The Devil’s Kitchen has been discussing drug decriminalisation, and it brought the following anonymous jibe:
Still less edifying for a man in his sixties, I’ll have you know. And I’m a regular visitor to the Devil’s Kitchen, and I go there because I share those violent outbursts of rage, and those psychotic revenge fantasies. In my case they have nothing to do with drugs, and I don’t imagine they do at the Devil’s. I don’t know anyway of any drug that induces such titanic rage. I can’t speak for the Devil’s Kitchen, but my own rage began with the smoking ban, and this is its sole cause and incessant spur. There was no rage beforehand: There was none whatever.
What caused this towering rage to erupt? The antismokers pretend not to see any possible cause in something as innocuous as a mere smoking ban. As far as they are concerned, it’s been a public health measure, and it has removed a cause of annoyance. It has been Progress, and life has been better for it.
But for me, the smoker, it was a ban that marked my expulsion from society, and my deposition onto the cold and wet and dirty streets outside. And it brought the end of most of my friendships, in an unstoppable rolling cascade. And with that has come rage. Paroxysmic rage as I have never known in my life before. Rage that never stops. Rage that sometimes disables me for entire days on end. Rage that I try to understand, because I know that if I don’t understand it, I will soon die of apoplexy.
Feeling such rage, the only language that suffices is one of the most utter obscenity. And my own mind is often filled with nothing else. It is incoherent. It’s mindless. But it’s all that’s left. When there are no words to say what demands to be said, what comes out is obscenity, like dry vomit. And on the Devil’s Kitchen, those obscenities often attain the status almost of poetry, as whole raging edifices of obscenity are constructed, obscenity elegantly piled upon obscenity, like bricks or wood or stones.
Yet it’s rather futile. The obscenity directly expresses the anger, but not the reasons underlying it. And the attempt must be made to understand. The heart must be searched. The reasons must be uncovered. For otherwise nothing will be learned, and nothing will be done about it.
The Devil’s Kitchen is not solely enraged by the smoking ban. In fact, it took me a while to realise that its author was a smoker. His rage is directed at a great many features of modern Britain. But my own rage is directed at just one thing: the smoking ban. I don’t really have anything against Gordon Brown. Or the Labour party. Or the EU. Or ID cards. Or CCTV cameras. Or immigration.Or global warming. Or Islamic terrorism. Or fake charities. Or anything else. Or at least, if I do have anything against them, it is because they are in some way complicit in the smoking ban. Gordon Brown voted for the smoking ban, and that’s why I hate him. Tony Blair did too, and that’s why I hate him too – far more than I hated him for the Iraq war. So did most Labour MPs, and that’s why I hate them. But so also did the Lib Dem MPs that I no longer vote for. And something like a third of all Conservative MPs. For the 400 or so MPs who voted for the complete smoking ban, my hatred is not divided along party lines: I would crucify them all along the motorways of this country irrespective of their party allegiances.
I really don’t think that these bullying antismokers have any idea whatsoever what they have set in motion, what volcanic forces they have unleashed. Now is the hour of their smug satisfaction, as they strut around their smokefree pubs and their smokefree restaurants, and snigger at the smokers huddled outside. They think that they have won. They think that they have changed the world to their own satisfaction, and they are determined that it will never be changed back.
Fools. They are blind fools.
They are in enormous danger, every single last one of them. If nothing has so far happened on their paradise island, as the tide has quietly subsided far away from the shore, it is because a tidal wave – a tsunami – is gathering slow momentum far out in the ocean. It won’t be stopped. It will strike with overwhelming power.
When it begins to dawn upon them that they face a terrible threat, they will hurry to try to undo what they have done. The smoking ban won’t be amended. It will be repealed very suddenly.
One might hope, or even expect, that this would serve to defuse the ticking time bomb of this gathering social explosion. It would certainly have worked if it had been done two years ago. But now? Now it’s probably too late. For I have become an outsider in this country, and I have lost my friends, and neither of these things can be recovered now. And what applies to me probably applies to millions of other smokers. It’s too late to restore the lost equilibrium. The social order, once thus profoundly disturbed, will not recover its equilibrium quickly. It may not recover it at all. Incandescent rage and psychotic violence are on the far horizon, boiling surf upon the approaching tsunami.
They revoked my membership of this society. They reduced me to being a reviled second class citizen. They destroyed all my friendships. They deserve everything that they’ve got coming to them. I just hope that, as they are being led to the gibbet, they will understand that what is being done to them is, magnified many times, what they so callously did to their fellows.