Goatchurch

“You're all sick in the head, every single one of you!”

I had earphones in. Feet up. Rubicon within reach. Another Thursday in the office, wasting away the dead hours between clocking off and my five-a-side game.

The film on my laptop was just a distraction, it didn't matter what drama was unfolding. Anything that makes the hours pass by quicker is welcome. As it was, I didn't have much time before I needed to pray Maghrib, but I was too lazy to move. There's always tomorrow.

The cacophony in the office was subsiding as my colleagues continued their grift off-premises. Matt was the exception, sat not far from me. Senior in rank and demeanor, he was the man perpetually in the office. Thankfully, he kept to himself and left me to do the same.

My envy of Matt's work ethic is lessened by a sense of pity. Always the last to leave, serving a master that was itself a slave to growth and— Shit. I've jinxed it. Here he comes. What does he want? 

“You all right, buddy? It's Bil, isn’t it?”

“That's me. Yeah not bad thanks, just killing time you know.”

“Sure. Got long left?”

“Nah, just like an hour. How about you?”

“Finishing off work in a bit to be honest. Then I’ve got a gathering later. I’ve been naughty and invited a group of peers over here. Don't tell anyone.”

“Of course, yeah.”

“Just a group of data nerds, to be frank. One of them used to work in our department actually, before your time. But we’re working on some pretty lush stuff, fairly unique.”

“Nice. I'm not really meant to be here late either. So all good from my side, I'm sure they're nice enough.”

“You always seemed decent like that. I'll see you later.”

Matt started walking towards his desk before stopping.

He looked backed and smiled, almost smirking.

“Oh, Bil… You're welcome to join us by the way, mate.”

And then as if Matt had wished it into existence, I jumped when I saw a perfectly round, pale face pop up from outside.

Over the next 10 minutes, I witnessed an influx (or invasion, even) of public school boys who made sure their existence was known. Loud, brash, the whole lot. If you ever thought a corporate office couldn't reek any more of arrogance, trust me, think again.

The group was colourful but only metaphorically... although I did get to witness all the different hues of pink and red.

I had flashbacks of my childhood in rural England, being the only non-white in the room. I was always lucky though, with my light skin and anglicised nickname. Bil. Bilal. Easy. Peasy.

Anyways, I wasn't the kind to get worried just because I saw a horde of loud Tories, especially ones who meet after work to analyse data. I'd just needed to say hello, blend back into the wallpaper before heading off.

I kept one eye on the clock and the other on the meeting room that became their habitat. 

Matt was presenting but I couldn't quite make out what the projector displayed.

But, honestly, you can’t pay me enough to care about data outside the hours of 8am and 5pm. I'm glad they all seemed interested though. One young man — the reddest and therefore the most visible to me — was pretty animated. The sole brunette guy was typing away intensely, I assume making notes.

Equally interesting to me was the dust on my desk. I guess the dirt builds up when all the immigrant cleaners have been kicked out from the country. It's not like— oh shit, here comes Matt again. 

“You all right, Bil?”

“Yeah just killing time. Getting a bit messy from all the blood ha!”

He ignored my joke.

“Sure, sure. We were just doing some data mining and KDD and the like. I was hoping we could get your thoughts on something. Would be good to get some fresh eyes, yeah?”

“All good, no problem.”

I can't lie, this did give me problems. I didn't have the slightest interest in what they were up to. But I couldn’t say no to Matt, his figure stood there towering over me.

As I walked into the room, my eyes were drawn to the presentation on the projector, with most of the Eton boys staring at me as if I was the weird one here.

“Right, so we have this data set from the ONS”, Matt said, “but we know it's bollocks the way it's been analysed. We're not even sure how much we can trust the numbers to be honest, but sadly no other source reports on ethnicity quite this way.”

“But anyway, for context, what we're doing here is essentially putting together the largest database on all things ethnicity. You know, just so people are informed before they enter any relationships, start a new job and so on. But most importantly, we want to help working White people know where is safe to live, where they can bring up their children... There’s nothing like it out there, the work we’re doing.”

“We call it Goatchurch.”

I was a bit taken aback, so I stayed quiet, just nodding as he explained this monstrosity.

“It’s all about using numbers, just to prove what many of us are thinking but too afraid to say.”

One nerd piped up, “It’s about preserving not just our lives but our culture too.”

Matt added, “Precisely. I know you've thought the same thing, Bil, with how much communities have changed. We all have.”

Shit like this never ends well for us Muslims.

“The next phase of Goatchurch is to think about procreation and maybe even remigration. We’re not there quite yet but we want to gather and synthesise more data that helps good folk like you confidently shape the next generation.”

Honestly, I wasn’t really comfortable knowing that I share an office with a eugenicist, or an ethnonationalist, or whatever. And there were ten others with me in the room.

My like aren't welcome here. They don’t know who I really am, so they won’t actually say it. But I'm not.

“What are your first impressions, Bil?”

“Yeah, um, makes sense. It’s just data. I wouldn’t call it racist.”

“You know it.”

What I also knew was that I needed to get out of here ASAP.

“Let me show you where we're stuck, Bil”, Matt said as he tinkered on his laptop, about to show me more rubbish.

The red bloke next to me took that as a chance for small talk. Great.

“It’s out of control, if you ask me. The erasure of Whiteness.”

I gave a nothing-response.

He persisted. “Bill, was it? You don't look like a Bill.”

It was absolutely time to get out.

He looked me up and down. “Where are you from, Bill?”

“Um, Acton”, I replied.

“Yeah, but where are you really from?”

....