by A.E. Beverley
"If QAnon exposes a twisted imagination within the lower-class’ minds, it reveals a rot in our society’s soul"
The rich cannibalise your children. But not in the way you suspect.
Blood libel’s in the news again.
Hillary Clinton, Hollywood stars, and their financier friends – some of them art collectors – rip the faces off missing children and drink their blood to get high off Adrenochrome, a drug that exists in the pineal glands of babies which is released when they’re afraid, or in pain. This is the basic premise of the QAnon conspiracy.
The rite that paedo elites supposedly derive pleasure from is an old one; the same inversion of the Christian mass, demonically turned toward child killing, which Jews have been accused of again and again since the day of Thomas of Monmouth onward.
The American press suggests the majority of adherents to the Hillary Clinton/Satanic elite child-sacrifice premise also believe Donald Trump’s moving to arrest the ‘liberal elite’ behind this. While that is the basic premise of QAnon, more people now believe in a child-trafficking elite than share that particular conspiratorial mindset. Concurrent to these flights of fancy emerging, the very real Jeffrey Epstein story broke, which genuinely implicated world leaders, celebrities, and media personalities in sex crimes against girls.
August saw the UK’s first ‘Save Our Children’ protest in London. Hundreds of normal-seeming Brits marched against the Satanic cabal kidnapping our children, torturing them, and drinking their blood. Writers in The Guardian and The Independent describe the imagination of these types as “lurid” – deserving of that bourgeois nose-wrinkle at the lower classes’ lack of intellectual hygiene.
Their imagination is, of course, lurid, in a similar way that my Nana’s was, when she’d tighten her grip on my arm at Tommyfield Market, and told me never to follow a stranger, no matter what they promised was in their car.
Following kind strangers was how Hindley and Brady’s victims ended, to be ever concealed, on a sullen, misty moor.
I grew up in the post-industrial North, which is a place with many rooted people. After 10 years flitting from urban centre to urban centre – sometimes in Europe – I returned home.
Rooted people incline toward suspicion of the rootless. Rootless people leave their communities and families, heading to the cities without a second glance. Like writers, they betray what once held them dear. Those who remain behind are loyal to people and place. Those gone, are in it for themselves.
The eagerness to get on and up makes dents in the landscape of places left behind. Abandoned industrial buildings with trees cresting through the upper window are as much a testament to the “brain drain” as they are an Empire in decline.
The last election saw the Conservatives win seats in former Labour heartlands in the Midlands, Yorkshire and the North-East. After a running a campaign which pitted the cities’ effete against earth-salty provincials, I envision their success as partly down to an old hatred of Jewishness’ signifiers, in parts of the country where there are no, or very few, Jewish people.
Anti-Semitism thrives off the fear of a threat from within. Threats take many shapes; all of them strange, all diverse from the rooted form.
“Liberal, metropolitan elite” and the hated “citizen of everywhere, citizen of nowhere” are familiar pejoratives, which the Conservative party used to deride those with left-wing sympathies in the previous elections.
The signifiers which surrounded ‘the loony left’ in the previous election cycles share the same associations as those used to persecute Jews throughout history. Swap Priti Patel or Nigel Farage’s ‘metropolitan’ for ‘cosmopolitan’ and you have the favoured anti-Semitic trope of the Soviet Union, ready-made. This doesn’t require a logical leap, or a skip.
My Great Grandmother, a wayward Catholic, lived in a sin with a Polish Jew, who’d survived the camps. His Jewish family died in front of him.
Viktor spent hours talking with my Grandpa about the War. How he smuggled his way from Poland to Brindisi, with one battered pair of shoes, and decided to take the boat to England, instead of America, on a whim. He didn’t keep kosher.
A friend of mine once said to me: “The majority of my friends aren’t Je