🎅🧠Trust the wokest borough in the land to look at Father Christmas—Father Christmas—and decide he’s actually a troubling symbol of Western cultural dominance rather than a man who brings chocolate coins and mild joy.

🎨 When Ideology Eats Christmas

Only in Brighton could a council glance at Santa and think, “Yes, this is the problem we need to fix.” Not potholes. Not housing. Not crime. No—an imaginary, bearded man who exists primarily to delight children and prop up the wrapping paper industry.

Somewhere along the line, city councillors appear to have decided that political signalling matters more than children’s happiness. Because nothing says “progress” like explaining to a five-year-old that Santa has been “reimagined” to avoid reinforcing historical narratives they hadn’t heard of until five minutes ago.

This isn’t inclusion—it’s intrusion. Christmas isn’t a lecture series, and Santa isn’t a colonial administrator. He’s a bloke in a red coat who says “ho ho ho,” not “behold the cultural hegemony of the West.” Yet here we are, watching grown adults deconstruct fairy tales while wondering why everyone else is rolling their eyes into next week.

Brighton’s superpower has always been taking simple pleasures and running them through a political blender until they resemble an undergraduate dissertation. And now Santa’s been fed into the machine. Children wanted magic. They got messaging. 🎄📚

🔥 Challenges 🔥

When did protecting children’s joy become less important than broadcasting ideological virtue? Why is everything required to pass a political purity test before it’s allowed into a primary school? And at what point do adults admit they may have completely lost the plot?

Tell us what you think in the blog comments. Is this harmless symbolism—or proof that some councils can’t see a sleigh without trying to steer it? 💬🔥

👇 Comment. Like. Share.

The best, sharpest takes will be featured in the next issue of the magazine. 📝🎯

One response to “Only Brighton Could ‘Decolonise’ Santa Claus”

  1. Mike Avatar

    Well, down in the bottom of this old whiskey glass,
    I been thinkin’ ‘bout that jolly fat man in red,
    They say he’s a symbol of some kinda cultural mess,
    A white-bearded oppressor fillin’ kids with dread.
    But hell, I’ve seen worse down these Mississippi roads,
    Preachers and politicians judgin’ who’s naughty or nice,
    Handin’ out guilt like it’s chocolate gold,
    While the potholes swallow tires and the poor pay the price.
    Santa don’t colonize nothin’ but the cookie plate,
    Slidin’ down chimneys with a sack full of cheer,
    He don’t lecture on hegemony or make kids feel second-rate,
    Just drops off a toy and a “Ho ho ho” in your ear.
    If Brighton’s fixin’ to decolonize the North Pole,
    Make him work the line with elves, call in Mother Claus too,
    Well, brother, that’s just grown folks stealin’ the children’s soul,
    Turnin’ magic to footnotes in some academic blues.
    Me? I’ll stick with the old rascal, flawed as he seems,
    ‘Cause joy ain’t a thesis, and wonder ain’t woke,
    Let the kids believe in reindeer and impossible dreams,
    Before the ideologues turn the whole damn thing to smoke.
    Pour another round for the bearded gift-giver,
    He’s survived worse than a museum blog rant,
    In a world gone half-crazy, he’s still the forgiver,
    Bringin’ mild joy and chocolate coins—now ain’t that grand?
    (Strummin’ a slow, gravelly blues chord fade-out…)
    Yeah, leave Santa alone, y’all. He’s doin’ just fine.

    Like

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Ian McEwan

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