Jeremy Corbyn died on the 12th July, 2016.
14 days before his sad and tragic death, 172 Labour MPs voted “No Confidence!” in their leader. It was a deliberate and calculated act of political murder. Only by removing all possible hope of his Leadership ever being successful, only by fatally and permanently damaging it in the eyes of the public so that no recovery could ever be possible would Corbyn relinquish his hold on the Party.
At least, that’s what they thought.
They… were mistaken. They bit him, sure, and in doing so infected him with incurable and terminal political death, but they didn’t destroy his brain. Zombie genre fans know what this means. You have to get the brain, or they come back.
Over the next two weeks the fever associated with the political death virus did its work. Corbyn became delirious, making bizarre and irrational statements about how he fully intended to do whatever it took to stay leader, despite being politically dead.
The Labour MPs that bit him wanted to put him out of his misery as fast as possible, but Corbyn’s supporters had other plans. They protected him. They wiped the fever sweat off his brow, kept him hydrated and stopped anyone doing what was necessary. They let the virus run its course until his heart stopped and Corbyn became a member of the Political Undead.
That moment came when Corbyn won a court case to be allowed to stand again as Leader without requiring nominations. Zombie Corbyn made his debut public appearance outside the court, his eyes milky white, his skin already necrotic. He groaned at some journalists and then shambled off to begin the Leadership campaign in earnest.
And this is how it went. Over the next ten weeks, Corbyn’s supporters wheeled out the ambulant corpse of Corbyn to moan in front of crowds of fans. Look, they said, he’s better than ever! Look at how alive he is! And so, somehow, incredibly, to the utter astonishment of literally everyone else, on the 24th of September Labour announced to the world that they had elected a zombie as their Leader.
Since then, as you’d expect from a member of the undead, Zombie Corbyn has done… basically nothing. The Government has built a zombie-proof ditch around themselves that “walkers” can’t get through and have been able to ignore him ever since. Zombie Corbyn is unable to whip the MPs to vote any particular way so the party has fallen into anarchy. Labour has become a post-apocalyptic wasteland of dog-eat-dog, each MP doing what they must to survive, doing all they can to avoid contracting the political death virus themselves.
Corbyn’s supporters though, they’re still hopelessly lost in their grief, unable to let go, unable to see the truth. Every day begins with them trying to cover up the rotting flesh and the terrible, terrible smell. This is fine, they tell each other. It’s still Corbyn! He’s the same as he ever was! Only Corbyn can connect with real people! Only Corbyn understands what real people are going though!
They don’t understand. Corbyn’s political death was unfair, but it happened. It is fact. Labour’s continued abominable polling results and disastrous by-election results bear out the inescapable truth: That once you’re politically dead, there’s no coming back.
One act of political murder has turned the entire Labour Party into the walking political dead. Rest in Peace, Jeremy.