Paul "Green Arrow" Morris: A Hearty Appreciation

As any parent will tell you, toddlers do a very good line in selective deafness. My own boy, in his younger days, could manage blank indifference to a level that would foil a brainscan if asked to come and have his dinner, or put his toys away, yet could detect the music of an ice cream van or a rustling sweet wrapper in another town.

Such is the case with Paul “Green Arrow” Morris. A windy old blowhard who will drunkenly shout the virtues of his beloved BNP while portraying a suspiciously homoerotic fixation on its wonky–eyed leader, and yet will conveniently retreat into a world of Carthusian silence whenever an inconvenient truth emerges that might shatter his world view.

Like the fact that the Party have failed to submit their accounts on time. Again.

Over on Morris' blog today, for example, we have a bizarre rant on the usual theme of Europe about to be invaded by hordes of Muslims with their funny curved swords and their penchant for white women; a piece about how Idealogical Tory David Cameron is actually leading a Marxist government dedicated to the overthrow of the White Race, and an aside (from Morris himself) about how Mark “Naziboy” Collett may THINK he's got away with his dastardly plot to assassinate the Dear Leader, but you can jolly well bet your boots that the ones he “threatened” will – even now – be getting ready to launch a private prosecution against the would–be murderer and so drag him through the courts after all.

Because obviously the BNP Leadership would love to have the opportunity to air their internal wranglings in open court, and never, ever pass up such a chance. (Cheap sarcasm there.)

Whether or not the much–quoted story about Morris boiling cans of cheap lager in order to “increase the alcohol content” is true, he's clearly a man with issues.

The failure to submit accounts is serious. It demonstrates, yet again, that the BNP are NOT a “serious, legitimate” political party. It shows that they can't even fulfil the most basic requirements of playing with the Big Boys. It might even suggest (to all but the most naïve supplicant) that the Leadership are in a blind panic, have something to hide, and that Butler and the anti–Griffin factions might just have a point, after all.

Not so with Morris, though. Like a toddler who doesn't want to eat his broccoli, the old fool ignores it in the hope that the whole nasty business will go away.

As with the accounts, so with wrongfully dismissed BNP staffer Michaela Mackenzie. Despite the fact that she was offered a financial settlement by Griffin who has since reneged on the deal, and is currently on the verge of beginning bankruptcy proceedings, there's no mention of this minor detail of Party affairs from the fearless Morris.

Morris is happier living within a fantasy world (as beautifully outlined in an astonishing piece some time ago where he – with childlike innocence – portrays himself and his dim bulb mates as “The Three Welsh Musketeers”). A fantasy world in which He, the sagacious and respected old military commander, sits tirelessly at his keyboard, marshalling the dwindling forces of Light and Decency in his neverending struggle to defend his beloved Nation from an onslaught of Orc–like Darkness.

In Morris World, too, the fact that I'm writing this piece serves only to illustrate the righteousness of his stance: Lefty Morons like myself only attack him because he's right, and we're terrified of his intellect and his fearless warrior bearing.

Sorry, G.A., I actually write this piece because I – along with all of the anti–fascists I know and (judging by the chatter on far–right talkboards) most of your own side - think you're absolutely bloody hilarious: The kind of self–deluded old keyboard warrior who does nothing but good for your enemies' cause.

Carry on, Old Boy! Pip, Pip!