Brendan O’Neill

This has been a difficult year for me. For I have been compelled to break a pact I made with myself when I was 18 years old and do something I promised I would never do, something which goes against every cell and fibre of my being. I’ve defended a leader of the Labour Party. I can’t tell you how alien this feels. Imagine if Princess Diana had become press officer for a landmines factory, or if the Pope started moonlighting for Marie Stopes. Now you know how it feels for me to say vaguely nice things about Labour, a party whose paternalism, illiberalism, killjoyism and cretinism have been rubbing me up the wrong way since I was a Trotsky-admiring teen. But it has to be done.

What’s with the orgy of fawning over Hilary Benn’s Syria speech? It was eloquent, yes, but content-wise it reminded me of those historical re-enactment shebangs where sad men in their fifties try to inject meaning into their lives by pretending to be a Viking in a field for a couple of hours on a Saturday afternoon. Only instead of donning archaic armour and a horned helmet, Benn and his overnight Bennites - those currently clogging up Twitter with wild claims that his speech was the best oration since the Gettysburg Address - are wrapping themselves in the moral garb of the mid-20th century warriors against Nazi Germany.

First things first: there is no force in Heaven or on Earth that could induce me to vote for Jeremy Corbyn and his sad brand of sixth-former state socialism. In fact, as someone who believes in freedom and growth, the idea of ever giving my beloved ballot to the illiberal, eco-miserabilist Labour Party, regardless of who’s leading it, fills me with horror. Or is it mirth? It’s one or the other. And yet, despite my Corbynphobia, and my humane desire to see dying Labourism put out of its misery, I increasingly find myself shaking my head in something like fury at Corbyn’s Labour critics. They accuse him of destroying their party. Which is both chronologically and factually wrong.

George Osborne’s Autumn Statement, with its backtracking on the slashing of tax credits, leaves a huge question hanging over 21st-century Britain: who has the cojones to do something about the destructive culture of welfarism? Anybody? It seems not. Both the supposedly small-state right and the apparently pro-work left have become bizarrely reluctant to address the spread of the autonomy-sapping welfare state into more people’s lives. Look, the tax credits thing is definitely complicated. It would have been dodgy to cut them without first putting meaningful pressure on business to pay people a proper wage.

Dear Prime Minister Narendra Modi, Re: Urging Action by Indian government to Safeguard Freedom of Expression in Great Britain As a writer committed to protecting and defending freedom of expression around the world, I am extremely concerned about the growing intolerance towards critical voices who challenge orthodoxy in Britain. As your three-day state visit to the United Kingdom kicks off, I am urging you to engage with Prime Minister David Cameron both publicly and privately on this crucial issue. Please speak out on the current state of freedom of expression in Britain, urging Mr Cameron to stay true to the spirit of the democratic freedoms enshrined in British history, from the Magna Carta to the Levellers to John Stuart Mill.

The keyboard weirdos bombarding Labour MP Jess Phillips with threats, after she scoffed at the idea of marking International Men’s Day with a debate in parliament, are cretins of the highest order. Pathetically hiding behind made-up names and cartoon avatars, they harangue a politician for saying something they disagree with. Not by saying to her ‘I disagree with you,' but rather ‘I think you should be raped'. If you know one of them, please give them a clip round the lughole, and perhaps confiscate their gadgets. But should these morons be investigated by the authorities? I’m not so sure. Ms Phillips has reported some of her ugly maulers to the police. I think that could be a mistake.

I was against the Iraq War. And I’ve been against Tony Blair ever since I first clapped eyes on his moisturised, illiberal countenance, all teeth and no soul. (In 1996 I was standing on street corners selling a magazine that said ‘Tony Blearghh!’ on its cover, while every other lefty was hailing him a messiah come to save us from Toryism.) Yet I don’t like the obsession with making Blair repent and weep and whip himself for what happened in Iraq. It’s ugly, and even worse it’s wrong: Blair doesn’t bear sole responsibility for that war.

A Jamaican official has called on David Cameron to ‘personally atone’ for the slave trade, and especially for his ancestors’ involvement in it. I hope Cameron tells this guy to do one. The PM has nothing to apologise for, far less self-flagellate for. He bears no more guilt for the slave trade than Justin Bieber does, or Mother Teresa, or Barack Obama, or any of the other millions of people born years after the slave trade ended. The pressure on Cam to weep publicly over the sins of his forefathers, to atone for a wrong he did not commit, is an ugly, medieval spectacle. Cameron’s trip to Jamaica is being overshadowed by the slavery issue.

Corbynistas are always banging on about how we need fewer posh politicians and more politicians who look and sound like ‘ordinary people’. So who has Corbyn appointed as his shadow secretary for environment, food and rural affairs? Kerry McCarthy — a vegan! A member of the snootiest tribe of all, who sustain themselves by nuts and self-righteousness alone and look upon the rest of us as a bloodthirsty, carnivorous blob. When it comes to naked elitism, vegans outdo Etonians every single time. When I addressed the Political Society at Eton in 2013 — the first time I’d ever set my London-Irish foot inside a public school — I was struck by how sweet and even PC (but not madly so) the kids I met were. They all wanted to know why I criticise gay marriage.

Let's assume that it's true - that what an anonymous MP told Lord Ashcroft about the young Cameron and a pig is actually true. For what a brilliant blow it would be against the New Prudes, against those booze-dodging, speech-policing, lad-hating media moralists and Twitterbores. I don’t know why Cameron’s PR people are going into meltdown. If the story’s false they should say so. But if it’s true they should put lipstick on this pig: release the alleged photo of the alleged incident, tweet it for bants, and watch Dave’s popularity among yoof soar.

Who argues that a 'shadow state' controls Britain? That a gang of faraway, faceless suits 'orchestrate public life from the shadows', from their 'yachts in the Mediterranean'? Who thinks people in 'the shadows', who always remain 'hidden', exercise a 'poisonous, secretive influence on public life'? A spotty sixth-former who spends way too much time on the internet, perhaps? Or maybe one of those cranky guys who hangs out in the discussion threads of David Icke's website, convinced that lizards in suits run the world? Actually it's Tom Watson, new deputy leader of the Labour Party.