Monday, June 12, 2006

Blood Brothers: England and Somalia

Wearily staggering from one World Cup barbecue to another, I managed to get five minutes alone on a friend's laptop to see the distressing news that United States government funding of Somalian warlords has helped create a quasi-government in Mogadishu; now the CIA has someone it can finally do business with, even if this particular 'government' may make the Taliban look like girl scouts.

But while reading the usual statist rhetoric about nature abhorring power vacuums, as if a personification of nature cares a scrap about the petty scrabblings of puny naked apes, when she's quite busy enough, thank you, moving tectonic plates around, I was struck by the nature of this jolly country of ours, this jewel set in a silver sea, this England.

We must be one of the few nations left on Earth, outside Somalia, that doesn't have a government. Que? I hear you ask. Well, yes, it's slightly cheeky, and yes, we are ruled here by a British government, composed mainly of Scotsmen, but there is no actual English government, except for perhaps a solitary member, the Queen of England, as head of state. Even Herr Professor Hoppe would surely approve of such an arrangement. The Scots have a government, the Welsh have a government, and John Prescott tried and failed to foist a serious of other such pointless and wasteful overarching bodies onto the English, but, and here's the more serious point, if nature so thoroughly abhors a vacuum, why don't the English appear to need a government, to feel in control of their own destiny? Even the Romans always had a government and a governor for each nation they controlled, much as those modern-day Romans do, the Washingtonians, with the 50 separate nations that they currently milk as a tax base to fund their growing empire of violence.

But we in England seem to have rubbed along now for over three centuries without a government of our own. And yet we know who we are, even when abroad, we know what flag to wave, even if it's made of plastic, and we know that Wayne Rooney is going to win the World Cup for us, with a glorious winner struck off the fourth metatarsal of his right foot, in the last minute of extra time against Brazil.

We are a nation without the need for a government and I, for one, think that this is a splendid arrangment.

If only we could think of some way of throwing off the twin parasitic yokes of the British Scottish Mafia and the European French and Italian Mafia, and then we could get some private security in to get this nation back to becoming a green and pleasant land once more.

Well, it's just a thought.

PS> AngloAustria will be coming to you sporadically this week, from Cambridge, England. If you see any strange men wandering around down by the river Cam, thorougly soaked after attempting to punt, and wearing a Ludwig von Mises polo shirt, there aren't that many SEK3 Agorists around, so it'll probably be me. Otherwise, I'll see you at Parker's Piece on Thursday, watching the game against Trinidad and Tobago, if someone manages to get another big screen up. Come on England!

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