Not Quite the Sort of Freedom We Had in Mind

Like good old Douglas Haig's shells falling at the Somme, squeals of patriotic outrage have descended over plans to disfigure the annual climax of British military rah-rah by exercising the liberty for which its past dupes supposedly sacrificed themselves. Fishy Rishi and the security minister, both of whom an optimist might imagine have better things to do these days, are alike incandescent with righteous indignation at the Palestinian Solidarity Campaign for holding a march on Victory Saturday, thereby apparently desecrating the memory of Britain's war dead slightly more than did the still all-too-recent presence at the Cenotaph of Fishy Rishi's patron, the National Johnson. For its own part, the PSC has no intention of going anywhere near either the Cenotaph or the hotbed of armchair generalship that is Whitehall; and even the Metropolitan Rape and Racism Club has admitted that the organisers of the march are co-operating, although naturally facial recognition software will be utilised to identify potential blacklistees. It is to be hoped that anyone indiscreet enough to have looked a bit republican at the Coronation will have the courtesy to stay away and not distract officers from their sacred duty of policing by consent.