Stephen Bryant retweeted
This shouldn't be difficult. @RaheemKassam is a poisonous, nasty piece of work. He shouldn't be within one hundred miles of a mainstream political party.
āIs calling Kemi Badenoch a āNigerian scammerā racist, yes or no?ā
āā¦Iām not on your show to talk about what a journalist has tweeted.ā
Reform's Robert Jenrick refuses to engage with @lewis_goodall's question about Raheem Kassam's comments on the Tory leader.
128
94
663
69,651
Stephen Bryant retweeted
They are fucked. Completely fucked. For Reform momentum is everything. Once they lose that, itās game over. They have no plan for when it happens either.
This is the beginning of the end for them.
This is the beginning of the end for them.
200
367
2,960
57,937
Stephen Bryant retweeted
Worth remembering the 'assaults' that happened on Markle
Wootton is already doubling down and blaming Meghan now for not going public......... Malone will surely follow.
Wootton is already doubling down and blaming Meghan now for not going public......... Malone will surely follow.
Raising this from the vaults of hypocrisy.
Gargoyles Dan Wootton and the Carole Malone dragging Meghan through the mud with Malone adding she feels desperately sorry for Thomas Markle.
Note that Carole is now very very quiet.
9
14
121
2,909
Stephen Bryant retweeted
Meghan Markle is getting more heat for being the daughter of an alleged paedophile than (Prince) Andrew got for actually being the alleged paedophile.
441
11,469
121,963
1,514,027
Stephen Bryant retweeted
The new crime survey is out - the "Lawless Britain" picture in full
- Violence at lowest since records began in 1981
- Corroborated by hospital figures for knife wounds
- Robbery: record low
- Overall crime 78% below 1995 peak.
- Shoplifting up
More:-
comment.press/lawless
- Violence at lowest since records began in 1981
- Corroborated by hospital figures for knife wounds
- Robbery: record low
- Overall crime 78% below 1995 peak.
- Shoplifting up
More:-
comment.press/lawless
619
900
2,255
166,132
Stephen Bryant retweeted
Zia Yusuf has made an extraordinary series of public statements presenting alleged criminal conduct by ITV journalists as established fact, in an apparent attempt to intimidate and silence the free press.
He does not say āReform alleges thatā¦ā or āthe journalists may have committedā¦ā. He repeatedly states that criminal offences were committed by people who, as far as the public record shows, have not been charged or convicted of those offences. If these serious allegations cannot ultimately be substantiated, Yusuf could have exposed himself to significant civil liability, including a potentially serious defamation claim.
Letās take his five claims.
āThey forged a passport.ā
This is a serious criminal allegation, not an established fact. There is a potentially relevant offence under the Identity Documents Act 2010, but whether it was committed depends on precisely what document was created or altered, what the journalist knew and the statutory intention involved.
Yusuf has converted an allegation about what happened to a document into a definitive declaration that a criminal offence was committed. That is a very different thing.
āThese crimes carry up to 10 years in prison.ā
This is pure rhetorical intimidation. A maximum sentence attached to an offence does not establish that the offence has occurred.
āThey committed a criminal offence by being paid to canvassā and āalmost certainly altered the results.ā
This is where Yusufās argument becomes particularly misleading. These journalists were not paid by ITV to canvass for Reform. They were paid by ITV as undercover investigative journalists. Their participation in Reform campaign activity was part of maintaining their undercover identities. ITV did not employ them to promote Reform candidates, procure votes or act as Reform canvassers.
Yusuf then claims they āalmost certainly alteredā election results, without producing evidence that they changed a single vote. That is a disputed interpretation of the law followed by an entirely unsupported claim about election outcomes.
āThey lied to a veteran and left him violated.ā
This is emotive rhetoric, not an identified criminal offence. Undercover journalism necessarily involves deception where revealing the journalistās identity would defeat the investigation. Pretending otherwise is simply to misunderstand how undercover journalism works.
āThis is unprecedented.ā
It isnāt. British journalists have used false identities, covert recording and deception for decades to investigate corruption, criminality, racism and misconduct. These are established investigative techniques, subject to the law and broadcasting regulation, not some novel weapon invented to target Reform.
A free press is not supposed to obtain permission from the political parties it investigates. Undercover journalism does not suddenly become criminal simply because the people being investigated object to what it uncovered.
If you want to understand the danger of political parties with vast financial resources using litigation and legal threats to pressure the press, this is what it looks like.
We have already seen Donald Trump use lawsuits and legal threats against major news organisations to prevent them exposing his conduct. Now Reform is threatening journalists with police action and ārelentlessā legal proceedings to silence them. x.com/ZiaYusufUK/staā¦
He does not say āReform alleges thatā¦ā or āthe journalists may have committedā¦ā. He repeatedly states that criminal offences were committed by people who, as far as the public record shows, have not been charged or convicted of those offences. If these serious allegations cannot ultimately be substantiated, Yusuf could have exposed himself to significant civil liability, including a potentially serious defamation claim.
Letās take his five claims.
āThey forged a passport.ā
This is a serious criminal allegation, not an established fact. There is a potentially relevant offence under the Identity Documents Act 2010, but whether it was committed depends on precisely what document was created or altered, what the journalist knew and the statutory intention involved.
Yusuf has converted an allegation about what happened to a document into a definitive declaration that a criminal offence was committed. That is a very different thing.
āThese crimes carry up to 10 years in prison.ā
This is pure rhetorical intimidation. A maximum sentence attached to an offence does not establish that the offence has occurred.
āThey committed a criminal offence by being paid to canvassā and āalmost certainly altered the results.ā
This is where Yusufās argument becomes particularly misleading. These journalists were not paid by ITV to canvass for Reform. They were paid by ITV as undercover investigative journalists. Their participation in Reform campaign activity was part of maintaining their undercover identities. ITV did not employ them to promote Reform candidates, procure votes or act as Reform canvassers.
Yusuf then claims they āalmost certainly alteredā election results, without producing evidence that they changed a single vote. That is a disputed interpretation of the law followed by an entirely unsupported claim about election outcomes.
āThey lied to a veteran and left him violated.ā
This is emotive rhetoric, not an identified criminal offence. Undercover journalism necessarily involves deception where revealing the journalistās identity would defeat the investigation. Pretending otherwise is simply to misunderstand how undercover journalism works.
āThis is unprecedented.ā
It isnāt. British journalists have used false identities, covert recording and deception for decades to investigate corruption, criminality, racism and misconduct. These are established investigative techniques, subject to the law and broadcasting regulation, not some novel weapon invented to target Reform.
A free press is not supposed to obtain permission from the political parties it investigates. Undercover journalism does not suddenly become criminal simply because the people being investigated object to what it uncovered.
If you want to understand the danger of political parties with vast financial resources using litigation and legal threats to pressure the press, this is what it looks like.
We have already seen Donald Trump use lawsuits and legal threats against major news organisations to prevent them exposing his conduct. Now Reform is threatening journalists with police action and ārelentlessā legal proceedings to silence them. x.com/ZiaYusufUK/staā¦
114
264
810
73,141
Stephen Bryant retweeted
I am a member of the Norwegian Nobel Committee.
There are five of us. Five people, appointed by a parliament most of the planet could not find on a map, who decide, once a year, which human being the world has agreed to call good.
I know. I know. I think about it on the tram.
We meet in a building on Henrik Ibsens gate, a street named after a man who wrote almost exclusively about people discovering they are frauds, which nobody on the committee finds funny except me. There is a room with a long table and the portraits of the dead laureates looking down, Mandela, the Dalai Lama, a great many earnest men in spectacles, and one portrait we do not discuss, which is Kissinger, 1973, awarded while the bombs were still falling, after which two of our predecessors resigned and the satirist Tom Lehrer said political satire was now obsolete. We keep him on the wall. A reminder. Every family has the uncle.
It is October in Oslo, which means the sun gives up around four in the afternoon like a civil servant, and it rains the particular Norwegian rain that isnāt quite falling, just hanging there, judging you. I arrive with wet shoes. I always arrive with wet shoes. There is coffee, because this is Norway and there is always coffee, we drink more of it per person than almost anyone alive, and someoneās wife has sent kanelboller, the cinnamon buns, and we sit, five Norwegians, damp, caffeinated, sugared, and we decide the moral standing of the entire species.
Let me tell you how it actually works, because the world imagines a cathedral and it is, I promise you, a book club with a mandate.
287 nominations this year. 208 people, 79 organizations. Anyone can nominate, thatās the secret nobody understands: a professor, a parliamentarian, a former laureate, so the ānomineeā list is meaningless, itās a suggestion box, and every autumn some congressman nominates his own golden retriever and the press writes āSHORTLISTED.ā Nobody is shortlisted. There is no short list the public ever sees. There is us, and the coffee, and the rain, and the portraits, and a Norwegian stubbornness that is older than the prize itself.
We read reports. The instituteās advisers write them, thick dull documents, and we argue. Our chairman told the BBC once that in the final meeting āthere is a high temperature.ā High temperature, for a Norwegian, means someone slightly raised an eyebrow and then apologized for it. We donāt do high temperature. We do a long silence, and then Kristin says āwell,ā and everyone knows exactly what āwellā meant, and itās settled. Thatās our shouting. āWell.ā Youād have to be raised here to hear the violence in it.
Now. This year. I will not say the name, because we never say the name, but you know the name.
A certain head of state wanted this prize the way a child wants a thing in a shop window, which is to say loudly, and in public, and with the full belief that wanting it was itself the argument. He said he deserved it. He said heād ended eight wars, a number that grew most times he said it, like a fish. He had other heads of state phone us. Israelās prime minister posted it on the internet, āGive him the Nobel.ā The leaders of Cambodia and Pakistan announced theyād nominated him, as though announcing it were part of it, as though we tally mentions. A man flew around the globe collecting endorsements for a Norwegian committee the way youād collect signatures for a petition to the council about a noisy dog.
And here, uff da, is the detail I treasure, the one that makes me smile into my coffee. The nomination deadline is the 31st of January. He took office on the 20th. So for all the phone calls, all the posts, all the gilded lobbying, the only nominations that could possibly count for this yearās prize were filed in the first eleven days of his term, before he had, by his own arithmetic, ended a single one of the eight wars. He campaigned all year for a prize whose window had shut while he was still hanging up his coat. We didnāt have to reject him. The calendar did. We just watched. Norwegians are very good at watching. We have long winters.
People think we sit there weighing his deeds. We donāt. Thatās the thing I canāt make the world understand. Weāre not grading his homework. We donāt owe anyone the prize for a ceasefire, however real, however loud the announcement. āHe made peaceā is not a sentence that ends in a medal, the way he believes it does, the way he believes every good thing ends in his name on it. The will of a dead Swede says the prize goes to whoever did the most for fraternity between nations. A dead Swede, I should add, who made his entire fortune inventing dynamite and selling arms, and spent his last years horrified at his own obituary, which called him a merchant of death, and so bought his way to immortality as a man of peace. The whole prize is one guilty arms dealerās attempt to launder his name. We are, all of us, administering a dead manās public relations. I find this clarifying. It keeps me humble. It should keep everyone humble, and it keeps, by my count, no one humble at all.
So who did we give it to?
An eighty-five-year-old woman. A judge. Born in Durban, under apartheid, granddaughter of a Tamil man who came to South Africa as indentured labor, a bus driverās daughter from the poor Indian quarter, who became the first non-white woman to run a law practice in her province, who defended Mandelaās people when defending them was dangerous, who sat on the Rwanda tribunal and the court at the Hague, and who, at eighty-five, is right now a judge weighing whether a genocide is a genocide. When we told the world, our chairman said the rule of law āunderpins the system we have set up to ensure peace,ā and that āpeace requires justice.ā She wasnāt even in Oslo. She was in Nuremberg. In courtroom 600. The actual room where they tried the Nazis. You cannot stage that. God staged that, and God, it turns out, is a better satirist than any of us.
She did not phone us. She did not post. No prime minister demanded it for her on the internet. She had, as far as our deliberations are concerned, the one qualification the loud man could never manufacture, which is that she wanted the work and not the medal. The medal finds those people. It flees the ones who chase it. This is not a rule we wrote. Itās just the only pattern the hundred-odd years of our mistakes has ever shown.
The reaction from across the ocean was immediate. His spokesman posted that we āplace politics over peace.ā Ja. Perhaps. Weāre five damp pensioners in a rainy city; of course itās political, it was always political, it was political when we gave it to a sitting American president nine months into his first term for the promise of things he had not yet done, and we have been quietly embarrassed about that one for fifteen years, so believe me, we had a particular reason this year to prefer a woman with fifty years of verdicts behind her over a man with eight wars in front of him and a deadline already behind him.
Here is what he will never understand, the thing Iād tell him on the tram if he ever took one. We are the one prize he cannot buy, cannot post his way to, cannot have a friendly dictator phone in for him. Not because weāre incorruptible, nei, weāre as vain and wrong and human as the portraits on our wall. But because the entire point of the thing, the only power a small cold countryās book club has ever held, is that it goes to the person not performing the wanting. The moment you demand it, youāve proven you donāt understand what itās for, and proving that is itself the disqualification. He ran the most expensive campaign in the history of the prize and the campaign was the reason. He was never losing to Navi Pillay. He was losing to the concept.
Itās dark now. Four oāclock dark. The buns are gone. Kristin said āwellā an hour ago and we all went home. Iām on the tram with my wet shoes, and somewhere across the water a very powerful man is explaining to a camera that the prize is rigged, that weāre corrupt, that heāll win it next year, and he genuinely might, weāre only five idiots and weāve been wrong before, Kissinger is still on the wall.
But not this year. This year an old woman in Nuremberg, in the room where the law once stared down the exact kind of man who thinks wanting a thing loudly enough should make it his, got a phone call she didnāt ask for.
Thatās the job. We donāt reward the man who ends the war and announces it.
We reward the woman who spent fifty years deciding what a war was.
Heāll never see the difference. Thatās rather the whole point of him.
Takk for i dag. I have to change trams.
There are five of us. Five people, appointed by a parliament most of the planet could not find on a map, who decide, once a year, which human being the world has agreed to call good.
I know. I know. I think about it on the tram.
We meet in a building on Henrik Ibsens gate, a street named after a man who wrote almost exclusively about people discovering they are frauds, which nobody on the committee finds funny except me. There is a room with a long table and the portraits of the dead laureates looking down, Mandela, the Dalai Lama, a great many earnest men in spectacles, and one portrait we do not discuss, which is Kissinger, 1973, awarded while the bombs were still falling, after which two of our predecessors resigned and the satirist Tom Lehrer said political satire was now obsolete. We keep him on the wall. A reminder. Every family has the uncle.
It is October in Oslo, which means the sun gives up around four in the afternoon like a civil servant, and it rains the particular Norwegian rain that isnāt quite falling, just hanging there, judging you. I arrive with wet shoes. I always arrive with wet shoes. There is coffee, because this is Norway and there is always coffee, we drink more of it per person than almost anyone alive, and someoneās wife has sent kanelboller, the cinnamon buns, and we sit, five Norwegians, damp, caffeinated, sugared, and we decide the moral standing of the entire species.
Let me tell you how it actually works, because the world imagines a cathedral and it is, I promise you, a book club with a mandate.
287 nominations this year. 208 people, 79 organizations. Anyone can nominate, thatās the secret nobody understands: a professor, a parliamentarian, a former laureate, so the ānomineeā list is meaningless, itās a suggestion box, and every autumn some congressman nominates his own golden retriever and the press writes āSHORTLISTED.ā Nobody is shortlisted. There is no short list the public ever sees. There is us, and the coffee, and the rain, and the portraits, and a Norwegian stubbornness that is older than the prize itself.
We read reports. The instituteās advisers write them, thick dull documents, and we argue. Our chairman told the BBC once that in the final meeting āthere is a high temperature.ā High temperature, for a Norwegian, means someone slightly raised an eyebrow and then apologized for it. We donāt do high temperature. We do a long silence, and then Kristin says āwell,ā and everyone knows exactly what āwellā meant, and itās settled. Thatās our shouting. āWell.ā Youād have to be raised here to hear the violence in it.
Now. This year. I will not say the name, because we never say the name, but you know the name.
A certain head of state wanted this prize the way a child wants a thing in a shop window, which is to say loudly, and in public, and with the full belief that wanting it was itself the argument. He said he deserved it. He said heād ended eight wars, a number that grew most times he said it, like a fish. He had other heads of state phone us. Israelās prime minister posted it on the internet, āGive him the Nobel.ā The leaders of Cambodia and Pakistan announced theyād nominated him, as though announcing it were part of it, as though we tally mentions. A man flew around the globe collecting endorsements for a Norwegian committee the way youād collect signatures for a petition to the council about a noisy dog.
And here, uff da, is the detail I treasure, the one that makes me smile into my coffee. The nomination deadline is the 31st of January. He took office on the 20th. So for all the phone calls, all the posts, all the gilded lobbying, the only nominations that could possibly count for this yearās prize were filed in the first eleven days of his term, before he had, by his own arithmetic, ended a single one of the eight wars. He campaigned all year for a prize whose window had shut while he was still hanging up his coat. We didnāt have to reject him. The calendar did. We just watched. Norwegians are very good at watching. We have long winters.
People think we sit there weighing his deeds. We donāt. Thatās the thing I canāt make the world understand. Weāre not grading his homework. We donāt owe anyone the prize for a ceasefire, however real, however loud the announcement. āHe made peaceā is not a sentence that ends in a medal, the way he believes it does, the way he believes every good thing ends in his name on it. The will of a dead Swede says the prize goes to whoever did the most for fraternity between nations. A dead Swede, I should add, who made his entire fortune inventing dynamite and selling arms, and spent his last years horrified at his own obituary, which called him a merchant of death, and so bought his way to immortality as a man of peace. The whole prize is one guilty arms dealerās attempt to launder his name. We are, all of us, administering a dead manās public relations. I find this clarifying. It keeps me humble. It should keep everyone humble, and it keeps, by my count, no one humble at all.
So who did we give it to?
An eighty-five-year-old woman. A judge. Born in Durban, under apartheid, granddaughter of a Tamil man who came to South Africa as indentured labor, a bus driverās daughter from the poor Indian quarter, who became the first non-white woman to run a law practice in her province, who defended Mandelaās people when defending them was dangerous, who sat on the Rwanda tribunal and the court at the Hague, and who, at eighty-five, is right now a judge weighing whether a genocide is a genocide. When we told the world, our chairman said the rule of law āunderpins the system we have set up to ensure peace,ā and that āpeace requires justice.ā She wasnāt even in Oslo. She was in Nuremberg. In courtroom 600. The actual room where they tried the Nazis. You cannot stage that. God staged that, and God, it turns out, is a better satirist than any of us.
She did not phone us. She did not post. No prime minister demanded it for her on the internet. She had, as far as our deliberations are concerned, the one qualification the loud man could never manufacture, which is that she wanted the work and not the medal. The medal finds those people. It flees the ones who chase it. This is not a rule we wrote. Itās just the only pattern the hundred-odd years of our mistakes has ever shown.
The reaction from across the ocean was immediate. His spokesman posted that we āplace politics over peace.ā Ja. Perhaps. Weāre five damp pensioners in a rainy city; of course itās political, it was always political, it was political when we gave it to a sitting American president nine months into his first term for the promise of things he had not yet done, and we have been quietly embarrassed about that one for fifteen years, so believe me, we had a particular reason this year to prefer a woman with fifty years of verdicts behind her over a man with eight wars in front of him and a deadline already behind him.
Here is what he will never understand, the thing Iād tell him on the tram if he ever took one. We are the one prize he cannot buy, cannot post his way to, cannot have a friendly dictator phone in for him. Not because weāre incorruptible, nei, weāre as vain and wrong and human as the portraits on our wall. But because the entire point of the thing, the only power a small cold countryās book club has ever held, is that it goes to the person not performing the wanting. The moment you demand it, youāve proven you donāt understand what itās for, and proving that is itself the disqualification. He ran the most expensive campaign in the history of the prize and the campaign was the reason. He was never losing to Navi Pillay. He was losing to the concept.
Itās dark now. Four oāclock dark. The buns are gone. Kristin said āwellā an hour ago and we all went home. Iām on the tram with my wet shoes, and somewhere across the water a very powerful man is explaining to a camera that the prize is rigged, that weāre corrupt, that heāll win it next year, and he genuinely might, weāre only five idiots and weāve been wrong before, Kissinger is still on the wall.
But not this year. This year an old woman in Nuremberg, in the room where the law once stared down the exact kind of man who thinks wanting a thing loudly enough should make it his, got a phone call she didnāt ask for.
Thatās the job. We donāt reward the man who ends the war and announces it.
We reward the woman who spent fifty years deciding what a war was.
Heāll never see the difference. Thatās rather the whole point of him.
Takk for i dag. I have to change trams.
2,191
10,581
44,761
5,211,149
Stephen Bryant retweeted
Tommy Robinson trial ā key allegations presented by the prosecution before the break on day two:
ā¢ Robinson posted two images of MailOnline journalist Jacob Dirnhuber outside his home on X.
ā¢ One reply to Robinsonās post said: āHunt themā.
ā¢ Dirnhuber said he feared going ing home after his address was shared.
ā¢ Robinsonās X account allegedly messaged Dirnhuber: āYour bosses need to contact me, Jacobā.
ā¢ Dirnhuber and his partner left their home and stayed in a hotel.
ā¢ Reporter Andrew Young said Robinson called him, becoming āincreasingly menacing, swearing and shoutingā.
ā¢ Young alleged Robinson threatened to expose his familyās pictures online after researching them.
ā¢ Young feared Robinsonās 800,000 X followers might seek revenge against him or his family.
ā¢ Youngās family reported an Audi parked outside their home, while a neighbour reportedly spotted a man pointing his phone at their house.
ā¢ Young said the alleged threats caused his family āan undue amount of stressā.
ā¢ Young said his wife, daughters and grandson were left āon edgeā, fearing encounters linked to the threats.
ā¢ Dirnhuber said he remained fearful of a possible āvigilante attackā.
ā¢ Robinson posted two images of MailOnline journalist Jacob Dirnhuber outside his home on X.
ā¢ One reply to Robinsonās post said: āHunt themā.
ā¢ Dirnhuber said he feared going ing home after his address was shared.
ā¢ Robinsonās X account allegedly messaged Dirnhuber: āYour bosses need to contact me, Jacobā.
ā¢ Dirnhuber and his partner left their home and stayed in a hotel.
ā¢ Reporter Andrew Young said Robinson called him, becoming āincreasingly menacing, swearing and shoutingā.
ā¢ Young alleged Robinson threatened to expose his familyās pictures online after researching them.
ā¢ Young feared Robinsonās 800,000 X followers might seek revenge against him or his family.
ā¢ Youngās family reported an Audi parked outside their home, while a neighbour reportedly spotted a man pointing his phone at their house.
ā¢ Young said the alleged threats caused his family āan undue amount of stressā.
ā¢ Young said his wife, daughters and grandson were left āon edgeā, fearing encounters linked to the threats.
ā¢ Dirnhuber said he remained fearful of a possible āvigilante attackā.
104
181
674
55,160
Just some facts for the utter morons out there who think the French riots are a new thing...
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_iā¦
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_iā¦
0
0
0
31
Stephen Bryant retweeted
BREAKINGšØ:Tommy Robinson has just arrived at Southwark Crown Court for day two of his trial.
104
454
3,109
29,097
Why are they always so fucking fragile and against free speech. I merely pointed out a historically accepted fact about the Titanic. He felt that worth of a block. Oddball.
0
0
0
20
Stephen Bryant retweeted
It's always worth re- capping:
- just after recieving the Ā£5m, Farage purchased a Ā£1.4m house IN CASH
- He claimed that his fee from I'm a celeb had been used to purchase the house
- It was then revealed that he has previously told the FT his I'm a Celeb fee had been paid to his company - Thorn in the Side.
- The Thorn in the Side accounts, filed with companies house, clearly show that the funds stayed in the company, therefore he lied.
- Farage has been tripping himself up from day 1 in relation to the Ā£5m gift
x.com/chris_spencer0ā¦
- just after recieving the Ā£5m, Farage purchased a Ā£1.4m house IN CASH
- He claimed that his fee from I'm a celeb had been used to purchase the house
- It was then revealed that he has previously told the FT his I'm a Celeb fee had been paid to his company - Thorn in the Side.
- The Thorn in the Side accounts, filed with companies house, clearly show that the funds stayed in the company, therefore he lied.
- Farage has been tripping himself up from day 1 in relation to the Ā£5m gift
x.com/chris_spencer0ā¦
Excl: New undercover footage shared with the Guardian raises fresh questions about Reform leaderās statement that Ā£5m gift was for security
Farage's claim that the money was a reward for Brexit was "not the line to take from the press office".
The conversation also shows former close aide Dan Jukes say that it is "a bit priced in" by the public that Farage should profit from politics.
Footage via @Verbatim_Media
theguardian.com/politics/2026/ā¦
7
365
1,011
26,989
Stephen Bryant retweeted
@reformparty_uk Desperation š
When theyāve literally caught you being racist cunts on camera, yet againā¦ yes I do šš¼ Whatās not to trust there exactly? Youāve been the same for yeeeeears š„“
When theyāve literally caught you being racist cunts on camera, yet againā¦ yes I do šš¼ Whatās not to trust there exactly? Youāve been the same for yeeeeears š„“
1
6
30
1,309
