Are we truly Great Britain anymore? asks Oliver Lewis.
Like a once-mighty lion now encircled by jackals, we are gnawed and pecked at by the petty, the cowardly, and the cunning. Their bites are not mortal blows in themselves, but they carry a poison, an infection of decay, that eats away at our proud sinews from within.
And if this continues unchecked, the roar of Britain will be reduced to a whimper, drowned out by the snarls of those who once trembled at our strength.
We have become a symbol not of greatness, but of surrender. A monument not of endurance, but of retreat. A fountain not of pride, but of shame.
Picture it: Friday evening. You have toiled all week only to scrape by for another month. The restaurant is a luxury you can no longer afford, so you prepare your own curry at home, delicious, but tinged with the knowledge that such ordinary joys have become a substitute for the prosperity you once expected. You turn on the television, and there they are, BBC News, droning on about what will transpire when Trump meets Putin, as though Britain herself has no voice, no place, no power.
The screen cuts to archive footage: Yalta, 1945. Roosevelt, Stalin, and yes Churchill, dismissed now as “racist” by those too blind to see that his grit kept the flame of liberty alive when all Europe was in shadow. You dip your naan into the sauce and for a moment, just a fleeting moment, the pulse of Great Britain surges through you. There she is, proud and steadfast. But then the thought comes, where are we now?
Our leaders today would not be seated at such a summit. No, they would likely be found in some committee room, signing away a strategically vital island in the Indo-Pacific, eager to appease, desperate to appear virtuous, while the great powers of the world carve the future without us.
This is not greatness.
We require a leader, forged in the furnace of reality, not in the tepid waters of fashionable ideology. A leader who will not apologise for our history, but build upon it. Who will not shrink from the enemies within, nor cower before the powers without.
For what do we see instead? Our football teams, once bastions of local pride, parading in Saudi-themed kits as though Britain herself were for hire. Our borders flung open to waves of illegal migrants, some of whom prey on our children while the authorities turn away. Our own security services, whose mission is to protect this land, excluding the very sons and daughters of Britain from service, for no crime other than their skin being white.
We are being unmade from within, and still we are told to whisper that all is well. But it is not well. It is a betrayal.
Let us then speak the truth plainly: at this moment, we are not Great Britain. We are merely Britain, a place where free healthcare and handouts abound, but where our veterans sleep in the cold, and our people are left to fend for themselves in the land their ancestors built.
Yet I say this: the lion sleeps, but it is not dead. Its roar still echoes in our history, and it will rise again if we will it. The decay can be cut out, the weakness cast off, and the greatness renewed.
It all must change. It will change. And when it does, we shall once more be able to call ourselves, with unflinching pride… Great Britain.
By Oliver Lewis.
Oliver Lewis is a recent university graduate living in Bury St Edmunds. He is a NextGen Great British PAC advisor.
