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DESPITE all available evidence to demonstrate the stupidity of my position, I find myself strangely attracted to the man. It’s not the trimmed grey beard or the sharp suits — anyone else notice how he no longer wears second-hand clothes? — or the designer-look glasses he has recently taken to wearing. It’s, it’s... I don’t know.
It has been confirmed time and again that he’s a threat to national security, that he’s an anti-Semite, a communist, a terrorist sympathiser, a foreign agent. He has been stabbed in the back and in the front by many in the Parliamentary Labour Party and repeatedly declared by those in the know to be unfit for leadership.
Yet he’s still there, having convincingly won the leadership twice, while the Tories changed leader, twice.
For a politician, he’s also incredibly BORING! No sex scandals, no corruption allegations. Just frustratingly consistent policies held literarily over decades — supporting ordinary working people like nurses, teachers and train drivers, opposing phoney wars, supporting other ridiculous causes like campaigning to bring Chilean dictator Pinochet to book, ending British and US interference in foreign elections or fighting apartheid. He even staged a photo of himself being arrested outside the South African embassy in 1984!
Despite all that, his rallies are regularly filled to the rafters with people of all ages, races and faiths, and from all walks of life, cheering loudly as he promises to nationalise public utilities and to increase taxes on the multinationals and the top five per cent.
He also suggests that some of the billions spent on war should be channelled toward boosting grassroots sports and — wait for it — the arts! Clearly, this man possesses a malign power over otherwise reasonable people such that they burst spontaneously and inadvertently into a chorus of: “Oh, Jeremy Corbyn!” as he says such incendiary things.
There is definitely something about that Mr. Corbyn, and it’s dangerous.
While a backbencher, he was reportedly once spotted in a fringe theatre in North London attending a play about dead American actor, singer and civil rights activist Paul Robeson, who is sometimes labelled not just socialist, anti-racist and anti-imperialist, but communist and Stalinist.
Obviously an evening of leftist propaganda masking as art and, afterwards, he was observed slipping quietly away on his bicycle into the cold Islington night, presumably to meet some extremist environmental activists.
Clearly, such a man should not be trusted with the levers of power. Yet millions do and, most troublingly, a great number of them are so young! Thankfully, the opinion polls and the media say he hasn’t got a chance in hell of becoming the next PM.
But still... there’s something about that Mr Corbyn. I wish I could explain it but I can’t.
Then again, what do I know? I’m only an artist.
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