the ear for any yobs flapping their yaps when they shouldn't. Oh, and coppers were physically big back then too, no scrawny weaklings, and that made us feel better too.
No more.
Incomprehensible changes under EU law and liberal activism have turned our police from welcome community guardians into weasely punishers and revenue generators, who, even by their own admission, persecute the public. Jan Berry, head of the Police Federation, declares that, 'There has been a sense of persecuting Middle England in order to make the statistics look good.' Which behaviour, accompanied by disastrous new laws curtailing free speech in the fight against 'hate', 'homophobia' and 'racism' have completely changed the face of modern policing. Under Health and Safety laws, for instance, the police now commonly fail to act on a crime or just don't bother going after the real criminals. "If a murder has the same [target] number as the theft of a Mars bar," Berry admits, "then something's wrong with the system."
You think?
A large section of the public holds the police in utter contempt and I'm not happy to be one of them. What protectors are these when crime detection and prosecution are at an all-time low and yet the jails are busting? These days it's odds-on whether the victim gets arrested for Human Rights violations for fighting back against thugs or for simply saying something they shouldn't. Government targets mean arresting a child for a racist comment in a playground gets you the same Brownie points as solving a Yardie murder so go figure. What's sickening is that officers go along with it all and still expect the public's sympathy. They don't have mine. Forget proper policing, you're far more likely to find today's Blue Line enforcing the ban on Bonfire Night, arresting someone for putting golliwogs in their shop windows or saying unkind things to Muslims. We even have a Gay Police Association which makes up part of something called a 'culturally inclusive' police force today, whatever that is. Well, I've had enough. And, by the amount of e-mails I get on the subject, a lot of you have too.
Most of us have a nasty suspicion Britain's new 'liberal democracy' is neither liberal nor democratic. We're the most surveilled nation on earth. Today's police commonly tout sub-machine guns in the 'War on Terror', so right off the bat the 'terrorist' has won in changing the way we live forever. More sinisterly, your average plod is minutely trained in the detection of 'thought crimes' and also wildly popular with central government for his/her revenue-generating abilities. Last year 1.43 million cases were 'solved' with only 1 per cent of reported offences ending in a prison sentence. That's right, fines are better than prison, especially when you fine those who can't hit back.
Like the dustmen, we pay the useless Bill twice - once through our taxes and again when we fall foul of ridiculous liberal-Nazi laws designed to entrap us. Or perhaps, like Liz Jones, you're a repeat 'offender' and a far softer target than the real criminals now laughing their heads of on our streets. "I feel persecuted,' Liz laments. 'Put upon. Hounded. In the past three weeks, I have been prosecuted no fewer than five times. I've paid six fines, been stopped and questioned by the police twice, had my car towed once, and the bailiffs have been to my house, hammering on the door at 6am." (full story).
The police have lost the plot and with it the love and respect of the British people. We never see any law-enforcement presence in my village from one week to the next. No, I tell a lie. For the first time ever, a traffic warden turned up to issue parking tickets outside the local pub the other day and was heckled and driven off by outraged locals. As for the police? Nothing. They're kept in the towns and cities where a new breed of buzz-cut, Kevlar-clad paramilitaries hang out in vans on Friday nights calling the public civilians, earpieces burbling the latest intelligence on 'trouble-makers' from hundreds of CCTV cameras perched like vultures across our towns and cities. Collar the real miscreants? You must be joking - too much danger and paperwork involved. Besides, the thugs will be diagnosed with 'mental disorders' anyway so that's down to Social Services, who'll deal with them piecemeal by awarding a council house, free heroin and an Xbox you'll pay for out of your triple-rate council tax increases.
No wonder 350,000 Brits quit the country each year in disgust, and once I was one of them. I spent eight years in America before wondering what the heck I was doing there. I had run myself out of my own country. But these days I'm back and snarling like a pit-bull on Ritalin. How dare these white, middle-class, Observer-reading, tree-hugging, Matt-Lucas-fawning, Vicar-of-Dibley-cheering losers ruin the nation I once took such pride in? And frankly, how dare the police?
Speaking of which, my wife and I got burgled the other day and our car was stolen. We only phoned the police to get a crime number to file the insurance claim - what other reason was there? Been assaulted? Forget it. Been diddled? Having a laugh, aren't you? I'm white, middle-class and these days living in affluent south England which makes me both the mortal foe of the liberal establishment as well as every policeman's enemy. For protecting me, these lily-livered Maigrets are about as useful as a chocolate teapot. For prosecuting me, they'll move heaven and earth.
Britain's police, what's the point? Lazing about in the patrol cruisers I bought them or lounging in cafés, bristling with aerials. They harass the public for crimes illegal under the Common Law but perfectly valid in the coming European Reich of The Guardian. Get used to it, Liz, there's far worse to come. Foxy Knoxy's learning all about the EU's powers of detainment without fair trial as we speak. They can lock you up for a year before they decide what to do with you and that's just for starters. And what can you do about it? After the Lisbon Treaty, nichts.
Were you aware all members of the EU's governing structure, together with the tens of thousands of bureaucrats and civil servants who run the Union, have been granted a lifetime immunity from prosecution for deeds and actions performed in their official capacity (Article 12, Chapter 5 of the Protocol on the Privileges and Immunities of the EU)? This goes for the new European police force, Europol, too and the commanders and soldiers of the new European Army. That's right. Even Pinky and Perky at your local nick will be covered - can you sense it already in the ridiculous jargon they use, more reminiscent of a treacherous Strasbourg toadie than Doxy of Dick Green (or is it the other way around?)?
And who's running this shambles? Don't get me started. Police chiefs Sir Ian Blair, Richard Brunstrom, Meredydd Hughes, Sir Hugh Orde and Terry Grange rightly take stick for their own seedy imbroglios. At the top of the festering heap, however, sits Justice Minster Jack Straw who's doing for justice what Jaws did for the scuba industry. His 'government' is currently being investigated by the very police whose own sleaze, incompetence and greed infests its ranks to the very top. I'd be in favour of elected police chiefs if voting ever changed anything which it doesn't. Which leaves me impotent with a kind of cold contempt for the whole shebang. Not good.
So, when traffic coppers get testicle cancer from radar speed guns couched in their laps, my eyes are dry. After the murder of Jean Charles de Meneses and Cressida Dick's lethal incompetence, on a cost-to-benefit ratio I'd sooner have Barney the Dinosaur patrolling the neighbourhood. I'm fed up. In fact, I'm way past fed up. I'm wondering, like Liz Jones, when everyone else is going to wake up and smell the manure, which being Brits will probably be never. Which leaves one final option. A trip to the camping store to buy a canoe. Then again, my taxes probably bought half the apartments of retired British police chiefs in Panama City anyway….
