I see your pointed and snarling face, full of contempt, like someone fed Jim Robinson through a pencil sharpener and he came out of the other end all chafed and racist. You’re a big man, aren’t you? The kind of warrior who punches a kid who eggs him and turns the finger of blame on the victims of a massacre, rather than on the deranged bigot who mirrors your ideology. It’s an impressive feat to be *too* racist to belong to an Australian political party but here you are, a never-elected snarling anomaly booted into independent status and somehow convinced that a miserable nineteen votes makes you an authority.
What a perfect microcosm that figure is for the bigger picture. Your very existence as a Senator is a quirk of an imperfect system, a flaw in the machine that amplified a voice that has in no way been measured accurately against the feelings of the people. Once again far-right rhetoric is awarded a disproportionate amount of media hours in the misguided name of balance; New Zealand is still reeling from the worst terrorist atrocity ever committed on its soil and you’re the one pathetically grabbing at the headlines. What a shame that you didn’t get the reaction you wanted and have instead shat your political bed so thoroughly that your career will drown in it.
It takes a special kind of coward to hear about the deaths of fifty innocent people and waste no time whatsoever before raising the irrelevant spectre of Islamic violence. I know it’s cheap and easy political hay to make these days and every scumbag is doing it, but rarely do they do so with such brazen and spiteful contempt. That you’re too thick to use a dog whistle and instead are just barking like a fucking idiot tells the world all we need to know about just how spectacularly unqualified you are, even in the low-bar olympics of ‘alt-right’ neo-Nazis hiding behind their memes. Didn’t you get the memo, Fraser Anning? You’re not meant to crack out the armbands and pillowcase hats until the genocide’s finished. Blow your great white load too early and people might start to think you’re the baddies.
Fascists don’t just pop up and suddenly have crowds cheering for them. They’ve always gathered power to themselves, whipping up support by funnelling anger and hatred at some perceivable ‘other’. Our uniquely 21st-century problem is not that fascists are suddenly back because they never truly went away. If anything, they’re fucking predictable in their tactics. Our problem is that false information can now spread globally like wildfire and terror grips and takes root in most of us long before our critical thinking skills kick in. Enough voices shriek that our identity and way of life is under threat and somewhere, from under some dank rock, a loathsome and insignificant little cretin feels empowered enough to act. He does so to avenge the failed life he’s been conned in to believing was thrust on him.
A shriek is all you are, Fraser Anning. A siren call to the most fearful, a puffed chest over a quivering heart. It is all too fucking exhausting to even give you the time of day.
Fifty people are dead, members of a community from all over the world, some having fled terror already. Among them are children, their deaths streamed across the world by a fanatic radicalised by an insidious network of hate preachers and bigots. You know the horror all too well, Fraser Anning. It lives in your heart and you face it in the mirror every single day.
Communities face such horrors all too often, gathering and rebuilding themselves in their aftermath. For you, though?
For you, it will never bring you peace. For you and every disingenuous piece of shit playing the same game, that hate will be the only thing you ever carry. It’s the only thing that validates you, the only thing that gives you any sense of legitimacy.
It does nothing but weigh you down, a coward’s anvil round a liar’s neck. You’re just the one stooping the lowest under its pull.
I see you, Fraser Anning. I fucking see you.
