A letter from the ashes of shamed Britain

Sophie Lewis

I was born into a country that sold me a lie.
“Rule Britannia,” they said. “Land of the free.”

But all I see is a prison dressed in Union Jacks and dripping in double standards. A nation run by cowards in suits — wagging fingers at the poor while shaking hands with warmongers, hedge funds, and media barons. A government that punishes survival, criminalises truth, and profits from our pain.

We were raised to believe we were lucky. That this island was a beacon of democracy. But what is democracy if all your choices are polished versions of the same poison?

“Tough on crime,” “Back British business,” “Tighten our borders” — it’s the same script, no matter who’s holding the mic.

And now? We’re supposed to pretend Keir Starmer is change?
The man couldn’t find a spine with a map.
He bends whichever way the donors blow, polishing boots instead of speaking truth.
He criminalises protest, cosies up to arms dealers, throws the working class under the bus, and still expects our loyalty — like we’re too desperate to notice we’re being fobbed off.

Two-Tier Keir: The Illusion of Opposition
Starmer doesn’t threaten the system — he stabilises it.
He’s not here to rip out the rot. He’s here to wallpaper over it.

This is the man who refused to back ceasefires when children were being bombed in Gaza. Who stayed silent while benefit claimants died under the weight of sanctions and assessments. Who claimed to speak for working people while refusing to back striking workers.

Labour under Starmer isn’t “left.” It’s centre-right in drag — wearing a red tie and hoping we’re too traumatised to clock the betrayal.

This is not opposition. It’s simulation.
This is not leadership. It’s cowardice dressed in compromise.
This is not representation. It’s co-signing our oppression.

They call it progress, but nothing has changed — except the branding.

A country built to bleed Us
Energy bills through the roof.
Children going to school hungry.
Ambulances taking hours — if they come at all.
Families choosing between heating or eating.
Mental health services gutted.
Libraries, youth clubs, and safe spaces bulldozed.
And they still have the gall to tell us it’s our fault.

It’s not broken.
It’s working exactly as it was built to:
To keep the rich comfortable and the rest of us compliant.

They weaponise bureaucracy to make us beg for basic dignity.
They strip support, then shame us for falling.
They gaslight us with slogans and PR stunts while the country collapses beneath us.

You wanna talk about pride?
There is nothing Great about this Britain.
Not when truth is punished. Not when kids grow up in food banks.
Not when disabled people die on waiting lists while ministers cash in on side hustles.

Silence is not peace. Obedience is not consent.
We are told to behave. To keep calm. To wait our turn.
But our patience has been mined dry.

The working class is not a photo op.
Disabled people are not “cost burdens.”
Migrants are not scapegoats for a system built on exploitation.
We are not statistics. We are not your spin.
We are real people. And we are done.

The people screaming into the void aren’t “radical”.
They’re just awake.

We are angry. We are exhausted.
We are shamed by what this country has become — but we will not carry that shame quietly.

I do not consent
To being gaslit by governments and gagged by press.
To austerity, while billionaires rocket to space.
To public grief with private profits.
To child poverty, corporate bailouts, and a justice system that only works if you’re rich, white, and powerful.

I do not consent to this manufactured misery.
I do not consent to this punishment disguised as policy.
I do not consent to a country that asks me to survive quietly so others can thrive comfortably.

This is not politics. This is violence with a PR team.
And I will not applaud it. I will not accept it.

The revolution they fear is already here

They’re terrified of our voices — not because we’re violent, but because we’re right.
Because when the noise cuts through the spin, when the people start joining the dots, they know the game is up.

They fear the workers striking, the disabled organising, the youth waking up, the survivors refusing silence, the migrants demanding dignity. They fear our fury because it isn’t chaos — it’s clarity. It’s decades of betrayal finally catching fire.

And no, we’re not asking nicely anymore.
We’ve tried petitions, protests, debates.
Now we speak in rage. In truth. In absolute, bone-deep refusal.

We were not born to serve this system.
We were not born to be managed, milked, or muted.
We were not born to survive injustice and call it democracy.

Let the record show
We saw the lies.
We felt the gaslight.
We tasted the rot.
And we said NO.

Let the record show: we were awake.
Let the record show: we did not comply.
Let the record show: we did not consent.

Signed,
One who wishes to evacuate this f*cking hell hole
— but will burn this truth into every wall before I go.

Sophie Lewis is a Welsh writer and poet