The Emperor’s new clothes

the emporers new clothes

Take them off!

Take them off!

Take them off!

The Emperor looked about and smiled. The baying crowd below looked up their wild staring eyes all focused on him. On him alone – he felt good.

He knew he could give them what they wanted, and he knew they had no real understanding of what they were asking for. But still, it made him feel good, it made him feel god – yes he would give them what they wanted, and in return he would receive what he wanted, ‘infamy.’




Came the chant, this time louder.

The emperor studied the crowd. He didn’t know any of them, but he recognised them all. Most; poor disenfranchised families, hard working people who had been left behind by globalisation. He saw the unemployed, the homeless and their shallow waxy faces. He saw the lunatic fringe, the far right, who had cleverly manipulated the dance, into a waltz of fear, a polka of immigration.

Worse and sadder still: he saw the really sad ones, those hanging onto the last bastions of empire, the last strand of colony, the tapestry of history they held up, frayed, sullied and irrelevant, Britain was no longer great. The Emperor knew the rotting corpse of imperialism was long dead, but he waved to the faithful anyway.

Music started and the crowd roared.

At first the crowd became delirious with joy and the Emperor prostrated and gyrated himself  wildly as each piece of apparel was waved about lasciviously before being flung to the floor.Soon raucous cheers were replaced by jeers, by people turning their backs in disgust and shame. Soon the crown became silent. Awkwardness filled the air.

The Emperor was wearing no clothes!

The Emperor stood naked, his hands quickly gravitating to cover his genitals.

Silence reigned.

He looked at the crowd, he could sense that they were asking themselves,

‘is that all you’ve got, is that it?

Not sure what to say, not sure what to do, the Emperor finally quietly murmured.

‘I suppose I could ask for my coat or my pant’s back.’

The crowd collectively shook their heads, they turned and walked away, muttering to themselves, ‘what have we done?’



To the politicians of the UK, Australia, USA and NZ (our election is next year) and throughout  the globe; Anti-establishment disenfranchised voters number in the millions. Please don’t cheat them by offering politics of the lowest common denominator – fear!  

History has proven so many times, the politics of fear leads down a road toward destruction. Be brave, be strong, but please be careful, if not for me, for my children. 

Kia Kaha

Kia Ora Roly





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