Joe hadn’t been convinced that it was an all-out attack on the UN. Other bombings around Prishtina in recent months hadn’t killed anyone. They were designed to scare. “I don’t know Greg: but I’m guessing it could be just to remind us who is really in control here, as far as the future goes that is.”
“Well they did that all right, didn’t they?”
“Yeh: I suppose they did.”
Joe’s time in the Balkans had so far been enthralling but it had also been stressful. It wasn’t always possible to drive around freely so the security briefings could never be ignored, and were updated on a daily basis. However, it wasn’t just UN workers who were being targeted. Regardless Joe was looking forward to continuing in the region, as well as finishing the construction projects, but he knew that it would be a difficult period and one he wouldn’t forget too soon.
***
The email looked lengthy and Az decided not to read all of it. He was in a reflective mood having travelled back from the Balkans and questions had started to appear as he thought about what he had seen: it was as if the slaughter had now been forgotten by the rest of Europe, as if it had never even happened. However, the mass killings had happened and those who had been maimed, seen loved ones slaughtered or were still waiting for the missing to re-appear knew it had as well. It seemed that the failure to prevent the killing of innocents in Europe in the nineties was now comparable to the failures over Iraq. The official line now was that the weekly death rate in Iraq was much lower than it had been; which meant that it was manageable for the media and politicians. The British establishment was now edging towards trying to forget about the damage they had inflicted there; all in the name of progress, no doubt so they could then claim that they had been victorious.
Even if there was the occasional huge bombing of a town centre somewhere and between fifty and a hundred people had died it no longer mattered to the media or the politicians, as the figures were down on where they had been a year before. In some newspapers the events in Iraq were no longer newsworthy and they were lucky to make the first few pages of a British tabloid. It really was the same shit over and over again, Az said to himself.
“Maybe people here just don’t need to understand. Their lives revolve around lining their pockets and bringing up children without any grounding in spiritual values; like reality shows being played out time and time again.” He put his glasses on and began reading the text of another email – it was from one of his contacts in Yemen.
***
Khalil was listening to the radio and suddenly realised that the DJ was talking to a speaker from the Justice Party, whose people had kept putting their flyers through his and Saira’s door.
“Today we welcome Jeff Katz from the Justice Party for our politics slot. So Jeff, how do you see the political situation here at the moment and where is your party in all that?”
“The way we see it, the Europeans are now trying to ram an undemocratic constitution and so-called ‘Human Rights’ agenda down everyone’s throats. Of course, the real guiding hand behind all this is the Germans and their central European allies; it seems that their former virulent ideologies are now matched by an equally virulent desire to impose an incongruous and unworkable EU system, managed only by themselves, on the rest of Europe. And it will be one that we have absolutely no real say in, nor any ability to overturn. In other words we are going to end up with a ‘Fourth Reich’ by the back door where the Germans rule Europe from the centre. The rest of us will be unable to overturn this hated super-state and we will be regarded as terrorists if we speak out against it. This is exactly the language the Nazis used in the 1940s; if you disagreed with the Third Reich you were called a ‘terrorist’ and summarily tortured and shot. And now Germans are telling us that we have to go along with it again.”
Khalil was suddenly enthralled and turned the volume up on the radio. “That sounds rather terminal, Jeff,” asked the host. “Can you explain a bit more?”
“Yes, of course. We have had absolutely no debate on any of these issues and we have been denied our democratic rights. We have had no referendum on the fact that we are losing our own rights and powers while we are a member state of this insidious organization. And of course, just as in 1939, we have hardly anyone who realizes what we are actually up against. Only this time they wear dark suits and carry briefcases, rather than SS uniforms and Lugers. It was Churchill who stood alone then; who do we have now to protect our future and that of real democracy in Europe?”
“You are quite persuasive, Mr Katz; and impassioned. Are you genuinely scared of the Germans?”
“Yes, completely. There has always been a ‘German problem’ at the heart of Europe, it has been there for a very long time and we never learn – I am genuinely concerned that we are forgetting the lessons of the Second World War. The Germans know that they can erode our powers gradually. We need to break away from them for good.”
Khalil felt that the speaker was eloquent; if a little too impassioned at times.
“But where is the EU in your argument?” asked the radio host.
“The laws drafted by the EU are essentially the mechanism by which the Germans are denying democracy across Europe. We will have absolutely no choice in the future and we have no future under the EU constitution. The EU is a Trojan Horse.”
“So you are proposing direct action against them, Mr Katz?”
“If it comes to it we may well have to overturn the undemocratic activities of our own politicians in order to prevent a greater calamity. Don’t forget we were never given any choices over the EU constitutions; they have been forced on us. History is repeating itself; the Germans cannot help themselves, as they are, once again, becoming all too powerful. You will never meet a German who is against the EU constitution or against absolute German power.”
Enthralled by the debate Khalil had forgotten what he was supposed to be working on. He sat in the study and wrote on his memo pad that he would contact the local Justice Party office in the near future.
***
On his return to the UK Joe had tried to avoid the subject, but his friends and family wanted to hear about his travels. He didn’t know what to say and couldn’t quite describe what it was like: after ten months in a place that time had seemed to forget he couldn’t find the right adjectives to describe it. “Weird” was all he could think of; and that he just felt guilty for being able to walk away.
Sam had her own problems. Her father had become so ill he was in a hospice and her mother had gone to pieces, mainly because of the guilt of divorcing him. At least Sam wasn’t pestering Joe for lurid tales from his time abroad. One night on the phone it all sounded too final. “Sorry Joe: things have changed round here. I am struggling to look after my parents and keep my job down. You can’t easily come over. Not for a while.”
The one thing he had been looking forward to was meeting up with her but he couldn’t argue with the circumstances. Sam was now distant; she was just being polite when she asked him about his time “out there”, but he reasoned that it was his own distant nature that had always been the real barrier, as well as a certain footloose attitude on his part. He had no interest in small talk; they had nothing more to say.
PART TWO
CHAPTER FOUR
“And what about Az; do you think he’s chilling right now?” asked Wazir. It was a question Shakil had been dreading. How would he know what Az was up to? He recalled that he had hardly been a role model himself. He’d dropped out of school early and gone back to Pakistan without a clue as to what to do in life. Somehow he had found his way back to college in England. He had only just finished his part-time studies.
“You honestly think I know what he’s doing? Why don’t you ring up my father in Pakistan and ask him, man? I’m sure he’d like to talk to you about it,” Shakil replied.
“You know I’m only kidding you, Shak.”
“You don’t want to get inside Az’s head, man. It’s always been scary in there.
”
“Yeah, but at least he’s like… righteous. It’s what he means when he talks about changing his life, isn’t it?”
“Don’t believe all you hear here, Waz. It’s people like him that get us all to waste our time on pointless pursuits. He’ll get you into trouble.”
“So what are we supposed to think if we can’t trust someone like Az? Believe in celebrities; read about their wives?”
“No; read for yourself. You decide for you; don’t let anyone do it for you.”
“So when you read what does it tell you?”
“Not to waste my time on pointless exercises, man. Anyway, how’s your brother getting on, and his lovely lady?”
“He’s wrapped up in his IT business and Saira’s - well just Saira. I think they are well tight; they get on really well. I wish I had that, Shak. It makes life worth all the hassles.”
“Don’t worry, cuz, you’ll be all right. It will happen when you don’t expect it.”
“Like an earthquake, I expect.”
“That’s an unfortunate analogy; but probably quite accurate come to think of it.”
“And what are you doing at the moment, work-wise?”
“I’ve now gone back to that retail job in the industrial area. It will pay the bills for a while. I’m also finishing off the college stuff. It’s hard work studying in the evenings after working all day.”
“That’s cool, Shak; at least you are heading somewhere. You’ll be useful when you get out there - management material, mate.”
“Good of you to say.” Shakil paused. “Are you after something, Waz?”
“No not at all; I’m flush at the moment. I’m helping Khalil a bit at the office and doing the NVQ course.”
Later that afternoon Shakil was as astonished as Wazir when Az suddenly appeared.
“I thought you were off at some religious centre up north?”
“I was, bruv; and now I’m back.”
“Any good?”
“It was different, but I did learn some new things. I told them that the Balkans are an amazing place. You should go there by the way. It’s quite beautiful.”
“So you were looking at the architecture and culture then?” asked Wazir.
“Yes; in some ways I was Waz. Like I say; it’s a great place, well worth a visit.”
“I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing,” Shakil exclaimed. “I will try and remember next time your birthday comes round.” Shakil could tell his brother was hiding something but would let it go. He was relieved he had come back in one piece and decided to fix him up a meal.
***
For a June day the weather had been rather dismal, and Khalil was listening to the chairman, Jeff Katz, at a gathering at the local HQ of the Justice Party. He had followed it up after going on the organisation’s website the day before, when they had announced the meeting was taking place. He decided this was now the right time to go along as he needed to extend his business network and the party claimed to have the support of businessmen who had grown disillusioned with the establishment. It seemed like an opportunity to create some new contacts.
“None of the three main political parties have the interests of the country at heart. The Liberals would sell us off to a corrupt European superstate, their ‘principles’ are more important to them than actual people of course. The Tories are not interested in the working classes of these islands any more because those classes vote Labour. And the Socialists would carry on with the failed social and economic policies of the Left. It’s a ‘lose, lose, lose’ situation. It’s Labour, Liberal, Tory, same old bloody story.”
Khalil thought that was quite a clever political slogan, if a little negative. It reminded him of Lenin’s pet phrase “Peace, Land, Bread” which he remembered reading about at school. Jeff Katz gestured to the gathered audience. “And if we continue as we are, on this course mapped out by this geriatric establishment of all the failed talents, we will end up with no sovereignty, ruled over by a corrupt bunch of European muppets, rather than the corrupt British muppets we are currently misruled by.”
At that there was a cheer that rippled through the fifty or so men and women. Glasses chattered and clanked. Khalil sensed an air of conviviality as if everyone there was one with Mr Katz. There was a resonance in the speaker’s voice. Khalil didn’t like to admit to himself that he felt part of the throng, that he instinctively felt like he should have been there. Katz continued.
“The Liberal Party are to this age what Neville Chamberlain was to a previous generation; a bunch of misguided appeasers and idiots. We cannot afford to let them get away with it. If we do we will end up in a new Dark Age where our country is just some region on the edge of Europe. It is our duty to stop them no matter what.”
At this there was an even bigger cheer and clapping. Khalil clapped as well; although he wasn’t sure why exactly. Katz continued. “And amongst all this, what do we all think of each other on this overcrowded island? Not much by any standard it would seem. As traffic queues lengthen, road rage has given way to resignation; if people could be bothered they would shout at each other, but now they just sit it out. As trains get more crowded and people’s behaviour gets more barbaric more and more people turn a blind eye; we are an uncaring society. The Left tells us that we are a successful multi-cultural society. How’s that then? Even if we could cram millions more people onto this island there aren’t the jobs, the medical centres, the schools to deal with them; and no, we can’t keep building them because there isn’t a never-ending supply of cash. Money is a finite resource. Obviously it isn’t in the Left’s “La La” land of milk and honey, but it is in the real world and that is why we are now going to have cutbacks across the board due to the financial mismanagement of so many years of misrule by all parties.
And how are things ‘changing for the better’ under this failed establishment? Not a great deal; we are still losing sovereignty to the ‘European Project’ and we still leak money in the form of aid that isn’t even required by countries that regard us as a mere cash cow. Even more irrational is giving huge amounts of support to countries like Afghanistan where there are no checks and balances and where the money is not just likely to be stolen, it will be stolen by political warlords and gangsters in the regime, as there is no effective governance anyway.”
Khalil thought that Az would probably agree with this man even if others didn’t. Katz finished his delivery with an emotional flourish, underlined by a slightly higher pitch in his voice. “We, the ordinary people of this country, are being screwed, every minute, every hour, every day of our lives. It is an insult to our servicemen and women that they don’t get the right financial rewards; and that charities have to make up the significant part of the care for our wounded. Our politicians are a failure and a disgrace to this nation and this generation. If elected we, this Justice Party, will require criminal investigations into the actions of a great many politicians. We are not a pressure group; we’re a political party and we will be heard.”
At this there were frenzied cheers and chanting and much more clanking of glasses. Khalil felt himself swept along with the enraptured audience. He could even see old ladies crying. He saw some kind of kinship and commonality here that he hadn’t experienced before. He realised the three mainstream parties couldn’t deliver any of the things on this group’s wishlist. He and his immediate family had never known who to vote for; they had all usually ended up voting Liberal because of their collective distaste for the other main political parties.
“And you are all invited to my ‘face-off’ with the sitting MP next week at the Town Hall. Remember: Thursday evening at 7.00pm.” Jeff Katz stepped down and the meeting was wrapped up with some “parish news” by a local speaker, who mentioned the impending visit of an American. The latter would deliver a seminar about the Middle East on the Tuesday after the debate at the Town Hall.
***
Joe landed a temporary job in Shoreditch. It was late July 2005 and the
country was still reeling from the recent terrorist attacks. In a pub that evening he celebrated getting the new job with Baz, Dex and Isabel, Baz’s girlfriend. The conversation centred on the recent bombings. Dex was particulary vexed.
“These people are just Nazis and don’t care who they kill; the more civilians the better. To them even Muslims are fair game; just as in Iraq and all over the world. They’re not spiritual people.”
“Dex mate,” Baz replied, “they’ve all played into the hands of the politicians anyway; they’re just fuelling the fear and giving Blair and the rest a reason to bomb people.”
Joe realised that he had returned to the “real world”, the world of frapuccinos, celebrity footballers, smiling politicians and focus groups, overcrowded trains and unsmiling commuters, and conspiracy theories.
Isabel retorted: “The politicians have no idea of what they are unleashing; they’re living in a world of spin and sound bites thousands of miles from the Middle East although they constantly try to pretend they are part of the armed forces by going on staged visits like latter day Vera Lynns. The only real motivation for these people is power.”
“And potential re-election.” said Joe, adding, “Baz, you know you really should go into politics, mate.”
“Why not?” replied Baz, nodding his head as he drank his pint of bitter. Isabel grinned at Baz.
The evening dragged on into several more pints of Adnams and packets of crisps and nuts. The following morning Joe looked out of his window into the drizzle.
“Despite the routines and grey skies,” he thought to himself, “it’s always nice coming back here after a while overseas.” He stared into his tea and wondered what Sam was doing. Even the failure of his personal life had done nothing to dampen his enjoyment at being home. He recalled occasions in the past when the stress of being in a conflict zone could feel like a great weight on the shoulders. And now he felt the weight had been lifted.
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