Wednesday, 19 August 2009


Listening to Nick Griffin’s closing speech at the Red, White & Blue brought home what is happening to me. He said something along the lines of BNP supporters, members, activists and candidates making sacrifices because of our beliefs. Never was a truer word said.

Just over a year ago, my father made a comment about me being a member of the British National Party. He said I was a racist. I didn’t get angry. No point in that. What I did was to hand him a Voice of Freedom, an Identity magazine, a few leaflets and a compilation of short movies I’d taken from YouTube and put to dvd. I told him to go home, watch and read, then let me know what his opinions were. He came round the following week and told me that he hadn’t a clue that these things were happening in our country. He said he didn’t think any of the material was racist.

Over the next few weeks he asked me questions and at one point he said he would like to come to a meeting with me. I was so happy that I decided not to take him to my next meeting but the one after. Mr Nick Griffin would be the speaker. I told my father that Nick sometimes does a question and answer session and if he had any doubts or concerns he could put the question(s) forward. He appeared to be looking forward to it. A week or so later I rang my father to give him the details of when and where we would be going. He said he had changed his mind because he didn’t want to be associated with Nazis. I was gob-smacked. I didn’t push it and told him that was fine.

Over the next few times I saw him and my mother, I didn’t mention it. The June election was nearly upon us and I was busy with BNP stuff. He started to have a go at me for no reason whatsoever. I asked my mother if she thought I was a racist, to which she replied ‘No of course I don’t’. My father never said a word, so I knew what he thought, even though he knows I use the Indian chip shop, have a couple of Sikh friends and a very good half-caste friend. Obviously, I can’t be racist, can I?

The next few weeks were crazy with work and I didn’t get the chance to see them for more than 5 minutes at a time. The local and Europeans passed and the RWB was two days away. This, I suppose, is where my story should start.

I rang my mother on Thursday 13th August to ask her if she had anything she was getting rid of but would be fine for the tombola. She said no. It was at this point that I could hear my father ranting in the background. I asked my mother what he was saying but she said she didn’t know. Then I heard my father shouting ‘We are not giving you anything that will raise money for the BNP’. My mother then said my father wanted a word with me.

I remember every word. The conversation went like this:

Dad: (Shouting in an angry tone) ‘Just answer me one question’
Me: (Calm) ‘Go ahead’
Dad: (Still shouting and angry) ‘Do you believe the holocaust happened?’
Me: (Still calm) ‘Of course I bloody do.’
Dad: (Surprised) ‘Oh’ (pause) (Angry again and starting to spit froth) ‘Well your leader doesn’t’
Me: (Still being calm but starting to rise to the challenge) ‘Here we go. I see you’ve been speaking to…’

From that point on my dad was screaming down the phone at me. He wouldn’t let me get a word in. I have always had respect for my parents and never argue back, but for once I played him at his own game and screamed back at him, eventually putting the phone down.

I knew exactly who he’d been speaking to, his new-found buddies in the pub. He has started to frequent a solid Labour pub - on a Saturday evening - in a once solid labour area. He also speaks to the newly elected Conservative Councillor. For once, Labour has something in common with the Conservatives; their hatred of the rise of the British National Party. My father spoke the same on-liners that come from their ignorant mouths. He has no knowledge of the British national Party so he can’t argue their corner. I thought my father was far wiser than that, but I was wrong. He is just another of the sheep people who take the opposers at their word without having the gumption to check it out for themselves.

I have had no contact with my mother or father for a week now and don’t expect I will for a long time. It will be eating away at my mother, I know this. I passed my father in the street today and neither of us spoke. I am standing my ground and I will not make the first move. The day he comes to me to talk instead of shouting I will listen and respond. Until then he can stew in his own juices.

That man, my father, would have fitted in nicely with the cowardly, baying mob outside the RWB; the scum that spits in down-syndrome children’s faces and slaps other children. The scum that is supported and funded by other scum. Scum like David Cameron who my father voted for in the last election and scum like our local MP Judy (I’m a communist and proud) Mallaber.

The point of me writing about this, apart from getting it off my chest, is to show what sacrifices we as party supporters are having to make. It is very difficult at times. The hours spent on laptops researching, organising and attending meetings, creating videos and blogs, and just getting the word out there for the people to see by commenting and emailing. And of course the arguments, the failed marriages and the breakdown of families. The BNP ARE my family and as I left this years 10th RWB I felt a sense of loss.

It can be a lonely road but it will all be worth it in the long run; the day will come when the BNP will rise to power and get this country back on it’s feet.

That time can’t come quick enough for me.

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