Welcome To Efrafa

On totalitarian England

Richard Adam’s Watership Down has once more been occupying my thoughts lately as I take stock of the situation in Britain. I expected that, once the election had been settled, British politics would be put to sleep and all eyes would shift to the glitz and moronic pomp of the American election, but here we are. The jails are filling up, and it is alleged that prisoners are being released early to free up cells for those who rioted and protested after the Southport murders. The reader may notice that I slipped a clunky “alleged” in there, which seems out of place. The idea is that I give myself a little wiggle room, a smattering of back covering, you know, just in case. I know what I think about it, I know what you think about it, but the party that we must ensure is not displeased is the British Government.

For all I know, there exists some legalistic technicality under which simply stating that the Government is releasing prisoners to free up space for rioters (they are not recognised as political) would see me fall foul of the various laws both in existence and being drafted against spreading mis, dis or malformation.

I’ve been thinking about Watership Down because of the character Blackavar. Blackavar is the rebellious rabbit who dwells in General Woundwort’s totalitarian Efrafa warren. His ears are torn to shreds, and he’s covered in scars, punishment for an attempted escape. Blackavar’s role within the narrative structure is to emphasise General Woundwort’s power and brutality while also portraying the outlier, the rebel within a totalitarian system. It is through Blackavar’s oppression that the true nature of the system is revealed, yet he’s not entirely a passive victim but also a representation of futile rebellion. In the 1978 film, he dies after making one last desperate attack upon General Woundwort, where he swiftly has his throat ripped out, the camera lingering on his bloodied corpse.

Given its quintessential Englishness and setting, the symbolism is apt. Here, totalitarianism exists but is not surrounded by early 20th-century ideologies and modernist aesthetics. Woundwort’s police state exists between two bridle paths lined with brambles, and a rural English meadow lies not far away. The land and the aesthetics seem familiar, but Efrafa is somehow alien; it’s just not very English.

That’s the pretty story we liked to tell ourselves, anyway.

To think of the Lake District, small villages on Northumberland’s coastal route, or farms in Kent existing within a police state still chaffs a little; it still smacks of hyperbole. There can be little doubt that we’re closer to a formalised tyranny now than we were in 1978 when Watership Down traumatised children.

I have absolutely no doubt that the British state knows exactly who I am and where I am and that they could arrive at the door any moment. Have I broken the law? I don’t think so, certainly not intentionally. I have erred on the side of caution for years precisely because I do not believe in the comforting liberal fairy tales of the regime. I’m not involved in real-world activities or political groups and I advised people to avoid the protests.

But I am still wondering whether the police or a wing of a governmental outreach type quango could pay a visit regardless. Maybe this is mere paranoia, and they’ve got more important things to do than chase up a grumpy blogger, but the fact remains that right-leaning pundits and journalists are adorning their social media accounts with:

None of the information posted or repeated on this account is known by its author to be false, nor intended to stir racial or any hatred of, nor cause psychological or physical harm to, any person or group of people (howsoever identified).

It is to daub one’s X account with the lamb's blood in the hope that the technocratic enforcement angel passes over one’s dwelling without stopping. Again, is it to be hyperbolic? Is it simply a canny way to signal one’s rebellious nature and anti-establishment laurels? The fact is people no longer have any idea what they can say or write anymore because even if you avoid the mis, dis, and malformation minefields, you could be accused of “stirring up hate” and if you manage to duck that too, there’s always “legal but harmful” waiting to trip you up, like fishing line sneakily tied across a path.

People whisper to each other, like rabbits in Efrafa. They talk of “getting out!” because their intuition and senses tell them the country is becoming unsafe and that people are not allowed to discuss it.

After decades spent complaining that they were not being listened to, the British people are becoming scared of being heard.

And still, they wander around, stupefied at what has happened because “We don’t live like this! This isn’t what happens in England!” Our country of Theseus has been gradually transforming for decades, not just in demographics but the state’s ever-increasing and all-encompassing bloat. The political class and the media flatly refuse to recognise the incremental changes. Like Hatchlings, they plead ignorance and present what is the formalising of an authoritarian system as merely being a liberal state reacting to riots and unrest. Watermills still adorn the river by Durham Cathedral, Hadrian’s Wall is still crawling across the rugged Northumbrian landscape, but the social fabric has been incinerated.

At least, there’s an element of relief and clarity for those who can see it. People ask me if I already regret being so mean to the Tories. Do we now understand the panic? But the fact is, all that has changed is that the clownish Tory mask the system hid behind was ripped off, revealing its true nature for the world to see. My critique of the Tories was essentially that they were lying conmen. It was always “at least Labour does not pretend to be our friends”, or “Labour stab us in the front, not the back”.

Well, the stabbing is being done in daylight, not just by their clients, but by the government itself in a metaphorical sense.

I didn’t expect British politics to dominate the entire month of August, but we appear to have entered Efrafa, and now we must survive and hopefully escape.