James Sunley @jamesbsunley - Twitter Profile

about 1 month ago

My dear Michael, There you were. Perched upon your little GB News stool, eyes gleaming with that particular brand of performative earnestness you have perfected over decades of public betrayal. The topic was Britishness. A subject you apparently believe you own, like a trademark. You looked at Michelle Dewberry, a woman asking straightforward questions about identity and belonging, and you responded with the smooth condescension of a vicar explaining communion to a confused toddler. "One of the glories about the United Kingdom," you began. As if you were about to recite poetry. As if you had not spent your entire career trading in the very anxieties you now find so distasteful. The exchange turned to demographics. To the perfectly reasonable concern that native Britons might find themselves strangers in their own country. And what did you do? You reached for the England football team. You reached for Rishi Sunak's parents. You reached for every cheap, lazy deflection in the progressive playbook. When she dared mention the word "white," you pounced. "Once you start talking about black and white as what defines British, that is problematic." Problematic. There it is. The vocabulary of the campus activist, emerging from the mouth of a man who once posed as a conservative. You spent nine minutes explaining why someone from Mogadishu who arrived last Tuesday is just as British as someone whose family farmed Yorkshire soil for twelve generations. You called it integration. The rest of us recognize it as obliteration. You were not debating. You were lecturing. Deploying that soft, reasonable tone that masks the steel of absolute ideological certainty. The same tone you used when you were betraying your own party on Brexit. The same tone you used when you were cheerleading for lockdowns. The same tone you used when the High Court found you broke the law handing £560,000 to your friends at Public First. The same tone you used when you referred Michelle Mone's company for £203 million in PPE contracts. The same tone you used when you ran that Orwellian "Clearing House" to block journalists' freedom of information requests. The same tone you used when you admitted to snorting cocaine while writing columns condemning middle class drug use. And the pièce de résistance. When she refused to accept your civics lesson, you accused her of making it about skin color. The oldest trick. The cheapest shot. You have learned your lines well from your former friends on the left. You are not a conservative, Michael. You are a shape shifter. A man who believes in nothing except the next appointment. A man who spent £600,000 of taxpayer money defending his own unlawful conduct. A man who now sits in the House of Lords for life as Baron Gove of Torry, editing The Spectator, having seamlessly transitioned from ministerial office to media gatekeeper. And on this occasion, you were particularly vile because you did it all with that smug little smile. That knowing look that says "I am the cleverest boy in the room." You are not. You are merely the most flexible. You have broken the law, trafficked millions to your friends, and snorted your way to a lifetime peerage, yet here you are editing The Spectator with that same insufferable smirk, proving that in modern Britain there is no failure so complete that it cannot be rebranded as success. YOU DO NOT NEED TO BE WRITING IN THE SPECTATOR. YOU NEED TO BE WRITING APOLOGY LETTERS FROM JAIL.

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James Sunley

@jamesbsunley

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