By Dennis Roddy
In a majestic assertion of independence, the same British people who were colonized by Normans, invaded by Picts, and who fought valiantly to make the Chinese buy their opium, have decided they are not part of Europe.
Dennis Roddy (PennLive file)They are Britain.
That is to say, they are a remnant of a nearly a thousand years' worth of assimilating the world's bad habits, perfecting them, and then complaining every time they look in the global mirror.
Quite unwanted, they have planted themselves in Africa, Asia, India, the New World, Australia, an island off the coast of Argentina for God's sake, and they now spend their time wondering where all these foreigners came from.
On Thursday, egged on by an assortment of nativists whose brain-stem-only followers punctuated the message in the form of stab wounds on an innocent member of Parliament, the "British" decided to leave the European Union.
That is not to say individual Britons will leave Europe.
A tidy retinue of their people remain in enclaves in Spain, where they enjoy Spanish health care, British pensions, and drive on roads paved by people with names like Manolo and Gunter.
They enjoy the climate, the culture, and the stunningly blue Mediterranean skies, all while eating their execrable native food in which no mammal cannot escape the deep fryer, nor any salad avoid a dollop of mayonnaise.
All that, save the mayonnaise, is now at risk.
The Tory Prime Minister, David Cameron, promptly resigned office. He opposed the Brexit and cannot plausibly lead.
The power vacuum could well be filled by former London Mayor Boris Johnson, a toffy-voiced mooncalf who, much like Cameron, cannot plausibly lead. In fact, the United Kingdom just made itself implausible.
Hours after the vote, trading firms from Deutsche Bank, J.P. Morgan Chase, and Morgan Stanley were discussing how many thousand employees to move from London to Frankfurt or Dublin.
Why?
Because without EU membership freeing them from restrictions that apply to outsiders, Britain will no longer be a viable outpost from which to transact business in Europe.
My people came here from Northern Ireland, a place in which half the population has been waiting for the British to leave.
A Brexit would be met with great jollity by my coreligionists, but they would continue to drive on the left side of the road, overcook their beef and pour HP sauce on it.
We are Irish. Which is to say we are, by bloodline, Celts, Picts, Norman French, Englishmen, Scots and, if the Galway Tandoori is any hint, we will soon include a strain of Indian which might someday free us from the bondage of sunscreen.
The point is, the Irish assimilate and don't make a big thing about it. Their culture is resilient enough to allow me to visit and stay at Oesterly House, a B&B run by an Irishman with a German surname. Ain't. No. Big. Deal.
This spasm of reclusiveness is not rational. On most occasions, I would rejoice in irrationality.
A dominion of cranks is vastly entertaining. Witness Venezuela under Hugo Chavez, the Republican Party under Trump, or any given afternoon in Kathleen Kane's office.
The problem here is that the world still needs Britain and the British still need to be part of the world.
Days like this make it hard to imagine these dolts had an empire.
Now, struggling to freeze their identity in the amber of isolation, they will become the world's museum piece.
Dennis Roddy, a Republican consultant from Pittsburgh, is a frequent PennLive Opinion contributor.