di ED VULLIAMY*
Today is the most repugnant day in the history of the country in which I was born, since I was so. (Along with, perhaps and differently, Bloody Sunday in 1972.)
For what it’s worth: that woman’s announcement today offends, corrodes, negates and – insofar as one must be here, extinguishes, to a degree – everything I am or ever have been, feel or ever felt, believe in or ever believed, aspire to or ever did. Certainly since taking a first ferry from the British island, aged seven I think – let alone crossing my first-ever ballot in 1975, when nearly 70 per cent voted for a wider world against toxic xenophobia.
The abomination called ‘Brexit’ offends, contaminates and corrodes viscerally, to deep levels in every pore, membrane and chromosome, as well as across the surface discourse on migration, nation, market, politics, policy, etc. It makes Britain, and being in Britain, awkward at the best of times, and usually repulsive, stressfully so. Nasty, inward-and-backward looking Britain, post-colonial-hungover, blockhead Britain: depressed and depressing, hubristic and insular; ready now to relish an irrelevant, isolated ignorance for which the appalling majority voted — now more like tyranny by consent.
*Ed Vulliamy è tra i più noti giornalisti inglesi, reporter di guerra del Guardian e dell’Observer, nonché a lungo corrispondente dagli Stati Uniti per i due giornali britannici. E’ amico di Liguritutti