Thursday, March 08, 2007

Life on Cameron's Mars


Patrick Mercer's enforced "resignation" this afternoon was hardly an isolated example of grassroots Tory racism.

On Tuesday the excellent Labour Swindon MP Anne Snelgrove called for the resignation of a Tory Fire Chief, Jerry Willmott, who allegedly emailed to a colleague, " "I see the rig is evening dress, are we going back to 'Mess Dress' and medals? (I would have thought that with this mob in charge of the country we would have been required to wear dreadlocks and multi-coloured woolly hats or nightshirts and tea-towels) Cheers." He is now the subject of a Standards Board enquiry.

It also follows another Tory Councillor facing a disciplinary hearing after saying to an Asian woman that a youth worker should intervene before another member of the group was "married off to some illiterate man from back home".

The easy saloon bar racism of the Tory grassroots gives the lie to Cameron's make-over of the Conservative Party. On the day that John Inman died, it's a reminder that the Conservatives' social values remain stuck firmly in the 1970's.

1 comment:

Mark Burton said...

It certainly makes you wonder how people who are mindset with these views aren’t filtered out of such influential positions at a much earlier stage. It beggars belief how he could have ever thought that what he said was not racist.

I was born out of wedlock, my C-of-E Mother and Catholic Father, chose to make home in the South of Dublin. At the age of 11, when my father died, my mother moved us back to her home town in Suffolk where she was brought up. My mother was born in 1928, the youngest of 5 daughters to her Mother and Father, a train driver. Even though my father had just died I was looking forward to living in England, after all I’d had so many great summers’ holiday here visiting all my relatives.

Having a thick Irish accent it wasn’t long before the racism bullying started, I remember as a first year being cornered in a stairwell by a fifth year boy, who spat in my face, kicked me in the groin and called me a Irish B******! It took some years for me to accept being called Paddy.