The angels weren't very impressed by Mr Phelps. Photo: Getty
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What happened when the Westboro Baptist Church’s Fred Phelps arrived at the gates of heaven

It didn’t go quite as he’d imagined. . .

“Next!” says Saint Peter, beckoning an old man with cold blue eyes and a cowboy hat towards the Pearly Gates.

“Ah, Mr Phelps,” says the gatekeeper as the old man approaches. “What time do you call this? Twitter has had you down as practically dead since Monday.”

“Tweeter. . .” says Phelps, gazing furrow-browed into the clouds.

“Never mind. Right, let’s get started, shall we? I’m afraid we’ve had to up security here a little, since the Thatcher Incident last year. I’m going to start by asking you a few questions about your time on earth.”

“By all means, sir. I know darn well I’ve led a righteous life. Ask away.”

“Great! Right then, Mr Phelps,” says Saint Peter, picking up a clipboard, “I’m going to present you with some statements. In response to each one, I need you to tell me if you strongly agree, agree, somewhat agree, disagree or strongly disagree. All clear?”

Phelps slowly nods his Stetson-topped head.

“Number one: ‘To the best of my ability, I did unto others as I would have them do unto me.’”

“Strongly agree,” shoots the unblinking Phelps.

“Right,” says Saint Peter, chewing on the end of his pen. “I’m afraid that answer presents us with a slight administrative problem. I’m not actually cleared to deal with this sort of thing yet – these security measures really are very new. I’m going to have to get Maureen from the Department of Heavenly Prerogatives and Standards to come and lend a hand. Please bear with me.”

“But sir,” says Phelps, eyes widening into vicious blue marbles, “I’m a true Christian. I lived my entire life according to the Lord’s word. Surely there’s no need for this?”

Ignoring Phelps, Saint Peter picks up a crackling walkie talkie, “Maureen,” he says into it, “We have a possible A1327 violation here.”

The walkie talkie squawks something indecipherable to Phelps, but a winged woman in a pencil skirt, with a Heaven Border Security tag on a lanyard, soon appears.

“Hello Mr Phelps, my name’s Maureen. I’m going to be helping you through security today.”

“This is a downright outrage!” bellows Phelps, “I did not dedicate my life to preaching the word of our Lord Jesus Christ to be held here, outside of Heaven’s Gate, like a godforsaken sodomite.”

“I understand that you’re upset, Mr Phelps” says Maureen in a tone that suggests that she has no experience dealing with the upset whatsoever, “But I’m afraid you’ve violated section A1327 of the Heavenly Security Code – that’s the Love Thy Neighbour clause.”

“This is BS!” says Phelps, raising his arms.

“Please, Mr Phelps,” says a decidedly bored Maureen. “If you’ll just bear with us. . .”

“I want to speak to God,” says Phelps, “He knows I’m a good Christian.”

“Mr Phelps, I’m afraid it’s that church of yours,” says Maureen, emphasising the word “church” with a pair of elaborate air quotation marks. “Your whole ‘God hates fags’ thing. See, what you’ve actually done is libel God. And to put it mildly, Mr Phelps, he’s not a happy bunny.”

“Libel?!” shrieks Phelps, his red face twitching like an electrocuted rump steak, “Leviticus 18:22: ‘Do not have sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman; that is detestable’. Those are His own words.”

“I’m sorry Mr Phelps, but all of that. . . wrathful stuff was overwritten in the Gospel of Matthew. You know, ‘love thy neighbour as thyself’. God decided to do a bit of a rebrand at that point, you see. And to be quite honest, you can’t just hate your way into Heaven like in the olden days. In fact, all of these security measures are part of Operation Cuddly Pants. Jesus has personally demanded a crackdown on all the ‘haters’ (his word, not mine) getting through the Pearly Gates.”

Phelp’s jaw creeks into its full extension.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to fill out these forms,” says Maureen.

Phelps is nudged out of his catatonic state by the thud of a War and Peace-thick stack of paper hitting Saint Peter’s desk.

“It’ll take six to eight months to process,” adds Maureen, “In the meantime, you’re in luck – a room has just become available at the YMCA in Purgatory.

Two muscle-bound angels appear.

“Adam and Steve,” Maureen addresses them, “Please will you escort Mr Phelps downstairs.”

 

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.

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Hannan Fodder: This week, Daniel Hannan gets his excuses in early

I didn't do it. 

Since Daniel Hannan, a formerly obscure MEP, has emerged as the anointed intellectual of the Brexit elite, The Staggers is charting his ascendancy...

When I started this column, there were some nay-sayers talking Britain down by doubting that I was seriously going to write about Daniel Hannan every week. Surely no one could be that obsessed with the activities of one obscure MEP? And surely no politician could say enough ludicrous things to be worthy of such an obsession?

They were wrong, on both counts. Daniel and I are as one on this: Leave and Remain, working hand in glove to deliver on our shared national mission. There’s a lesson there for my fellow Remoaners, I’m sure.

Anyway. It’s week three, and just as I was worrying what I might write this week, Dan has ridden to the rescue by writing not one but two columns making the same argument – using, indeed, many of the exact same phrases (“not a club, but a protection racket”). Like all the most effective political campaigns, Dan has a message of the week.

First up, on Monday, there was this headline, in the conservative American journal, the Washington Examiner:

“Why Brexit should work out for everyone”

And yesterday, there was his column on Conservative Home:

“We will get a good deal – because rational self-interest will overcome the Eurocrats’ fury”

The message of the two columns is straightforward: cooler heads will prevail. Britain wants an amicable separation. The EU needs Britain’s military strength and budget contributions, and both sides want to keep the single market intact.

The Con Home piece makes the further argument that it’s only the Eurocrats who want to be hardline about this. National governments – who have to answer to actual electorates – will be more willing to negotiate.

And so, for all the bluster now, Theresa May and Donald Tusk will be skipping through a meadow, arm in arm, before the year is out.

Before we go any further, I have a confession: I found myself nodding along with some of this. Yes, of course it’s in nobody’s interests to create unnecessary enmity between Britain and the continent. Of course no one will want to crash the economy. Of course.

I’ve been told by friends on the centre-right that Hannan has a compelling, faintly hypnotic quality when he speaks and, in retrospect, this brief moment of finding myself half-agreeing with him scares the living shit out of me. So from this point on, I’d like everyone to keep an eye on me in case I start going weird, and to give me a sharp whack round the back of the head if you ever catch me starting a tweet with the word, “Friends-”.

Anyway. Shortly after reading things, reality began to dawn for me in a way it apparently hasn’t for Daniel Hannan, and I began cataloguing the ways in which his argument is stupid.

Problem number one: Remarkably for a man who’s been in the European Parliament for nearly two decades, he’s misunderstood the EU. He notes that “deeper integration can be more like a religious dogma than a political creed”, but entirely misses the reason for this. For many Europeans, especially those from countries which didn’t have as much fun in the Second World War as Britain did, the EU, for all its myriad flaws, is something to which they feel an emotional attachment: not their country, but not something entirely separate from it either.

Consequently, it’s neither a club, nor a “protection racket”: it’s more akin to a family. A rational and sensible Brexit will be difficult for the exact same reasons that so few divorcing couples rationally agree not to bother wasting money on lawyers: because the very act of leaving feels like a betrayal.

Or, to put it more concisely, courtesy of Buzzfeed’s Marie Le Conte:

Problem number two: even if everyone was to negotiate purely in terms of rational interest, our interests are not the same. The over-riding goal of German policy for decades has been to hold the EU together, even if that creates other problems. (Exhibit A: Greece.) So there’s at least a chance that the German leadership will genuinely see deterring more departures as more important than mutual prosperity or a good relationship with Britain.

And France, whose presidential candidates are lining up to give Britain a kicking, is mysteriously not mentioned anywhere in either of Daniel’s columns, presumably because doing so would undermine his argument.

So – the list of priorities Hannan describes may look rational from a British perspective. Unfortunately, though, the people on the other side of the negotiating table won’t have a British perspective.

Problem number three is this line from the Con Home piece:

“Might it truly be more interested in deterring states from leaving than in promoting the welfare of its peoples? If so, there surely can be no further doubt that we were right to opt out.”

If there any rhetorical technique more skin-crawlingly horrible, than, “Your response to my behaviour justifies my behaviour”?

I could go on, about how there’s no reason to think that Daniel’s relatively gentle vision of Brexit is shared by Nigel Farage, UKIP, or a significant number of those who voted Leave. Or about the polls which show that, far from the EU’s response to the referendum pushing more European nations towards the door, support for the union has actually spiked since the referendum – that Britain has become not a beacon of hope but a cautionary tale.

But I’m running out of words, and there’ll be other chances to explore such things. So instead I’m going to end on this:

Hannan’s argument – that only an irrational Europe would not deliver a good Brexit – is remarkably, parodically self-serving. It allows him to believe that, if Brexit goes horribly wrong, well, it must all be the fault of those inflexible Eurocrats, mustn’t it? It can’t possibly be because Brexit was a bad idea in the first place, or because liberal Leavers used nasty, populist ones to achieve their goals.

Read today, there are elements of Hannan’s columns that are compelling, even persuasive. From the perspective of 2020, I fear, they might simply read like one long explanation of why nothing that has happened since will have been his fault.

Jonn Elledge is the editor of the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric. He is on Twitter, far too much, as @JonnElledge.