Showing posts with label queen of england. Show all posts
Showing posts with label queen of england. Show all posts

Tuesday, 3 July 2012

Calls for Fascist Regime Change in the UK to Restore Habeas Corpus


Calls for Fascist Regime Change in the UK to Restore Habeas Corpus

category international | rights and freedoms | opinion/analysis author Tuesday July 03, 2012 03:27author by BrianClarkeNUJ - AllVoices Report this post to the editors
Habeas Corpus
Even a senior Tory minister stated at the time, "Parliament must be supreme. Aggressive judicial activism will not only undermine the public's confidence in the impartiality of our judiciary. It could also put our security at risk and with it the freedoms the judges seek to defend. That would be a price we cannot be expected to pay." The important section of the establishment, driving the current reality is MI5, the intelligence agency, with tried and tested political internment without trial during years of the Irish 'troubles'. Special courts have sanctioned imprisonment without trial for years, etc., with sectarian judges ever reliable in those days. Now even judges themselves have to be security-vetted by MI5, with files opened to determine the reliability of judges. What chance ordinary British commoners.
Collusion Handshake
Collusion Handshake
Britain terror bombed Germany, with deliberate targeting of civilians and destruction of their homes, in total disregard for human life on a breathtaking scale, during the second world war. The Queen of England as the Sovereign Head of British Armed Forces, is the only person who can declare war, dating back to when the Monarchy was responsible for raising, maintaining and equipping the British Army and Navy. She is also of direct German ancestry and her family's role in bombing Germany is so controversial, that there is still considerable British censorship about the British Royal family's involvement in the deliberate targeting of civilians, the deliberate destruction of homes and utter disregard for human life. In fact it was quite simply unadulterated state terrorism of the most crude kind. Britain therefore is the last nation on earth, in any position to lecture anyone on human rights and most certainly terrorism. Their history in the matter, disqualifies them from having any credibility whatsoever.

From 1942 the Royal British cabinet took a strategic decision, to bomb densely packed working class areas, to cause firestorms and disrupt industrial war production. The pretence was that they were attacking military targets but it was cities, that were the main British target. Berlin, Cologne, Hamburg were targeted, with enormous numbers of planes which continued right to the end of the war. The city of Dresden was bombed to dust, in February 1945, even though its population had increased considerably with refugees caught in a firestorm, that flattened the city, killing hundreds of thousands of people in March 1945 as the RAF dropped levels of ordnance, greater than that of the entire war. This continued despite there being no question by 1945, that the Nazis were already defeated by invading armies from the east. All British terror achieved, was destroying huge numbers of lives particularly refugees and buildings. The bombings were simply meant to inflict shock and awe on an already defeated German population.

Tony Blair was the first Primes minister to indefinitely suspend Habeas Corpus in Britain, while at the same time warning senior Judges in Britain who expressed alarm at the attacks on civil liberties, that he would tolerate no dissent. He did so from a British Parliament of cons and neo-cons, who legislated new authoritarianism, from a second-rate political autocrat with a third-rate mind, while his Tory echo-chamber Cameron a third-rate politician with a second-rate mind was handicapped with a royal Viceroy in British Occupied Ireland called Patterson, who doesn't rate on any political scale whatever, all denouncing their own law lords and judges, who stated that the indefinite detention without trial of terror suspects, contravenes the Human Rights Act.

Even a senior Tory minister stated at the time, "Parliament must be supreme. Aggressive judicial activism will not only undermine the public's confidence in the impartiality of our judiciary. It could also put our security at risk and with it the freedoms the judges seek to defend. That would be a price we cannot be expected to pay." The important section of the establishment, driving the current reality is MI5, the intelligence agency, with tried and tested political internment without trial during years of the Irish 'troubles'. Special courts have sanctioned imprisonment without trial for years, etc., with sectarian judges ever reliable in those days. Now even judges themselves have to be security-vetted by MI5, with files opened to determine the reliability of judges. What chance ordinary British commoners.

Central to all of this is Habeas Corpus, a centuries-old British central legal reform, that prevented authorities from arbitrarily throwing a person into a dungeon and leaving them there forever without presenting charges in a court of law. Without this protection, there is no liberty of any sort for anyone. This political internment is a newly disguised form of tyranny for everyone. It is not law and it is not justice. It is also suppression of the truth, as it is impossible to have truth and at the same time beat your neighbor whether Irish, black or Arab, your dog or a large part of your kingdom. When will Britain recognize this principle or desirable truth? The War on terror is a war on Truth. There is a seat in the dock for the queen of England, when real War Crimes Trials begin.

Karl Marx said "All wars are class wars." Internment without trial in British Occupied Ireland and in Britain are designed to deprive suspects of internationally-recognized human rights like other repression tested in their laboratory of Ireland the English can expect more of the same when they stand up for their rights.The current internment without trial of Marian Price, her torture and the torture of political prisoners, is in direct contravention of the Geneva Conventions and permits the queen's non elected English Viceroy in Ireland to use his own bigoted judgment, with the sectarian approval of loyalist political bedfellows, as to the precise meaning of “cruel, inhuman and degrading” treatment.

Britain are once again breaking undertakings given to the court of Human Right in Strasbourg when they were found guilty of torture in British Occupied Ireland. It also reinforces Paterson's subjective racist interpretation of “Irish dissidents” which now includes anyone who opposes the non democratic, royalist, writ in British Occupied Ireland. This unelected English autocrat is free to imprison Irish citizens, who may simply disagree with his subjective analysis of the war on terror, bearing in mind the British tradition and culture of ceaseless, terror worldwde. For example the queen's man in Ireland, McGuinness recently attacked independent journalists, as dissidents, with a follow up attack attempting to also silence them with political imprisonment.

Internment without trial and the dumping of the centuries old safeguard of Habeas Corpus is a vigorous attack on any form of a Bill of Rights a prerequasite for any basic form of republicanism. Witnessing a former Irish republican commander, shaking hands with the Queen of England on Irish soil, while her Government currently and systematically breaks, almost all of its GFA undertakings, without the slightest protection for what the royalist call British commoners, is an insult to any basic form of humanity, never mind any thinking republican with a brain cell. From the very beginning of the current Tory administration, they have set about dismantling the rudimentary protections of the sold call GFA or Bad Friday Agreement. This has resulted in a long list of systematic violations of international human rights, with secret intelligence based detentions, torture, humiliating treatment, indefinite detention without charge and criminal treatment. British activities are transparently flouting European law, without the slightest, conventional sense of human decency, not exactly surprising then this power hungry careerist is sucking the royal paw.

In conjunction with the loyalist fanatics surrounding the current unelected British Viceroy, they have all focused their attacks on Habeas Corpus as their point of attack, since the arrival of the Tory elite. If the English Viceroy has the statutory authority in Ireland to incarcerate Irish citizens or even loyalist commoners without filing charges, any illusion of Irish republican gains, after 40 years of war or any element of even the most basic form of a republican Bill of Rights is irrelevant. Thus the attack on Habeas Corpus as a primary lever of British tyrannical rule in Occupied Ireland, explains why the Tories, Paterson and his loyalist extremist loyalist, henchmen, have been working to undo Habeas Corpus, with political internment without trial. The sadistic British government with their Ghengis Khan want to be, Patterson have daily tortured Marian Price in solitary confinement, without any coherent charge or producing any evidence, as they savage Habeas Corpus and the centuries old inalienable right of a rudimentary form of protection, now itself reduced to being arbitrarily rescinded, like their lost royal edicts and dishonourable, broken, royal promises.

It is but another form of British terrorism in Ireland, as they attempt to cow and bully with kidnapping and violence, ordinary Irish people, standing up for their basic rights human rights as Irish citizens not British commoners. The British have been trying to bully their smaller island neighbour for 800 years, as they have done for centuries all over the world, with tens of millions of human beaings, loosing their lives, at the hands of British state terrorism invading their lands. Britain's terror bombing of Germany, with deliberate targeting of civilians, is every bit as much a crime against humanity, as the Nazi holocaust itself, indeed Britain's engineered holocaust in Ireland has cost more lives, than Hitler caused with his holocaust. Handshakes without proper restitution, as a mark of contrition and sincerity from British royalty to ensure it will never happen again, in both the current political context or class context, is an insult to all who lost their lives, their families, communities and particularly all those working class people from every quarter, who made the supreme sacrifice and were often simply used as cannon fodder by both sides of the political clown's handshake.
Related Link: http://irishblog-irelandblog.blogspot.com/

Sunday, 1 July 2012

Lord Muck of Londonderry Rims the Queen of England







“If there's anything better than a good rimming I've never felt it”
~ Oscar Wilde

"Oh I do say, Lord Muck of Londonderry! ​untongue me immediately you vile rat!" Shrieked her majesty. "Yes ma'am, please do not shriek your majesty, it upsets me terrribly." answered Lord Muck " "I do not moan, I am officially your Queen after today's public display Muck and don't you ever forget it, she shrieked again." "Yes your majesty," said Lord Muck as his eyes gleamed with joy.
"Fickle fuckers." replied his queen. “Well Ma'am, I'm trying to help Anglo-Irish relations and I can reccomend it thoroughly" answered Lord Muck. "Untongue me you vile peasant." and with that his queen farted into Lord Muck's filthy mouth!

"Ma,am on this auspicious occasion of your visit to Ireland and our first public display of affection, I am now going to recite for you a poem by a fellow Irishman Oscar Wilde whom you people, imprisoned," replied Lord Muck, it's called:

The Sphinx

In a dim corner of my room
    For longer than my fancy thinks,
    A beautiful and silent Sphinx
Has watched me through the shifting gloom.
Inviolate and immobile
    She does not rise she does not stir
    For silver moons are nought to her
And nought to her the suns that reel.

Red follows grey across the air,
    The waves of moonlight ebb and flow
    But with the Dawn she does not go
And in the night-time she is there.
Dawn follows Dawn and Nights grow old
    And all the while this curious cat
    Lies couching on the Chinese mat
With eyes of satin rimmed with gold.

Upon the mat she lies and leers
    And on the tawny throat of her
    Flutters the soft and fur
Or ripples to her pointed ears.
Come forth my lovely seneschal!
    So somnolent, so statuesque!
    Come forth you exquisite grotesque!
Half woman and half animal!

Come forth my lovely languorous Sphinx!
    And put your head upon my knee!
    And let me stroke your throat and see
Your body spotted like the Lynx!
And let me touch those curving claws
    Of yellow ivory and grasp
    The tail that like a monstrous Asp
Coils round your heavy velvet paws!

A thousand weary centuries
    Are thine while I have hardly seen
    Some twenty summers cast their green
For Autumn's gaudy liveries.
But you can read the Hieroglyphs
    On the great sand-stone obelisks,
    And you have talked with Basilisks,
And you have looked on Hippogriffs.

O tell me, were you standing by
    When Isis to Osiris knelt?
    And did you watch the Egyptian melt
Her union for Anthony
And drink the jewel-drunken wine
    And bend her head in mimic awe
    To see the huge pro-consul draw
The salted tunny from the brine?

And did you mark the Cyprian kiss
    With Adon on his catafalque,
    And did you follow Amanalk
The god of Heliopolis?

And did you talk with Thoth, and did
    You hear the moon-horned Io weep
    And know the painted kings who sleep
Beneath the wedge-shaped Pyramid?

Lift up your large black satin eyes
    Which are like cushions where one sinks,
    Fawn at my feet, fantastic Sphinx,
And sing me all your memories.
Sing to me of the Jewish maid
    Who wandered with the Holy Child,
    And how you led them through the wild,
And how they slept beneath your shade.
Sing to me of that odorous
    Green eve when crouching by the marge
    You heard from Adrian's gilded barge
The laughter of Antinous,
And lapped the stream, and fed your drouth,
    And watched with hot and hungry stare
    The ivory body of that rare
Young slave with his pomegranate mouth.
Sing to me of the Labyrinth
    In which the two-formed bull was stalled,
    Sing to me of the night you crawled
Across the temple's granite plinth
When through the purple corridors
    The screaming scarlet Ibis flew
    In terror, and a horrid dew
Dripped from the moaning Mandragores,
And the great torpid crocodile
    Within the great shed slimy tears,
    And tore the jewels from his ears
And staggered back into the Nile,
And the Priests cursed you with shrill psalms
    As in your claws you seized their snake
    And crept away with it to slake
Your passion by the shuddering palms.
Who were your lovers, who were they
    Who wrestled for you in the dust?
    Which was the vessel of your Lust,
What Leman had you every day?
Did giant lizards come and crouch
    Before you on the reedy banks?
    Did Gryphons with great metal flanks
Leap on you in your trampled couch,
Did monstrous hippopotami
    Come sidling to you in the mist
    Did gilt-scaled dragons write and twist
With passion as you passed them by?
And from that brick-built Lycian tomb
    What horrible Chimaera came
    With fearful heads and fearful flame
To breed new wonders from your womb?
Or had you shameful secret guests
    And did you harry to your home
    Some Nereid coiled in amber foam
With curious rock-crystal breasts;
Or did you, treading through the froth,
    Call to the brown Sidonian
    For tidings of Leviathan,
Leviathan or Behemoth?
Or did you when the sun was set,
    Climb up the cactus-covered slope
    To meet your swarthy Ethiop
Whose body was of polished jet?
Or did you while the earthen skiffs
    Dropt down the gray Nilotic flats
    At twilight, and the flickering bats
Flew round the temple's triple glyphs
Steal to the border of the bar
    And swim across the silent lake
    And slink into the vault and make
The Pyramid your lúpanar,
Till from each black sarcophagus
    Rose up the painted, swathèd dead?
    Or did you lure unto your bed
The ivory-horned Trageophos?
Or did you love the God of flies
    Who plagued the Hebrews and was splashed
    With wine unto the waist, or Pasht
Who had green beryls for her eyes?
Or that young God, the Tyrian,
    Who was more amorous than the dove
    Of Ashtaroth? or did you love
The God of the Assyrian,
Whose wings that like transparent talc
    Rose high above his hawk-faced head
    Painted with silver and with red
And ribbed with rods of Oreichalch?
Or did huge Apis from his car
    Leap down and lay before your feet
    Big blossoms of the honey-sweet,
And honey-coloured nenuphar?
How subtle secret is your smile;
    Did you love none then? Nay I know
    Great Ammon was your bedfellow!
He lay with you beside the Nile!
The river-horses in the slime
    Trumpeted when they saw him come
    Odorous with Syrian galbanum
And smeared with spikenard and with thyme.
He came along the river bank
    Like some tall galley argent-sailed
    He strode across the waters, mailed
In beauty and the waters sank.
He strode across the desert sand,
    He reached the valley where you lay:
    He waited till the dawn of day:
Then touched your black breasts with his hand.
You kissed his mouth with mouth of flame,
    You made the hornèd-god your own,
    You stood behind him on his throne:
You called him by his secret name,
You whispered monstrous oracles
    Into the caverns of his ears:
    With blood of goats and blood of steers
You taught him monstrous miracles,
While Ammon was your bedfellow
    Your chamber was the steaming Nile
    And with your curved Archaic smile
You watched his passion come and go.
With Syrian oils his brows were bright
    And wide-spread as a tent at noon
    His marble limbs made pale the moon
And lent the day a larger light,
His long hair was nine cubits span
    And coloured like that yellow gem
    Which hidden in their garments' hem,
The merchants bring from Kurdistan.
His face was as the must that lies
    Upon a vat of new-made wine,
    The seas could not insapphirine
The perfect azure of his eyes.
His thick, soft throat was white as milk
    And threaded with thin veins of blue
    And curious pearls like frozen dew
Were broidered on his flowing silk.
On pearl and porphyry pedestalled
    He was too bright to look upon
    For on his ivory breast there shone
The wondrous ocean-emerald,
That mystic, moonlight jewel which
    Some diver of the Colchian caves
    Had found beneath the blackening waves
And carried to the Colchian witch.
Before his gilded galiot
    Ran naked vine-wreathed corybants
    And lines of swaying elephants
Knelt down to draw his chariot,
And lines of swarthy Nubians
    Bore up his litter as he rode
    Down the great granite-paven road,
Between the nodding peacock fans.
The merchants brought him steatite
    From Sidon in their painted ships;
    The meanest cup that touched his lips
Was fashioned from a chrysolite.
The merchants brought him cedar chests
    Of rich apparel, bound with cords;
    His train was borne by Memphian lords;
Young kings were glad to be his guests.
Ten hundred shaven priests did bow
    To Ammon's altar day and night,
    Ten hundred lamps did wave their light
Through Ammon's carven house, and now
Foul snake and speckled adder with
    Their young ones crawl from stone to stone
    For ruined is the house, and prone
The great rose-marble monolith;
Wild ass or strolling jackal comes
    And crouches in the mouldering gates,
    Wild satyrs call unto their mates
Across the fallen fluted drums.
And on the summit of the pile,
    The blue-faced ape of Horus sits
    And gibbers while the fig-tree splits
The pillars of the peristyle.
The God is scattered here and there;
    Deep hidden in the windy sand
    I saw his giant granite hand
Still clenched in impotent despair.
And many a wandering caravan
    Of stately negroes, silken-shawled,
    Crossing the desert, halts appalled
Before the neck that none can span.
And many a bearded Bedouin
    Draws back his yellow-striped burnous
    To gaze upon the Titan thews
Of him who was thy paladin.
Go seek his fragments on the moor,
    And wash them in the evening dew,
    And from their pieces make anew
Thy mutilated paramour.
Go seek them where they lie alone
    And from their broken pieces make
    Thy bruisèd bedfellow! And wake
Mad passions in the senseless stone!
Charm his dull ear with Syrian hymns;
    He loved your body; oh be kind!
    Pour spikenard on his hair and wind
Soft rolls of linen round his limbs;
Wind round his head the figured coins,
    Stain with red fruits the pallid lips;
    Weave purple for his shrunken hips
And purple for his barren loins!
Away to Egypt! Have no fear;
    Only one God has ever died,
    Only one God has let His side
Be wounded by a soldier's spear.
But these, thy lovers, are not dead;
    Still by the hundred-cubit gate
    Dog-faced Anubis sits in state
With lotus lilies for thy head.
Still from his chair of porphyry
    Giant Memnon strains his lidless eyes
    Across the empty land and cries
Each yellow morning unto thee.
And Nilus with his broken horn
    Lies in his black and oozy bed
    And till thy coming will not spread
His waters on the withering corn.
Your lovers are not dead, I know,
    And will rise up and hear thy voice
    And clash their cymbals and rejoice
And run to kiss your mouth, and so,
Set wings upon your argosies!
    Set horses to your ebon car!
    Back to your Nile! Or if you are
Grown sick of dead divinities;
Follow some roving lion's spoor
    Across the copper-coloured plain,
    Reach out and hale him by the mane
And bid him to be your paramour!
Crouch by his side upon the grass
    And set your white teeth in his throat,
    And when you hear his dying note,
Lash your long flanks of polished brass
And take a tiger for your mate,
    Whose amber sides are flecked with black,
    And ride upon his gilded back
In triumph through the Theban gate,
And toy with him in amorous jests,
    And when he turns and snarls and gnaws,
    Oh smite him with your jasper claws
And bruise him with your agate breasts!
Why are you tarrying? Get hence!
    I weary of your sullen ways.
    I weary of your steadfast gaze,
Your somnolent magnificence.
Your horrible and heavy breath
    Makes the light flicker in the lamp,
    And on my brow I feel the damp
And dreadful dews of night and death,
Your eyes are like fantastic moons
    That shiver in some stagnant lake,
    Your tongue is like a scarlet snake
That dances to fantastic tunes.
Your pulse makes poisonous melodies,
    And your black throat is like the hole
    Left by some torch or burning coal
On Saracenic tapestries.
Away! the sulphur-coloured stars
    Are hurrying through the Western gate!
    Away! Or it may be too late
To climb their silent silver cars!
See, the dawn shivers round the gray,
    Gilt-dialled towers, and the rain
    Streams down each diamonded pane
And blurs with tears the wannish day.
What snake-tressed fury, fresh from Hell,
    With uncouth gestures and unclean,
    Stole from the poppy-drowsy queen
And led you to a student's cell?
What songless, tongueless ghost of sin
    Crept through the curtains of the night
    And saw my taper burning bright,
And knocked and bade you enter in?
Are there not others more accursed,
    Whiter with leprosies than I?
    Are Abana and Pharphar dry,
That you come here to slake your thirst?
False Sphinx! False Sphinx! By reedy Styx,
    Old Charon, leaning on his oar,
    Waits for my coin. Go thou before
And leave me to my crucifix,
Whose pallid burden, sick with pain,
    Watches the world with wearied eyes.
    And weeps for every soul that dies,
And weeps for every soul in vain.

Tuesday, 26 June 2012

IRISH REPUBLICAN COUP AS NIGHT VISION PHOTO OF IRA QUEEN HANDSHAKE GOES PUBLIC





Secret Night Vision Photo Exposes Martin McGuinness Secret Handshake of the Queen of England


A secret republican unit, after performing secret surveillance on Hillsborough Castle tonight, finally observed their two targets, while at the same time remaining almost invisible, so no one could see them taking a night vision photograph of the former Provisional IRA commander, actually kissing the hand of the Queen of England, with head firmly bowed in submission. The occasion was meant to be actually a handshake of top secret priority, with the photographs meant to be kept secret under the British Officials Secret Act for decades to come.

The secret republican unit monitored the suspects with night vision despite poor visibility. It was very difficult because of weather conditions and confusing in the sense of mistakenly monitoring different persons. They managed to successfully get a secret night vision photo, because they had very good quality night vision equipment. Every professional republican unit and head hunters, use night vision equipment to secretly navigate, observe and spy at night.They also used night vision goggles and scopes in their operational activities. The unit were surprised to find that many of the Queen's entourage were actually laughing at Martin McGuinness kissing the Queen's extended hand.


Initially in their surveillance they used night vision scopes or night vision monoculars.They made it easy to deal with getting back to a normal view. Because the operation required secret spying activities, while sneaking up on McGuinness and his Queen, to take the photos of the supposed top secret handshake, which turned out to be a rather old fashioned submission  ceremony with head bowed by the former republican to his Queen.Then constantly monitoring the suspects, while making good their escape, while at the same time using night vision binoculars and goggles, they made good their escape back to their base in South Armagh. It is expected that the British will arrange another photo-op, to hide their embarrassment at such a major breach in the Queen's security.








The Patriot Game Crossmaglen Ireland





McGuinness a Judas, say ex-IRA men



Crossmaglen memorial
MARTIN McGuinness is “a traitor” for meeting the Queen, a rally of republican hardliners in south Armagh was yesterday told.
Ex-Provisional IRA founder Laurence O’Neill denounced Mr McGuinness as “a Judas” and said he should hang his head in shame for meeting the Queen while Northern Ireland remained under British rule.
Mr O’Neill was addressing a commemoration yesterday in Crossmaglen for local IRA bomb-maker, Sean O’Callaghan, who died eight years ago.
Around 300 people attended the rally including leading Lurgan republican Colin Duffy, ex-Sinn Fein MLA and Newry councillor Davy Hyland, Garvaghy Road residents’ spokesman Breandan MacCionnaith and former Tyrone IRA leaders.
Ex-IRA hunger-strikers Tommy McKearney and Gerard Hodgins were also present.
A British Army spotter plane hovered overhead throughout the rally which was held at a controversial IRA monument that Sinn Fein denies is a political memorial.
The party claims the statue (pictured) in the centre of the village is “a tourist attraction” and is supporting an application for a grant of up to £30,000 of taxpayers’ money for its refurbishment, something that unionists and victims of terrorism have opposed.
Laurence O’Neill from Co Antrim said the Queen was “commander-in-chief” of a British army that had killed republicans in Ireland for decades.
Mr McGuinness – who two years ago denounced dissident republicans as “traitors to the island of Ireland” – was himself denounced by O’Neill as a traitor for “shaking the paw of the Queen of England as a guarantee that will see her dream come true of Ireland remaining a cosy, peaceful colony”.
“We are here today because we are republicans of the original school, not the kind that have supped the soup and would try to justify their treachery,” he said.
Mr O’Neill claimed republican grassroots had been “conned, betrayed, sold down the river and told ‘not a bullet, not an ounce’”.
He said: “Shame on those who sold us out. We were told the lie that the war was at a stalemate — yet the IRA had 20 tons of weaponry in bunkers all over Ireland.”
The rally was also addressed by former Sinn Fein MLA Pat McNamee and former party representative Jim McAllister.
Mr McNamee said: “Don’t tell us that securing the current political arrangements in the North was what the republican struggle was about.
“Don’t tell us that a better partition is what people suffered and died for.
“Sean O’Callaghan gave the best years of his life for an independent 32-county republic. He wouldn’t be attending the garden party or any other Royal meeting this week.”