Poor But Positive

The Church and the Occupation: my day at St. Pauls

2011-10-23T23:34:00.001+01:00

I suppose we shouldn't be surprised to find the Church telling a fib or two, and stretching a story beyond credulity. After all, its happened before.

Unable to believe what The Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's Cathedral are saying about risks to health and safety caused by the Occupation, and the "absolute necessity" therefore of preventing people from going to worship, or just to enjoy the marvelous inner spaces of the building, I went down to see for myself.

(Throwing deadlines to the winds I might say. As a freelance scribbler, my pockets are not so deep that I can afford to cut off income at a stroke - unlike some that the occupiers could poke with a very short stick. But hey, this is an important moment!).

What I found is this:

There is NO PROBLEM with access to the church. That is a canard. I could see no risk to health and safety. I could not see any indication that the Cathedral has been disturbed in any material sense, although clearly it is rattled by the progressive forces on its very doorstep.

I could see no reason why several bus-loads of school children could not visit the Cathedral with perfect ease, nor scores of weddings be held in its vast chambers. There may be legal or regulatory requirements, but these are usually subject to interpretation, and it really looks as though only ecclesiastical perversity is preventing worship inside the cathedral today.

A very bad move for them.

It is the Dean and Chapter themselves (plus of course whoever is exerting pressure on them, if such there be) who are preventing access.

It is they (and whoever may be pressuring them ...) who have closed the enormous doors ...

... and locked the gates.

The demonstration is disciplined, still quite small and very focused and principled, although at the moment I would say the issues have more to do with process than substance. There is much of clarification and guidance.

It is also, contrary to slanderous rumour, very neat, orderly and clean.

with a cheerful little library.

But substance there is, albeit emergent.

I also liked the diversity.

But what I liked most was the serious, thoughtful, purposeful atmosphere. From the Tent University...

which was packed to the gills. ...

to the discussions everywhere .....

to the reading of discourses

to the political posters, which demonstrate a rather consistent and, I was pleased to note, distinctly anti-imperialist, position .....

It seems that the Cathedral management has lost its head, overplayed its hand and shot itself in the foot: the occupyers are calling its bluff.

They have asked the Cathedral in an open letter to specify exactly which risks to health and safety are of concern, so that they can be addressed. Its a good job we are not holding our breath on this one, as more than 24 hours have passed, and there has been no response.

Apparently the Cathedral is basing its actions, once again, on an ill-defined mystery.

And I can't resist this little LoL. We are everywhere.

Zucotti Park: The Police and the Occupation

2011-10-21T08:57:00.001+01:00

This is the text of an e-mail message from a friend of a friend, giving his thoughts on the Occupy Wall Street demonstration in Zucotti Park, near Ground Zero in New York City, and especially the role of the police. He was one of the first responders after 9-11 and worked there for several months.

He compares the behaviour of the people and the behaviour of the police in Zucotti Park now and after 9-11, and as you might expect the police come up pretty short, but in ways that you may not expect.

I found what he wrote both moving and politcally important. I hope he will write more.

Big Brother is Watching You. Portable Police Watchtower at Zucotti Park

Downloaded from Flickr. Photo by EmilyRides

Here is what he said:

Zucotti Park Ten Years Later.

I went down to Zuccotti Park a few times.To donate some time and money. A few friends asked me my thoughts. Here they are - in case you care to read/share.

I went to Zuccotti Parkto see, for myself, what's going on and if what the City says about these folksis true. I must confess that I had a predisposition to support the “Occupiers”.Given that I've been saying (for a few years now) that something like this hadto happen. But those that know me will tell you that I am also honest enough toadmit to my faults and mistakes or those of anyone else that I may support.

What I saw was nothing like the squalor,filth and chaos that the City has painted. I saw thousands of people (mostlyyoung) working together and in harmony. Being respectful of everyone and oftheir surroundings. Making the best of the situation and what they had to dealwith. You have to keep in mind that the Administration of this city and thecorporations, are doing nothing to help these folks. In fact they (the Administration and corporations) are doing everything they can to hinder andcause confrontation with these people. Take, for instance, the $4.6 million thatChase “donated” to the Police a few weeks ago.

Mr. Bloomberg speaks of lost tourismrevenues caused by this “Occupation”. A lie. The tourist are flocking to seewhat these folks are doing and to hear what they have to say. The localbusinesses are making a killing on it as well. So much so, that I watched ashand truck after hand truck (God forbid the police should allow a real deliverytruck to come in – more on that later) of goods (food, cleaning materials, etc)were being walked into the park. Donations from the “Local Businesses”. Thevery same people who Bloomberg claims to be loosing business and complainingabout this “Occupation”.

Speaking of donations – I saw dozens oftourists who walked into the park (I guess it wasn't dirty enough to scare themoff). Many asking to donate money to the cause. One woman said: “I'm here onvacation and have to leave in the morning but I would like to contribute” asshe handed a one hundred dollar bill to another woman who was serving food. Nowhere is an interesting interaction. Not knowing each other, the tourist had nosense of distrust for the woman serving the food and in return the womanserving the food, promptly walked over and put the money in a donation basketon the other end of the park. Again - more on this later.

The other claim made by His Eminence isthat this is costing the city millions in police OT. Well – who asked for allof those cops to be standing around doing nothing but instigating trouble? Ididn't. Neither did any one else that I know. And what exactly are the policedoing there? What are they doing for me and the other 8 million people who livein this City? The people who pay their salaries.

This is what I saw them doing:

Hundred's of expensive vehicles lined allaround, with even more Cops standing around the park. Constantly movingbarricades closer to the crowd, in a never ending attempt to instigate a riot.Yelling at tourist and anyone else walking in the street to “Keep moving”.Laughing and making derogatory remarks about those in the park. One touristasked an officer “what's going on?”. He answered: “Stay away from them, therejust a bunch of idiots looking to make trouble”.

We are all hard-working tax-payingcitizens of this city, and none of us asked for those cops to be sent there. Tostand around doing nothing more that collect lots of money (OT) and instigatetrouble with tourists and people who are exercising their constitutionalrights. I could think of many more useful things to have our police doing. Infact, and to show the hypocrisy in what is being said, it is the police presencethat is hurting business and tourism. The Police are herding people like cattleand pushing them along. Telling them to “keep moving”, when that's not whatthey want to do.

After spending a few hours “in the thickof it” I began to remember the last time I was there and surrounded by an armyof police.

I was a first responder. I was there onthe night of 9-11 and for a few months after. What I saw on the first fewnights after 9-11 was very similarto what I experienced inside Zuccotti Park now. Being in the middle of manydifferent people. People of every age and from all walks of life. All workingtogether for the good of all. Trying to help each other. To be there for eachother, and to support each other.

Then I took a walk around the outside ofthe park and was reminded of what I saw there 10 years ago. Not on the firstfew nights, but after the first week. Thedichotomy of what Zuccotti park and all of Ground Zerowas on the first few nights (When we were all one. Working for the same cause)to what it became as time went by, is very much the same as what I saw at thepark now.

On the first few nights after the towers collapsed no one cared about anyone else's political belief's. What uniformswere worn or titles where held. Zuccotti Park was a place full of people whohad come to help. To work together. Cops, Firemen, Construction workers, Women,Men, Young and Old.

I remember standing at the edge of thepark. I was trying to catch my breath and absorb the hell that I was lookingat, when I heard a soft angelic voice ask: “do you want a kiss?” I turnedaround and there was this young girl (She couldn't have been more than 25)standing there with a box of chocolate Kiss's. I laughed and took one. Then shewalked away. I often wonder what happened to that girl. Is she OK or is shejust another of the many forgotten and unappreciated people who went down thereto help. To bring about something good from all the bad.

The people in Zuccotti park, today, arevery much like that girl and others like her.

I've mentioned (a few times) “The firstfew nights”. The reason I say this is because the dichotomy of what I saw onthe first few nights and what I saw after the first week is very much like whatI am seeing now when I walk from inside the park to just outside of it.

After the initial “we are one” feelingthat overwhelmed us all on 9-11, things started to change. And in fast order.Especially from people at the top and their protectors - the Police.

Zuccotti Park was a perfect example. Itwas initially used (or should I say “occupied”) by everyone who was there forthe good of all. It later became “Controlled” by the police. Any deliveries or“donations for ALL the responders” had to be given to the police. Who wouldtake what they wanted and then choose who to give the rest too. I remember atruck full of Carhart work cloths that was donated. The Police took them all.They gave them to their own first and then the Firemen. When my partner (at thetime) asked for a pair of Cover All's, he was told to “get lost...you're not ahero”, even though he (like me) had been crawling through that hell for muchlonger than many of the “hero's”. I won't mention them all (for now) but therewere many more similar incidents. What I will say, something that really hit home when Iwalked through the park the other day, is this. A short time after 9-11 thePolice had taken control of Zucotti park, and despite all the money andallotments that were lavished on them, it was turned into a cesspool of wasteand abuse. Nothing like the organized resourcefulness that I see today.

It's all indicative of a certain mind set.The have's and the have nots. The entitled and everyone else. Those, now,surrounding Zuccotti park and those inside of it. It's all very much the sameand ironic.

It's kind of ironic because this“Occupation” is about the have-nots asking for more from the have's. The have-nots are surrounded by Cops, sent there to protect the haves. The Cops want usto believe that they are hero's and just working class people. Just like therest of us. The reality is that they are much more like those they protect.They “have” job security. They “have” very exorbitant pensions (that are hugecontributing factors in our finacial condition). They “have” health care andlots of the things that those in the park don't have. And the best part of itall – The police, like the HAVE'S, have it all at the expense of the have nots.In an odd way and in this “upside down” world, it all makes total sense.

There is so much more to happen and betold, but for now I want to end this with what was told to me by two policeofficers, 10 years apart.

A few weeks after 9-11, I asked apolice officer (who was standing around) what she was doing there, her responsewas exactly the same as the response that I got from an officer that I spoke tothe other day. They both said: “I'm just doing what I'm told and padding mypension”.

How true and indicative of the differencebetween those in the park and those outside of it.

We'd all be better off if only the onesoutside the park would realize that they are as disposable as the ones inside,to the ones who pull the strings.

Media Centre Zucotti Park

Downloaded from Flickr. Photo by EmilyRides

Sunshine and Shade in the Weald of Kent.

2011-05-02T09:01:00.000+01:00

A lovely walk today with the Dog Jed, in the rolling Weald of Kent, with its twelve feet of topsoil.

Across the fields

And into the woods ....

Jed is far, far ahead

But there is plenty to catch the eye

The red, white and blue, original form.

And so, back to the garden gate ...

What could be better? Not much.

The Bluebells this year are lovelier, by far, than I have ever seen them.

2011-04-24T21:04:00.001+01:00

When Spring comes around again, one of its greatest pleasures in southern England is to go and see the bluebells that carpet the woodlands with a hazy blue.

They are prolific in hazel woods, which in turn are prolific around here, and usually have been coppiced for centuries, providing a perfect bluebell environment.

Coppicing is an ancient method of woodland management that involves cutting the trees back almost to the ground every few years, so that they re-grow with thin straight branches. This gives a nearly everlasting supply of wood for building, fencing and tool-making.

Another advantage of coppicing is that it ensures the light canopy and dappled sunlight that bluebells prefer, so they become really well established: sometimes the colonies have been growing for hundreds of years, and cover many acres.

And I have never seen them lovelier than they were today on the Downs of West Sussex.

Take a look:

See what I mean?

And here are the Downs, that I love so much, probably because I was born among them.

A Down is a rounded, chalky, and largely treeless hill in southern England, with the same Old English root as "dune", as in sand dune.

I wrote about my favourite Down, and my Dad, here: A Magic Summer Evening Long Ago.

More on Bluebells, which, as you might expect, are under threat from invasive species.

Remix: The Dialectic of Altered Books.

2011-03-30T21:33:00.020+01:00

Brian Dettmar's intricate and skillful sculptures explore the meaning of knowledge and our relationship with it. He insists on the obligation to challenge orthodoxy, and the right of the individual to do so. This makes me very happy.

Dettmer: Perpetuity to Rymer

(Thomas Rymer (1643-1713) English Historiographer Royal)

Dettmer's work is completely different to that of German sculptor Johannes Pfeiffer, which I wrote about recently (Weighing Words: Sculpture With Books). Pfeiffer also articulates books as repositories of knowledge, and in his case the purpose is to critique censorship and rigidities of thinking.

I liked the small exhibition that I saw in Turin. It conveyed, in a horribly static way, the deadness of thought control. There is something deeply creepy about books entombed in concrete.

The Bible by Johannes Pfeiffer

Dettmer, by contrast, focuses on the other side of the intellectual coin: the dynamic potential of ideas; the opening up of thought; the importance of re-interpretation and re-integration; the development of knowledge through interaction with the material world; the evolution of meaning.

Take a look at this famous, lovely, brain-like creature: or is it a magical helmet of knowledge? or a nifty mohican of dreams? Anyway, it is made of a full set of encyclopedias (encycoplediae?).

The New World of Books
All downloaded from Brian Dettmer's photostream on Flikr, under creative commons licence

How incredible is that? Entrancing even?

Dettmer works by sealing the book or books with some kind of resin, and carefully cutting away one layer at a time, revealing images and text that are already there, putting them in new relationship to each other. He never inserts, or moves the book's contents. What emerges is a new, or alternative, set of meanings, of knowledge.

Here is his Flickr slideshow, which is just astonishing.

And below is a video of Brian himself, setting out his ideas, and how he sees his work in relation to modern media. He seems quite young to have achieved so much - each of his dozens (scores? hundreds?) of works must take ages to complete.

Perhaps he now has a studio of assistants, like the Dutch and Florentine humanists.

But he is a modern-day humanist. As he says himself, his work is remix.

I will deffo be going to his New York exhibition 19 May-11 June 2011 at Kinz and Tillou, 525 W. 26th St. It's in my calendar. When will he next exhibit in London, I wonder?

Wedding Flowers

2011-03-27T14:52:00.000+01:00

There was a wedding at St. Andrew's, Farnham on Saturday, and these were left behind, for the rest of us to enjoy.

You might also like A Churchyard in Surrey.

Weighing Words: sculpture with books

2011-03-25T16:03:00.006Z

Spotted on the tables and windows of Unicredit's Leadership Learning Centre in Turin this week, some interesting work by German sculpture Johannes Pfeiffer.

Not sure I really understand, but interesting nevertheless; I liked it.

Most of the books seemed to be about philosophy, the arts and religion, so perhaps that is where the meaning lies.......

These works were recently shown at Pfeiffer's exhibition "Pesare les Parole", at the Turin City Multimedia Library (Biblioteca Archimede Settimo Torinese).

Bruce Springteen - No Surrender

2011-03-20T10:37:00.000Z

Never beaten. Still relevant.

We busted out of class had to get away from those fools
We learned more from a three minute record than we ever learned in school
Tonight I hear the neighborhood drummer sound
I can feel my heart begin to pound
You say you're tired and you just want to close your eyes and follow your dreams down

We made a promise we swore we'd always remember
No retreat no surrender
Like soldiers in the winter's night with a vow to defend
No retreat no surrender

Now young faces grow sad and old and hearts of fire grow cold
We swore blood brothers against the wind
I'm ready to grow young again
And hear your sister's voice calling us home across the open yards
Well maybe we could cut someplace of our own
With these drums and these guitars

Blood brothers in the stormy night with a vow to defend
No retreat no surrender

Now on the street tonight the lights grow dim
The walls of my room are closing in
There's a war outside still raging
you say it ain't ours anymore to win
I want to sleep beneath peaceful skies in my lover's bed
with a wide open country in my eyes
and these romantic dreams in my head

With thanks to John J. Kelly of This Hard Land 2010 for reminding me.

Libya, the Security Council and our Responsibility.

2011-02-22T23:13:00.099Z

Following today's mild remarks from the UN Security Council on Libya, after more than a week of slaughter there, I am reminded of this photo, which I took by chance a couple of weeks ago.

It shows the UN Secretariat Building, hidden to the left of the picture, reflected pinkishly at sunset in the Trump Tower, the dark building on the right.

Now, I don't believe there is any direct connection between Trump himself and either Libya or the UN, and as far as I know he does not deal in arms. But the webs of relationship between government, cruel exploitation and fabulous wealth have been so sharply clarified by the current uprisings, that it seems at least moderately symbolic, especially perhaps as that thin white building in the centre is the newly renovated US mission to the UN (and when I say renovated I mean, of course, "renovated").

The photo suggests perhaps the smoke and mirrors that obscure these shadowy relationships of neo-imperialism.

The reality, we have to remind ourselves, is far harsher than this somewhat dreamy crepuscular snap implies.

A particularly disgusting element of the current moment is the complicity of western governments in the poverty, terror and desperation of North Africa, the Middle East and the Gulf. The hypocrisy of the mumblings coming out of Washington, and the more robust denunciations emerging from Downing Street (even while blatantly dealing in arms and other acoutrements of repression) is hardly out of character, but gobsmacking nevertheless.

Our government, and the business people they represent, are equally culpable with those they now denounce, who up till now have been doing the wet work for them.

Why on earth would they break the pattern and act against their own interest on the Security Council? And their best interest is that Gaddafi should stay for the time being, provided he does not become a total embarrassment. That is why they have been stalling, in the hope that perchance he might weather this storm. And Plan B, if the Libyan people force them to ditch him, will be to shepherd as far as possible the installation of a new puppet: more liberal, more democratic, more credible, but a puppet nevertheless, if they can.......

The point is not that they should now "do something" about Libya - its way too late for that. We didn't stop them when they were setting it all up (which is our culpability), and now we have all been overtaken by the people of Libya and the whole region.

Our job, our historical responsibility, is to limit the options of our respective governments to perpetuate this kind of oppression, in the present and for the future, and we have a huge opportunity right now.

The contradictions, the corruptions, the lies are so clear. The best thing we in UK can do in support of the people in the Arab world in overthrowing their governments, and to advance the struggle for greater equality world wide and within our own countries, is to clarify the puppetry and linkages among all the actions that oppress and weaken us collectively - attacks on unions in the US, austerity in Europe and dictators supported by the west, to name but three, organize in our groups, and get out in the streets in vast collaborative numbers to stop them.

And, as they appear to have forgotten, a copy of Picasso's Guernica hangs, or used to hang, outside the Security Council Chamber.

The ambassadors and delegates used to walk past it each time they entered and left the chamber. Often it has been the backdrop to press conferences, and indeed the United States insisted that it be covered while they were bombing Iraq. I believe it was then moved a bit down the corridor, out of camera range.

I don't know what has happened to this remarkable, and always timely, image now that the Secretariat itself is under renovation (and no doubt a little "renovation"), and its various chambers are in temporary accommodation next door.

I wonder if the Ambassadors had it in mind as they juggled popular pressure and international law with their own national self-interest and the urgent pressure from regional tyrants to hold the line, as they prepared their expression of grave concern and deep regret about the excesses, but not the rule, of Gaddafi.

______________________

Just for the record, the current members of the Security Council are, in addition to the five permanent members (China, France, Russia, United Kingdom, United States), Bosnia Herzegovina, Brazil, Colombia, Gabon, Germany, India, Lebanon, Nigeria, Portugal, South Africa.

MagNews has a great post that gives all their human rights records. Prepare to be re-gobsmacked. @magsnews

And check out @itsmotherswork's post on the links between all of our struggles: Solidarity, multiculturalism and public service values.

And A regime in mortal freefall over at Lenin's Tomb, has more on the crocodile tears of western governments. And Simon Jenkins: Britain Can Push Democracy or Weapons - not both.

And photoshopped or not, I like this pic. It is by Muhammad Saladin Nusair, and has been placed in Mother Jones and Lenin's Tomb, among many, many others, I am sure.

Better than Red Roses

2011-02-14T17:05:00.008Z

This is the first winter in which I have lived in this very nice house with its lovely, very green garden, upon which I have written before.

Today, mild and pleasant, I walked with kitchen scraps to the compost heap, and saw all around, sprung up over the past few rainy days, hundreds, literally hundreds, of bulbs. They have been planted around the pear trees, under the hedges and all along the base of the lovely old brick walls that surround the whole.

They don't look very spectacular at present, being just green spikes in the bare earth, but they will.

And these snowdrops already look pretty spectacular, in their way, under the beech hedge. And there is the promise of celandines, hyacinth, daffodils and, best of all, bluebells.

Way better than red roses on Valentine's Day, way better. (Which is just as well ...... )

The Interior Space of Trees

2011-01-31T22:52:00.018Z

The trees of Newport Beach, California - their graceful shapes, and the lovely negative spaces contained within their bare branches and high-domed canopies - are spectacular, no doubt about it.

Newport Beach is an upscale but (it has to be said) physically charmless town in a gorgeous position adjoining beach, harbour and bay in southern California. Apart from many lovely maritime views, it has little of beauty to offer, being mostly encased in concrete. But along its highways and side-streets, scattered across its vast acres of mall and parking lot, are many large and stunning trees.

I know that they are not native species, which are to be preferred ecologically of course, but they are beautiful, so I hope that they are not too rapacious, and make their due contribution to diversity by sustaining colonies of birds and insects, as they should.

Here is a sampling, from a walk around town this sunny Monday morning, the last in January.

The trunks are also interesting

And quite often the roots are too:

But when it comes to the interior space of trees, this is my favourite:

And for those of you uncertain of your geography, Newport Beach is right here, in Orange County (right hand map), which is in southern California (as shown on the left),

Below that is an ariel view of the town (in the distance). In the foreground is part of Corona Del Mar, famed as the former residence of the great John Wayne. The pic shows clearly how built-up the whole area is (with the exception of a few bluffs), and the the trees with which its residential areas are so luxuriantly planted.

Image via Wikipedia

Image via Wikipedi

You may enjoy another short photo essay: The Trees of Orange County, and perhaps even Five Things I Like about Newport Beach (and three things not so much)

How to Interpret Hilary Clinton

2011-01-30T20:58:00.000Z

Lovely! Couldn't say it better!

My Two Cats: Babes and Sophie.

2011-01-15T22:02:00.023Z

It is almost two years since my vagabond status forced me to find a new home for my two cats.

Which I did, and a very nice home it is too. I speak to their new owner from time to time, just to catch up. In fact we have become friends, which is nice.

*sighs*

Babes and Sophie.

Still haven't got over it !

*sighs*

Babes is the daughter, the darker of the two. Her father was a big old ferral Tom who we never knew was living underneath our porch, until one day .......

She was born in my sweater drawer, and has hardly ever been separated from her mother since. We could never even think of a real name for her, except as the child of her mother.

Sophie, on the other hand, was an orphan, born in a Newark, NJ. dumpster and abandoned almost immediately.

Here she is on the day we brought her home.

She grew up to be a teenage Mum, but we supported her through that.

Hard knocks, but she got through it.

You know, I promised myself a while back that I would not become one of those people who are always talking about her cats.

*sighs*

Six of the Best, and a few more for fun

2011-01-05T03:19:00.012Z

Not all of my favourite posts feature in the Most Visited section on the right (although several do - you could check that out too)

So here are six more that I really like, and a few more for fun.

Political (in the broadest sense)

Alexander McQueen: Why I, A Feminist, Will Miss Him
Did his critique of the the fashion industry have a feminist tinge? It certainly looks like it, but hard to be certain.....

A Poem for 9/11 by Emmanuel Ortiz
Read with care. The rage is incandescent (and righteous).

Bringing Berlusconi Low
Wrong pecker, Sr Tartaglia, but thanks anyway!

Personal

A Magic Summer Evening Long Ago and A Moment of Truth (which go together)
Father and Daughter. Sometimes thirty seconds can last a lifetime

Five Things I Like about Newport Beach (and three things not so much)
Life in the OC is really something else

Newport Beach from the Air Image via Wikipedia

It's True! I met Rihanna....
It really is true, and the laugh's on me.

Fun

The Trees of Orange County
Short photo essay

Jim Jarmusch: Nothing is Original, Steal from Anywhere.
Lovely quote by a lovely guy.

My Garden is Extremely Green (literally)
Another photo essay.

And the Funnest of all

The Needy Blogger.
And which among us doesn't need links?

End-year Round Up

2010-12-24T08:42:00.022Z

This year I got much clearer on the corruption and incompetence of our various leaderships.

All the information coming to me via Twitter, some great Tweeps out there, and several super blogs have helped me get a lot clearer this year, and here they are, fyi.

But first of all, a couple of websites have also been really useful, data-wise:

"The Spirit Level" is an excellent explanation of why social democracy, at a minimum, and re-distributive fiscal policies are pre-conditions for a semi-decent, non-barbarous society. The related website of The Equality Trust has all the data, and the principal critiques of the analysis.
False Economy also has lots of data on how and why the decision to cut rather than increase public spending will protect the wealth of a lot of already rich people, and provide massive new sources of income to others through privatisation, but not solve the underlying tensions. It also has a great little video.

And very importantly for me personally, a friend shared a terrific paper on social democracy, by the late, much admired Tony Judt: What is Living and What is Dead about Social Democracy. This really clarified for me what we are fighting for right now, and the limitations of that fight.

Image via Wikipedia

Of course, this could/should be about way more than social democracy, but we've got to defend that first off.

But back to blogs ....

The brilliant and very funny Madam Miaow has done a good brief round-up of some of the greats of the leftist blogosphere, including HarpyMarx, Gauche, Laurie Penny at the New Statesman, not to mention herself of course. And she includes fellow Orwell Prize short-listee Jack of Kent, who's so lovely and interesting we wish he was a lefty. Madam M also mentions Dolphinarium, but she is just way too into the catholic hierarchy for me.

In addition, I keep going back to these ones :-

One of yer actual (former) bankers gives an inside view on what's going on via Leftbanker

Also, there are some very useful progressive tax blogs, which have all the counter-arguments. I will get the links to these. And who'da thunk that tax issues could actually be interesting?

Not Just the Minutiae has loads of interesting articles, videos and other bits of leftist this and that, always illuminating

And for sheer solid up to the minute analysis, New Left Project, Lenin's Tomb, Michael Meacher and Counterfire are all great.

Too Much To Say For Myself has a solid feminist perspective, often tackling issues others are not.

And currently for stuff on Wikileaks, but a whole lot of other things too, you can't do better than Glenn Greenwald over there at Salon.com

Oh, and don't forget to check out the truly great Amy Goodman at Democracy Now VERY regularly (wish we had something like this in UK)

And, finally, I really liked Socialist Unity's Blogging at the Crossroads. It gives a solid overview of the status of left blogging and social media organizing just now. Very interesting, with lots of links in case, like me, you missed stuff.

I could go on and on of course .......

What Jody Did Right: or talking points we could all use

2010-12-17T00:19:00.067Z

The spin-doctor and the activist: analysis shows just what Ben Brown did, and just what Jody did to get all his points across successfully, even so.

On Monday 13 December blogger and activist Jody McIntyre was interviewed by Ben Brown, anchorman of the BBC's 24-Hour News.

The topic was the assault on Jody by a policeman, in which he was pulled out of his wheechair and dragged across the street while peacefully demonstrating against increases in student fees on 9th December, a short video of which incident was shown at the outset.

Across the country hundreds of thousands of us watched the interview goggle-eyed, jaws dropping to the floor as we observed the clearest possible articulation of government spin: demonise the demonstrators and avoid discussion of provokative police action (spelling intended).

It was a dismal example of the interviewer's art, and a master class on how to handle negative and manipulative questioning.

Review of the video, and the transcript, reveals that Jody stayed right on message throughout the interview, despite the slurs that characterised it. And so did Ben, but then that's his job.

Jody's four messages could be summarised as follows - they are very good:

This is not an isolated incident
The real issue is government policy (specific details according to the topic of the demo)
The police strategy is to provoke violence by demonstrators (with examples)
The media (in this case the BBC) is supporting this strategy (with examples)

Here is the video in case you havn't seen it already.

Here's what Ben Brown did:

The nominal topic of the interview was the evident police assault on Jody (apparently perpetrated by Officer KF936 of Newington Green manor): the hook in the story was Jody's allegation that this may have been done deliberately in order to provoke violent response among the protestors, particularly so in view of his disablement.

This was political dynamite on Jody's part, I think you'll agree, which required exploration.

This was the story, and this is what Ben Brown (a professional journalist, after all) should have tested. Instead, nighmarishly, in Kafka-esque style, Brown calmly and repeatedly insinuated that in some way Jody himself had violent intent, and this legitimated the assault.

Perhaps it was his wheelchair, Brown implied, possibly "rolling towards the police", perhaps simply Jody's being there, his revolutionary beliefs, his writings in his blog. By various flimsy hints Brown suggested that Jody merited the assault, that the officer had behaved appropriately. No wonder several of the comments described the interview as "shameful".

It was a very weak line of questioning to adopt as Brown manifestly had nothing to go on, so why, one wonders, would a self-respecting journalist do it? Why did he relentlessly pursue this failing line of questioning as if his job depended on it?

He too was right on message. And as a spin doctor, it has to be said, Ben Brown is very good indeed, very neutral-seeming. And with a lesser man than Jody it might have worked.

Of the thirteen questions put to Jody:

Three (23%) could have been a basis for exploring the context, as is the journalistic obligation. However, Brown interrupted Jody’s response to two of these questions (see below), and failed to pursue the contextual issues further.
One question (repeated four times) addressed whether or not Jody had submitted a formal complaint (this was driven by the police press release to that effect), as if Jody's concerns about brutality were thereby rendered frivolous.
Six sought to smear Jody by associating him in various ways with violence.

Thus more than three quarters of Brown's questions explicitly articulated, and appeared to be consciously grounded in, what is evidently the government spin on the demos.

Brown interrupted Jody four times, and these too are instructive. Each interruption occurred when Jody was introducing his very coherent analysis of police tactics at the demonstration. These interruptions came quite systematically, after Jody had successfully got two complete political statements past Brown.

The interrupted points were nevertheless clear, and perhaps constitute Jody's thesis. These are what I distilled into the "talking points" above. They were:

his experience is not an isolated incident but part of a pattern of unprovoked police violence at demonstrations, which is grossly under-reported;
the real issue is not the violence but the political issues underlying all these demonstrations, namely the government policy towards the cuts;
the police picked on him precisely because he is disabled, and this would be more likely to inflame the protesters (as it did); and
there are parallels between the BBC’s marginalization of discussion of the issues underlying the demontrations with its marginalization of progressive discussion in other fora, such as Palestine in discussion of Middle East Politics.

The last point was clearly confirmed by the John Pilger documentary The War You Don't See, which by fortunate coincidence was aired the following night, making similar points on official concealment of policy (in Pilger's case, warmongering), supported by government spin (which one would expect) and biased reporting (which is unprofessional, at a minimum).

You can see this important film here until about 14 January 2011. In his most recent blog post (The Media's War) Jody McIntyre contrasts Pilger's principled career as a war correspondent with Ben Brown's war reporting experience as an uncritical hack embedded with the British Army in Iraq. The latter may also be examined in Ben Brown's Book: Sandstealers: War is One Hell of a Story

But there is more than just the wrongness of the interviewing to consider, there is the necessity of responding politically, as Jody demonstrated.

Here's what Jody did:

He was prepared
He knew exactly what he wanted to say (the talking points)
He said them, regardless of what he was asked
He knew what the main talking point was (it was a deliberate attack, part of police strategy)
He knew that Ben Brown was likely to blame him for the assault he had experienced, and was ready with responses to this line.
He responded to Brown's assertion of violent intent on his part, but did not allow this to deviate him from his message that it was the police who were violent in his case, and more generally.
He slapped down the interviewer early on ("I am surprised that you have just tried to ...), asserting himself, forcing Brown to become more extreme and ridiculous.
He stayed calm (no matter what)

Then of course there were the indefinables - his "presence" on the screen, his charisma, his evident courage and integrity. All critical to the message.

But there are also two elephants in this room, which we really need to think about more explicitly than we are at the moment.

What really is the BBC's role?

This situation is clarifying the BBC's multi-layered role in the dissemination of the government perspective. Jody's interview is only a particularly egregious example of a widely observable, and hardening, bias towards the presentation of information that tends to support the ConDem plans for the cuts (that is, to inflate public anxiety about the deficit and divert it into acceptance of a long-desired but not financially necessary re-structuring and partial dismantling of the Welfare State, leading inescapably to greater inequality). The demonstrations that we have seen so far, and which will continue, are consistently in defense of the Welfare State and to maximise equality in all social indicators

This bias is expressed in two ways, it seems to me. First in failure to explore equivalently the several alternative approaches to the deficit and the position of those who support these alternatives. Secondly, this bias is expressed in demonising those who legitimately criticise and peacefully demonstrate. This interview is a perfect example of both of these, most obviously in the attempt to demonise Jody, and flip responsibility for the incident to him, and away from the police officer. For many, this long term and currently intensifying role of the BBC as state propagandist has been masked or tolerated because of the quality of the programming. However, such self-deception is becoming less and less tenable.

Part of the mix must be Murdoch and SkyCorp, and there seems to be some kind of Faustian pact to sustain the BBC's broadcasting pre-eminence only at the cost of a closer adherence to Murdochian priorities. I keep thinking of the BBC Director-General walking into No. 10 on the very first day of the LibDem government, only the second appointment in the Prime Minister's diary, even as the first, Rupert Murdoch, slipped un-noticed out of the back door. And Coulson's presence in the Prime Minister's office must mean that the pact, if such there be, can be closely enforced.

(Update: on 18th December we had the astonishing situation of Director General Thompson advocating a greater role for Fox News in UK broadcasting (owned of course by Murdoch), because the BBC and other should not have "a monopoly"of the airwaves. This on the very day that the New York Times was reporting that, in the US at least, news tends to disseminate disinformation, the more news people watch the more disinformed they are, and that viewers of Fox News are the most disinformed of all.)

There is question as to whether such a pact, if it exists, makes a substantive difference to the BBC content. I would say that it is more a matter of degree that actual difference. The objective relationship with the state is there, and no doubt there are struggles over it within the BBC (and if so we can hope for leaks in due course). But there does seem to have been a rightward movement in BBC news and comment in particular, whether derived from normal government pressure or an intensified form of it will require research. At the very least one would think that ConDem pressure is greatly enhanced and focused by spinmeister Coulson in the Prime Minister's office, and reduces the elbow-room of those within the BBC who might otherwise choose to include a wider range of material.

Are the BBC journalists briefed on the governments spin strategy? Are they provided with the messages, as CNN journalists were by the Israeli government during the 2006 invasion of the West Bank? (Democracy Now has a recording of this somewhere). This is normal practice on a range of issues, and there is no reason to believe that it is not taking place with regard to the anti-cuts campaigns. I hope that a future leak or leaks will prove it.

I hope also that media monitors are tracking the BBC's apparently intensifying role in advancing the government's line on the cuts, perhaps in the semi-quantitative manner that I have attempted here, and look forward very much to hearing what they have to say.

What really is the police role?
Are undercover police at work among the demonstrators, as one would expect and was admitted by the Met in November 2009 after the G20 demonstrations (Guardian). More seriously, are any of the violent individuals seen so prominently on television in fact infiltrated thugs? Agents provocateurs? There is no evidence of this so far, and I have seen no discussion of it, but it is a question that must at least be asked, and I am staying tuned.

Furthermore, we need to know who it was who assaulted Jody (and more than one officer seems to have been involved), what group or groups within the police force, covert or otherwise, they belong to, and what training they have received.
But all in all, it has to be said, this radical, principled, tough and savvy young man, Jody McIntyre, 20 years old, has shown us all how to handle media bias.
He knocked the conventional and compromised Ben Brown, and all he represents, into the long grass.
In a word, I would say, he nailed Ben Brown, and exposed the BBC.
Now we have to follow up, and nail the whole cuts agenda.

In case you were not following this at the time, here is what happened after the interview.
Within a couple of hours of the broadcast, an unofficial video of the interview it was posted on the web (YouTube), forcing the BBC to follow suite on its own website shortly afterwards. Four days later the YouTube versions had been viewed over half a million times, and apparently on 16 December it was the most watched video on YouTube, worldwide.

Immediately after the interview Twitter went wild, and within an hour or so Jody was trending in the UK, and complaints about Ben Brown’s approach poured into the BBC website. In fact, Jody trended to No.1 that night, right after the promoted rubbish.

Next day a distinctly lame defense of the interview by the BBC News Controller, Kevin Bakhurst, was placed on the BBC blog, and rapidly accumulated over 2000 comments, with major delays in posting. One commentator "an insider" apparently, indicated that over 5000 had been received.

I eyeballed the complete set of comments when they had reached about 1,500: they were overwhelmingly critical of Ben Brown and of Keven Bakhurst's poor handling of the response. There were very few, perhaps ten, comments in support, arguing mainly that Ben Brown was legitimately acting as "Devil's Advocate" (for example by ex Lib-Dem MP Dr. Evan Harris).

It is not devil's advocacy when you are a witness to the demonstration (as was Ben Brown), when you must have seen (as a thinking person) what a politically complex event it was, and that the overwhelming, huge majority of demonstrators were angry, yes, but not violent, and yet you choose to pursue one simple line of questioning which happens to reflect the government's spinning of the topic as a matter of demonstrator violence, even though this theme has clearly nothing to do with the interviewee in front of you. That is not devil's advocacy: that is bias.

There were other angles that could have been taken, which could have led to a stellar interview exploring the issues, but they were never on the agenda, it seems.

For the record, a selection from the scores of related articles
First of all, a post-Brown interview with Jody McIntyre that does explore the issues. Electronic Intefada
The BBC and Jody McIntyre (James Martin Charlton - within 1 hour of the broadcast)
BBC News controller defends interview with wheelchair-bound protester (blogs.journalism.co.uk)
Interview with Jody McIntyre (bbc.co.uk)
You: Interview: The wheelchair protester (guardian.co.uk)
How the Disabled are Dehumanised (Penny Laurie at the New Statesman)
When we can't believe our own eyes: Balance, objectivity, or transparency? (onlinejournalismblog.com)
How the police and then the BBC tried to humiliate Jody McIntyre (liberalconspiracy.org)
Disabled protester Jody McIntyre should be applauded, not criticised (leftfootforward.org)
If you thought the students were trouble, wait for the disability movement (blogs.telegraph.co.uk)
"Were you rolling towards the police?" (cedarlounge.wordpress.com)
Mark Steel: A clear case of attack by wheelchair (independent.co.uk)
Shameless (Lenin's Tomb)

Some Beautiful Thoughts on Getting Old.

2010-11-27T17:00:00.002Z

BUGGER

I've forgotten what they were......

Some thoughts on thought Itself, in poem and painting

2010-11-23T09:30:00.030Z

The older I get the more I find myself lost in thought, and very pleasant it is too. So it was a joy to find my feelings about it so well described in two different media, separated by 2000 years: a poem by D.H Lawrence, and a fresco by an unknown artist in Pompeii.

I love this poem; both thought-provoking, and straight out provoking.

Thought: by D.H. Lawrence
Thought, I love thought.

But not the jiggling and twisting of already existent ideas

I despise that self-important game.

Thought is the welling up of unknown life into consciousness,

Thought is the testing of statements on the touchstone of the conscience,

Thought is gazing on to the face of life, and reading what can be read,

Thought is pondering over experience, and coming to a conclusion.

Thought is not a trick, or an exercise, or a set of dodges,

Thought is a man in his wholeness, wholly attending.

See what I mean? Hopelessly flawed! Banal and arrogant in the opening, betraying the very self-importance that he disavows, followed by soaring and beautiful descriptions of inner experience in the middle, and an ending which I (not a man) find highly affronting, and at the same time totally descriptive of exactly what happens to a person lost in thought. Most provoking. But I love it even so.

I also love, perhaps even more, the way in which this ancient artist has captured exactly the same moment of full engagement, of gazing into the middle distance, but without a touch of self-importance.

Sapho (?). Pompei.

In fact, I'm finding this really a haunting picture, of the moments, perhaps long moments, before writing.

__________________

You may also enjoy The Gift. It, too, includes a quote about the inner person, and if I remember rightly was also dogged by inappropriate use of the masculine pronoun. Although there I did not resist the temptation to excise it.

The Dog Jed

2010-10-29T10:54:00.015+01:00

Dog-lovers among you will know that the Lurcher is a breed of exceptional charm and sweetness. Not only very fast, but very calm and easy-going.

And of his peers, Jed must be as far out on the well-adjusted end of the personality spectrum as it is possible to get.

Although more of a cat-person myself, Jed is one of my all-time favourite characters, and I am totally happy to be his companion for a few weeks while his owners are elsewhere.

Here he is, brindled, smooth-haired and calm, and, it has to be said, distinctly micro-cephalic, resting quietly behind the sofa.

The reason for his lovely nature is said to be that the life he leads corresponds almost exactly with that for which he was bred, and the Lurcher is a runner.

Caught here in a rare moment of stillness as he waits to go through the kissing-gate, you can see that Jed is not so much small-headed as big-bodied, with strong, muscular legs and shoulders, and above all a huge chest to accommodate the pump and bellows needed to keep his muscles supplied with everything they need, often at very short notice.

Derived from the Greyhound, dog of the aristocracy and forbidden to the poor (thus did the rich seek to appropriate to themselves the free goods of the forest), the Lurcher was bread essentially for poaching, mainly by Travellers. Lur means "thief" in Romany, and I like to think that they used the term ironically.

Be that as it may, Jed loves nothing more than chasing hare and rabbit, squirrel and deer over open ground. He is delighted by all the scents of woodland, but is in his element where he can run completely free.

He walks and runs daily over the rolling open fields of the Weald of Kent, which is scattered with copse and woodland full of the creatures he is hard-wired to pursue. These not infrequently venture into the open, and he, being a sight-hound, can see them from a very great distance. I'm glad to say, despite his speed, they usually make it back to cover well before he reaches them.

Nevertheless, he has so much fun causing mayhem in the rodentine and ruminant communities around that he never seems disappointed. Perhaps he is just suffused with endorphins. Perhaps he knows instinctively, as part of his inner balance, that its the journey, not the destination, that counts in life.

I have tried to take photos of him doing what he loves best, but either I or my camera just aren't up to it: this is what I got.

Oh well ......

Pity about the jump especially. Like most hunting dogs, he can clear a five-bar gate like a cricket.

In many ways Jed lives in a doggie time-warp, rarely seeing roads and traffic, rarely in places he does not know, and almost always close to his owner, whether striding field and hedgerow or sitting not far apart while one works, the other dreams.

When not outdoors he is generally in his much-loved basket, where with blanket and a chewy toy or two he seems to achieve a zen-like state of contentment:-

.... through quiet contemplation,

... a little side snoozing ..

...some front snoozing ...

sometimes a bit of back snoozing for a change (he really is asleep here),

and Yoga

Thus does this gentle and disarming creature spend his pleasant days.

And among the best of his several gifts to me is that of a sufficient amount of exercise.

I have been for many weeks curtailing my daily walks due to joint pain. But, forced by his need to expend energy, I have been walking at least two hours daily, sometimes more, and the pain apparently is no more, within a very few days.

This is a very welcome change.

So I will continue to re-learn from Jed the joy of walking, although I doubt you'll see me, cricket-like, clear fence or gate in a single bound.

But stay tuned. You never know. Life is full of surprises.

Hitch and Fry the Vatican

2010-10-02T00:54:00.127+01:00

Stephen Fry and Christopher Hitchens, I salute you!

The BBC World Service's Intelligence Squared Debate: The Catholic Church is a Force for Good in the World took place almost a year ago - in November 2009.

Its protagonists were:
For the motion - Archbishop John Onaiyekan of Abuja, former Conservative MP Anne Widdicom; seriously outgunned by, against the motion - commentators Christopher Hitchens and Stephen Fry

Image via Wikipedia

Hitch and Fry comprehensively, systematically and courageously express my own scepticism in general, and disgust at the Vatican, its hierarchy and its flying monkeys in particular.

Although neither new nor timely, and already available in all the usual places, I am posting their remarks because I agree totally with them on this.

The older I get the more anti-clerecist (sp?) I become

It is really good to see the mysticism and obscurantism, not to mention the moral and legal criminality, of this dangerous and extremely worldly structure (regardless of whether its spiritual teachings are true or not) so directly and comprehensively hollowed out by rationality.

Good that it was broadcast world-wide by the Beeb. I hope that it gets many repeats.

Stand By Me

2010-09-15T09:33:00.012+01:00

This is a shout-out and great big thank you to Andrew and Jilly, Fran and Peter, Stephanie and John. Thanks for standing by! Love you all.

And for the rest of us, its another opportunity to listen to this wonderful arrangement of a wonderful song.

A Stroke of Insight, and the Whole Free Person

2010-09-14T17:32:00.006+01:00

This video is really interesting and moving on right-brain/left brain interaction, consciousness, creativity and the whole free person.

The balance between our impulse to control, and our ability to appreciate the marvelous current moment.

I especially like the descriptions of what it feels like when your right brain really kicks in!

Well known, and quite important.

Ron Howard wants to make a movie of it, with Jodie Foster. I wish he wouldn't

A Poem for 9/11 by Emmanuel Ortiz

2010-09-12T09:00:00.005+01:00

In response to my last posting, of Ani DiFranco's 9/11 poem "Self Evident", I received the following from a friend in India, which is a far more comprehensive and damming indictment.

I am very grateful that she took the trouble to send it to me.

I feel chastened that I did not know about this poem, here where I sit "somewhere within the pillars of power", but am very, very glad to put it here.

A Moment of Silence Before I Start this Poem, by Emmanuel Ortiz

Originally published in Mostly Water

Before I begin this poem, I’d like to ask you to join me in a moment of silence in honor of those who died in the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on September 11th, 2001.

I would also like to ask you to offer up a moment of silence for all of those who have been harassed, imprisoned, disappeared, tortured, raped, or killed in retaliation for those strikes, for the victims in Afghanistan, Iraq, in the U.S., and throughout the world.

And if I could just add one more thing…

A full day of silence… for the tens of thousands of Palestinians who have died at the hands of U.S.-backed Israeli forces over decades of occupation.

Six months of silence… for the million and-a-half Iraqi people, mostly children, who have died of malnourishment or starvation as a result of a 12-year U.S. embargo against the country.

…And now, the drums of war beat again.

Before I begin this poem, two months of silence… for the Blacks under Apartheid in South Africa, where “homeland security” made them aliens in their own country

Nine months of silence… for the dead in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, where death rained down and peeled back every layer of concrete, steel, earth and skin, and the survivors went on as if alive.

A year of silence… for the millions of dead in Viet Nam —a people, not a war—for those who know a thing or two about the scent of burning fuel, their relatives bones buried in it, their babies born of it.

Two months of silence… for the decades of dead in Colombia, whose names, like the corpses they once represented, have piled up and slipped off our tongues.

Before I begin this poem,
Seven days of silence… for El Salvador
A day of silence… for Nicaragua
Five days of silence… for the Guatemaltecos
None of whom ever knew a moment of peace in their living years.
45 seconds of silence… for the 45 dead at Acteal, Chiapas…
1,933 miles of silence… for every desperate body
That burns in the desert sun
Drowned in swollen rivers at the pearly gates to the Empire’s underbelly,
A gaping wound sutured shut by razor wire and corrugated steel.

25 years of silence… for the millions of Africans who found their graves far deeper in the ocean than any building could poke into the sky.

For those who were strung and swung from the heights of sycamore trees
In the south… the north… the east… the west…
There will be no dna testing or dental records to identify their remains.

100 years of silence… for the hundreds of millions of indigenous people
From this half of right here,
Whose land and lives were stolen,
In postcard-perfect plots like Pine Ridge, Wounded Knee, Sand Creek, Fallen Timbers, or the Trail of Tears
Names now reduced to innocuous magnetic poetry on the refrigerator of our consciousness…

From somewhere within the pillars of power
You open your mouths to invoke a moment of our silence
And we are all left speechless,
Our tongues snatched from our mouths,
Our eyes stapled shut.

A moment of silence,
And the poets are laid to rest,
The drums disintegrate into dust.

Before I begin this poem,
You want a moment of silence…

You mourn now as if the world will never be the same
And the rest of us hope to hell it won’t be.
Not like it always has been.

…Because this is not a 9-1-1 poem
This is a 9/10 poem,
It is a 9/9 poem,
A 9/8 poem,
A 9/7 poem…
This is a 1492 poem.
This is a poem about what causes poems like this to be written.

And if this is a 9/11 poem, then
This is a September 11th 1973 poem for Chile.
This is a September 12th 1977 poem for Steven Biko in South Africa.
This is a September 13th 1971 poem for the brothers at Attica Prison, New York.
This is a September 14th 1992 poem for the people of Somalia.

This is a poem for every date that falls to the ground amidst the ashes of amnesia.

This is a poem for the 110 stories that were never told,
The 110 stories that history uprooted from its textbooks
The 110 stories that that cnn, bbc, The New York Times, and Newsweek ignored.

This is a poem for interrupting this program.

This is not a peace poem,
Not a poem for forgiveness.
This is a justice poem,
A poem for never forgetting.
This is a poem to remind us
That all that glitters
Might just be broken glass.

And still you want a moment of silence for the dead?

We could give you lifetimes of empty:
The unmarked graves,
The lost languages,
The uprooted trees and histories,
The dead stares on the faces of nameless children…

Before I start this poem we could be silent forever
Or just long enough to hunger,
For the dust to bury us
And you would still ask us
For more of our silence.

So if you want a moment of silence

Then stop the oil pumps
Turn off the engines, the televisions
Sink the cruise ships
Crash the stock markets
Unplug the marquee lights
Delete the e-mails and instant messages
Derail the trains, ground the planes.
If you want a moment of silence, put a brick through the window
of Taco Bell
And pay the workers for wages lost.

Tear down the liquor stores,
The townhouses, the White Houses, the jailhouses, the Penthouses
and the Playboys.

If you want a moment of silence,
Then take it
On Super Bowl Sunday,
The Fourth of July,
During Dayton’s 13 hour sale,
The next time your white guilt fills the room where my beautiful brown people have gathered.

You want a moment of silence
Then take it
Now,
Before this poem begins.
Here, in the echo of my voice,
In the pause between goosesteps of the second hand,
In the space between bodies in embrace,

Here is your silence.
Take it.
Take it all.
But don’t cut in line.
Let your silence begin at the beginning of crime.

And we,
Tonight,
We will keep right on singing
For our dead.

Emmanuel Ortiz is a third-generation Chicano/Puerto Rican/Irish-American community organizer and spoken word poet. He is the author of a chapbook of poems, The Word Is a Machete (self-published, 2003), and coeditor of Under What Bandera?: Anti-War Ofrendas from Minnesota y Califas (Calaca Press, 2004). He is a founding member of Palabristas: Latin@ Word Slingers, a collective of Latin@ poets in Minnesota. Emmanuel has lived in Minneapolis, Minnesota; Oakland, California; and the Arizona/Mexico border. He currently lives in Fort Wayne, Indiana, the “buckle of the Bible Belt,” with his two dogs, Nogi and Cuca. In his spare time, he enjoys guacamole, soccer, and naps.

_______________

in the dark times

Will there also be singing?

Yes, there will also be singing

about the dark times.

- Bertolt Brecht

A Poem for 9/11. by Ani DiFranco

2010-09-11T09:01:00.015+01:00

Even more angry, and even more righteous, is "A Moment of Silence Before I Read this Poem" by activist Emmanuel Ortiz. Check it out, if you havn't already.

"A Moment of Silence Before I Read this Poem"

A Journey to the Crime Section.

2010-09-06T10:20:00.017+01:00

Tony Blair: war criminal, carpetbagger and pariah.

Spend a few subversive minutes in any bookshop moving his tiresome memoire to the crime section, where it belongs.

Better yet: to the criminology or criminal psychology sections as well, if they have them.

You'll feel quite a lot better, and be joining a growing movement.

I like the collage effect of this group of linked titles in Waterstones, Piccadilly. Unfortunately a book called "Mass Murder" was not in stock.

Further mischief, this time more hastily executed

So, the smirking little rat chickened out of the 8th. September book signing at Waterstones in Piccadilly AND his "secret" drinkies with a few "friends" at the Tate Modern, because of the threat of more demonstrations.

Kudos to the demonstrators in Dublin for drawing a line in the sand.

Shame on the Tate, prostituting itself yet again (remember the BP party?)

It's good that he's been intimidated by these demonstrations, but I would love to have seen him hit by a shoe. Particularly fitting.

Facebook Page: Subversively Move Blair's Book Into the Crime Section

Facebook Page: Kate O'Sullivan is a Legend (citizen arrest in Dublin)

Citizen's Arrest: Find out how to conduct a citizen's arrest of Blair, and claim your prize

Let him know we don't want him at any price.

And this is a lovely poem. Well done Julia Brosnan.

The Needy Blogger

2010-09-02T19:18:00.007+01:00

I get a lot of tweets about blogs that give advice on how to be a blogger with loads of followers.

I know they are all really quite self-referential, but I have to admit I've read quite a few, just in case ......

And this is what I've learned, pretty much.

But the main message I'm getting from all these blogs about blogging is this:

The cartoons are by Dave Walker. Find more cartoons you can freely re-use on your blog at We Blog Cartoons.

P.S. Please link to me.

A Churchyard in Surrey

2010-08-29T20:36:00.398+01:00

Paradoxically perhaps, as a non-believer, I love churches. Especially parish churches.

It's the history I think (you don't have to look far to find centuries of evolving social relations), and the quiet atmosphere, together with the astonishing achievements of art and architecture all around, not to mention feats of engineering - often entirely by hand.

And the complex web of human and spiritual longings that they embody is always moving.

Anyway, I rarely miss an opportunity to visit one.

This little town, Farnham, had all its religious bases covered by the early-mid 12th century. The Bishop's Castle was on the hill, from which the whole valley could be controlled, and St. Andrew's was there on its knoll by the river, close to (and no doubt protecting) the muddy track between the two power centres of London and Winchester. The hamlet of a few hundred people was safely tucked between church and castle.

View of St. Andrew's Church from the Bishop's Castle

View of Bishops Castle from the St. Andrews Church Tower.

The church overlooked the ford in the river and another track, this time across the water-meadows to Waverley Abbey, just down stream, where a small band of Cistercian monks were living their work-filled lives.

The Ruins of Waverley Abbey Near Farnham by Sally Sherfield

Downloaded from Flickr under Creative Commons License

That knoll above the ford, safe from the regular flooding of the water meadows, was noted long before as a strategic point. There had been a wooden church on the site in Saxon times, and the earliest use of the town's name, deriving from the swampy, reedy character of the landscape (fen and fearn have the same root), was in a deed from Caedwalla, King of the West Saxons, "to Cedd, Cissa and the Christians" for a "monisterium" to be established on the site, way back in 688.

So it's pretty old.

Whatever its origins, there have been many re-constructions and additions over the years, and the church has become an imposing building, the largest parish church in Surrey. It is not particularly distinguished as churches go, pleasant more than beautiful, and "violently restored" (Pevsner) by the Victorians. Nevertheless, it is built of the local chalk-stone, which is a gorgeous soft creamy colour, and a recent renovation has been highly successful, giving it a particularly lovely internal space.

And like all parish churches, it has many charming details

For example, it is approached from the north along Church Passage, which features the lovely ironstone cobbling typical of the area, with cart tracks.

And several other delights, such as this brass plaque among the cobbles. Not bad for a drain cover.

Reflected sunlight on the aged wall

Memories of an ancient pub

And a traditional half-round wall heading

The graveyard is expansive

And somewhat parklike

With plenty of graves (of course), great and small

Some are quite grand, for a country town

Not all are well-cared for, or perhaps they were the targets of grave-robbers in days gone by.....

Some are in damp corners, shiny when wet, and mossy

Most are subsiding, worn and covered in lichen so you can't read the inscriptions.

And some have simply gone to the wall

But one of the town's greatest sons, William Cobbet, that vigorous iconoclast, rural reformer and corn law repealer is there. He died in 1835.

And it looks as though they popped in a couple of other family members as well. I like that. Cottage Economy.

I particularly like the well-used paths, with their combination of old flag stones and ironstone cobble. There are several of these - the churchyard is, naturally enough, at the junction of some of the many footways that criss-cross the town. Quite a few people use it as a short-cut: I do myself, almost every day. In this simple way the church is a real part of the everyday secular life of the town.

This is the Old Rectory

It looks like a gingerbread house. It has been here since before the Reformation.

You enter the church through this exceptionally attractive porch. The stone wall has been replaced with glass to let more light in.

Inside, the Church is cool and quiet, with the usual churchy stillness that I love so much

In accordance with modern practice, the fixed old wooden pews have been removed, allowing for more flexible seating arrangements. Although more modern, it is likely that this is closer to the use of space in the earliest years of the church, when people stood to worship, and also used to space to store equipment for market day, to shelter their cattle, and in emergencies even lived there.

Simple and attractive georgian-style pavillions have been built at the back of the nave for various community uses. It has full wheelchair access, and altogether is a very pleasant space.

There is the usual collection of elaborate and complacent memorials to several centuries of local dignitaries: baronets, merchants, colonial administrators and generals who died in foreign wars. Many of these plaques remain in their usual spots around the walls of the church, but some have been attractively gathered together in the tower. Unfortunately most are too high to read, thwarting one of the greatest pleasures of church-visiting.

But some of these plaques are simple and dignified, like this one to William Cobbett

And this one, to George Sturt, disciple of William Morris (and perhaps like him an atheist and socialist) and a member of the Arts and Crafts Movement. The plaque was carved by the iconic and controversial Eric Gill.

And this one

All in all, I like this church and its environs very much. Its simple, its peaceful and its unpretentious. And I like how the steeple can be glimpsed from all over the town, up many streets and courts and alleyways.

From across the water-meadows

And even from across what used to be the Hyde Field, and is now the Waitrose car park.

And this, on a notice-board, shows that the Parish Council is not immune from worldly limitations, and is blessed with the gift of irony.

Dave Walker. www.cartoonchurch.com

Nice!

A terrific study of the role of a church and its priest in the life of a pre-reformation village is: The Voices of Morebath: Reformation and rebellion in an English Village by Eamonn Duffy. Totally readable and wonderful.

There is also The Rev Robo's 1935 study of mediaeval Farnham, drawn from the Bishop's pipe-rolls. Interesting, but not quite so readable.

St. Andrew's, Farnham

How Jay Smooth Solved My Bloggers Block (and other political matters)

2010-08-24T18:30:00.038+01:00

I've been getting a lot done recently, but I've had trouble with my blogging.

If I were a guy, this would be me over the past couple of weeks, as I deal with a certain amount of Blogger's Block.

Toon1 by Almagill

Downloaded from Flickr under Collective Commons License

The point is that I have been enraged, ENRAGED, in recent days. Almost everything in the news has been enough to send a girl totally frothing mad. This has caused me problems on the writing front.

So I've been spending a bit of time (a bit too much time actually) with Mr. John Randolph, or Jay Smooth, founder of WBAI's great hip hop show Underground Railroad. Get the podcasts (when you're done reading this post). You probably know him pretty well already.

If you don't - make up for lost time. He's lovely!

Man, he's got it down, my whole blogging/writing/political situation right there.

First of all there is that little Inner Hater to deal with

But its more than just self-criticism, although goodness knows, I have enough of that.

The outrages in the news have been on my mind, so that's what I want to write about, naturally.

But being so angry, can I write about it without going way over the top, or being just totaly naive?

Right or wrong, that is what has blocked me up.

Take Tony Blair for example. Every time that smirking bastard gets into the media is a further insult to democracy and the rule of law. Not only has he never been called to judgement for his crime(s?) he has been richly rewarded for it or them.

I mean, really, how sick is this culture?

Then there are the cuts, another round of thievery by that band of tax exiles, press barons and prefects ruling UK right now, on behalf of their school friends and brothers-in-law in the financial sector. Who created the problem in the first place, and now want us to pay for it. Us? Pay for their corruption? Robbing us coming and going: heads they win, tails we lose. It's the usual story of course, but more blatant than usual, and this time has got me totally climbing the wall.

However, I'm hoping that the sad death of Jimmy Reid will provide inspiration for many widely-supported sit-ins and work-ins this coming winter. The dignity of Jimmy Reid's funeral, with reminders of the importance of his political and intellectual achievements, provided a moment of regeneration during the week.

On top of that, the gross accusations against the heroic Julian Assange, using the oldest trick in the book, practically sent me into orbit. Which leads me to my favourite tweet of the week: "So that's how they are planning to take him down. How retro!"

(Gareth Allen @TCInterval, The Confidence Interval)

Fourthly there have been crocodile tears spilled over the truly dreadful situation of Afghani women, fuelled by cynical CIA spin doctors (revealed by Wikileaks), and articles from the lackey press, e.g. Time Magazine, and these too have had me fuming.

Laurie Penny showed, in a well-researched New Statesman piece called The West must Not Use Women's Rights to Justify War, that any "support" of NATO governments for women's rights is entirely contingent on how far doing so will advance their own goals: even when women are really suffering, neither these governments nor their armies lift a finger unless it suits them.

Honestly, are we really expected to believe that war is a feminist enterprise, or that armies have feminist goals?

Marwan Bishawa of Al Jazeera is also very clear: if invading armies benefitted women, he writes, the women of the middle east and central Asia would be among the most liberated in the world. He quotes Martin Van Creveld, the Israeli war historian, who believes that men go to war to escape their wives and families in search of ecstacy. This is a striking thought, but hardly fertile ground for feminism, even if only half-true.

And we can't relax, even in the metropoles. Cath Eliot commented sharply and correctly on continuing lenience to rapists, which shows how the state will still ignore women's rights if it can get away with it, regardless of what the law says. I mean, really, after all our struggles, they still have impunity).

And finally, there are the astonishing, I mean astonishing fulminations over an islamic community centre in Lower Manhattan. Timothy McVeigh and his cronies (remember them?) were militant christian terrorists and white supremacists who bombed 168 people, including 19 pre-school kids, but I never heard anyone call for an end to church-building in Oklahoma City, or denial of license to the Y. No-one tried to punish and humiliate their co-religionists.

Astonishing that such medieval bigotry has gained so much traction in a modern society: including, we now hear, book-burning (Some red-neck fanatic Reverend is planning to burn the Koran on September 11! Astonishing!)

It may be astonishing, but its also terrifying: this is not just hysteria (although that's part of it), it's the outcome of a systematic effort to eliminate Islam from the US and Europe, a rabid but coordinated movement that started in Denmark and UK after that whole Mohammed Cartoon thing, and increasingly espouses violence. It includes such elements as the English Defense League and Stop Islamisation of Europe/UK. Salon.Com had a pretty good timeline on how it was whipped up initially, including information on the horrific Pam Geller. Even a couple of quick Wikipedia searches will give you loads of info on these dangerous bozos.

So, as you can see, my rage is pretty understandable.

But can I write about all this shit, in the way that I really feel, without going way over the top or just sounding like a total dumbass maniac ... ?

Jay Smooth has the answer, at least part of it.

I really like that whole clenched fist thing going on here, signifying our shared essential humanity!

And I pretty much agree with what he's saying, with one small proviso:

Are all different views of equal value? Views I can respect, but what about those with different interests? Such as ConDems, bankers, imperialist spin doctors and right-wing fanatics? Those who are trying to screw us? I don't think so. I draw the line there.

But, all in all, Jay Smooth, bless him, seems to have sorted out my blogging block.

My Garden is Extremely Green (Literally)

2010-08-14T17:20:00.018+01:00

I am a vagabond at present, part of the hidden homeless, kind of. So far this year I have had four separate homes: in sequence, of course.

Fortunately, these places have had beautiful gardens, of various styles, which has been a comfort........

My current garden is a bit run-down, shabby even, but is very green and peaceful, and in its way, also beautiful.

Completely walled, it is (sadly) innocent of cats, but correspondingly full of birds and birdsong, including, especially delightful, a tame robin.

And for one so small, it has a vista.

And an embowered compost box

Sporting today a single spray of white flowers, the only one in the entire garden.

It has several interesting nooks and crannies

Sadly there is no veggie patch, and no tomatoes, but there are some peaches ripening by the kitchen window, which add a very subtle touch of colour.

All in all, I really am very lucky to be here.

Other gardens I have known this year

A Garden: the best damn reading spot in the world.

Tea in the Garden

Jim Jarmusch: Nothing is Original. Steal from Anywhere

2010-08-09T11:47:00.010+01:00

The quotation below "speaks directly to my soul", and so I stole it, as suggested, from Not Just the Minutiae.

It is a remark by the wonderful, totally original and dramatically silver-haired film-maker, Jim Jarmusch

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows.

Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery - celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from - it’s where you take them to”.”

I hope you like it as much as I do.

And this related video is really very nice too.

P.S.

Way back in October I discovered the possibility for my interaction with the internets (I KNOW, but better late than never), and I naively wrote this little number - How Pumped Am I about 2.0!

It was exactly the potential for all this thievery that I was excited about, but did not yet have the words to describe *smiles fondly at such childishness (not yet fully outgrown)*.

If you like this post, you may also like another little piece of theft: The Gift

Tony Judt, Tony Benn, the RSA and Google

2010-08-08T13:48:00.028+01:00

Here are a few things that have affected me this week, some deeply.

One sad, two good and one very, very bad.

Tony Judt died.

What a wonderful guy. I can't do justice to him here, others have done that with so much grace, but I love that he was an intellectual with real commitment to action, with tremendous sustained intellectual rigour, which he also demanded of others. He believed, as I do, but articulated in an evolving way through a long career, that the social-democratic achievements of the 20th century, which are about to crumble away, are worth fighting for if we can, flawed and incomplete as they are.

To me he was the model of the committed and engaged intellectual advancing the struggle through a sharing of his principled analysis.

He was also a magnificent and principled anti-zionist, despite all the difficulties that that involved, including and especially through his advocacy of a one-state solution.

His relative Saul Goldberg wrote a moving personal obituary in the Guardian/Observer, which I noted in particular among many others (see list at the end)

Here are two videos: Interview on Zionism and Short Film on his experience of Lou Gehrigs Disease. And here is the audio of the Remarque Lecture given at NYU by Tony Judt in October 2009, and a link to its published version in the NY Review of Books, later released as Ill Fares the Land (2010). (the last with thanks again to @their_vodka

I have also enjoyed, I have to say, the interview by Anderson Cooper of Christopher Hitchens, another British, (formerly) leftist intellectual living in the US, and battling terminal illness. I have disagreed with Hitchens on many things, especially his support for the Iraq war and extraordinary progress into the arms of the neo-cons in the US, but this was an interesting and moving discussion.

Fight the Cuts

Tony Benn headed up a long list of activists to publicise the growing campaign to fight the cuts in UK, which I am definitely joining. Coalition of Resistance website is here. I watched the great video of Caroline Lucas' talk on the cuts at an earlier meeting of the campaign.

RSA published a new video

A video by the very brilliant Dan Pink illustrates that the massive bonuses given to bankers have unlikely made them more productive, and are therefore a waste of money. In fact, it says, big bonuses on Wall Street are killing America

What we all need more than money (once we have enough) is a sense of purpose, challenge and that we are contributing something valuable. We only need enough money that it is "off the table" as a problem. Nothing new, and still a bit of a pipe-dream perhaps, because the reality for most of us, including of course me, remains bonded and commodified relationships, but still... I have tried to resist alienation, and the dream is worth fighting for too.

The video is very engaging, and it gives us some tools for the argument.

Lots of other great videos at the RSA site, btw.

Google ......

In direct contradiction of the spirit of all of the above, Google announced its planned unholy, unethical and totally disgusting possible deal with Verizon. I am consumed with revulsion for them and the betrayal of their slogan "Don't do Evil". My eye!

At the same time I am filled with renewed love and admiration for Tim Berners-Lee, inventor of the internet, who gave it away for free, and lived to tell the tale. Still going strong.

My favourite tweet of the week? "Et tu, Google?" from (via The Independent)

Image via Wikipedia

The King Stay the King, but the Queen Got all the Moves

2010-08-02T13:16:00.020+01:00

I had forgotten about this, from The Wire, but I really like it, with thanks to @their_vodka and her very excellent and interesting blog: Not Just the Minutiae

And I like this too.

All Chess Players Are Artists by KristinaVF

Downloaded from Flickr under Creative Commons License

Zubin Mehta and Placido Domingo: lessons in leadership and life

2010-07-31T11:06:00.018+01:00

Below is a video of Zubin Mehta conducting Placido Domingo at the first Three Tenors concert in Rome on the eve of the 1990 World Cup. The music is No Puede Ser (It Cannot Be), by the Spanish composer Sorozobal.

Interestingly Domingo was also at the final of the World Cup in South Africa this year, and naturally joined the celebrations for the Spanish victory, Spain being his home country. I wonder if he sang "it cannot be" on that occasion. Probably not.

I love this particular video: not only because of the exquisite singing, the emotion and the magnificent setting, but also because it clearly shows great artists co-creating a transcendent moment, so we can do the same in our own lesser worlds.

Take a look.

Even though the singing is totally wonderful, and the triumph at the end is a collective one, for me the moment is mainly down to the energy, the empathy, the openness and the trust, in fact the inspired leadership, of the conductor.

After all the hard work of rehearsal, leadership at this level really is about paying attention, letting go, trusting and waiting.

Mehta had the task of bringing together the energy of two orchestra's who had never played together until that evening, a hugely talented star, and the audience waiting to be thrilled. He lead through listening.

I love how Zubin Mehta throws his arms wide at a certain point, opening himself up entirely to whatever is coming, and then waits, even dropping his arms completely, surrendering to the emerging energy, until Placido Domingo approaches the heights, and the conductor brings the orchestra to a towering conclusion in support of the star.

The trick is to allow it to happen, to provide a still centre that is at the same time outside the centre, holding the space, and strong enough to protect the magic that is approaching.

Watch it again, and you'll see what I mean.

I am very grateful to the always interesting Otto Scharmer for sharing this insight at a leadership workshop. He uses the term "presencing", which has the meaning both of bringing something important into the present, and also of "pre-sensing" that it is about to emerge, and allowing it to do so.

And I am thinking that the point illuminates so much about every aspect of life.

Although I have to say that on the political side of things, I am getting a bit tired of waiting for any kind of collective anger or militancy to emerge about what's about to happen to our welfare state, but perhaps here too the moment has not yet arrived ........

For me personally it is a lesson in that form of leadership we call parenting - the absolute importance of standing back, but holding the space. But for you the lesson may be entirely different ....

And I totally, totally love, just LOVE, the exhultation and triumph in Mehta's face at the end.

Image via Wikipedia

A conductor's score and batons.

Fear of Falling, or is that Leading?

2010-07-28T22:53:00.019+01:00

I am at the UniCredit Bank Group's Leadership Learning Centre in Turin. I'm helping to facilitate a leadership programme here.

It's a fabulous programme, although its not actually run by UniCredit itself: we're just lucky enough to be using the place.

And what a place it is!

All baroque revival on the outside, and super modern learning technology on the inside. Certainly one of the best and most interesting learning environments I have ever worked in.

Scuola Unimanagement Torino 200

Downloaded from Flickr under Creative Commons License

And the learning is embodied in the building itself.

For example, three floors up, its all glass underfoot.

You can't look down when you get out of the lift. Absolutely not. You just look straight ahead, and keep walking. It's OK if you don't look down.

Its all the risk and terror of leading in these uncertain times every time you go for a coffee.

Astonishing, really. For a moment you feel right on the edge. Which is great for a leadership programme, because the edge is exactly where a leader should be.

In fact, I would argue, its where we all should be.

And as for the staircase, also made of solid glass: even more challenging.

Its fine going up, but down? No way.

But perhaps if my coffee depended on it, I would do the stairs too, terrified or not.

Oh I get it! Embodied learning.

About leadership, in this case. Learning to tolerate the fear of flying

And you know, it really works. Wonderful really.

Me, I Would Far Rather Live in a More Equal Society

2010-07-27T14:27:00.060+01:00

Regular visitors to these musings will know that I care about the greatest well-being for the greatest number. In other words, I would rather live in a more equal society.

I know perfectly well that the United States of America is not only the richest, it is the most unequal society in the West, as can be seen in the attractively coloured graphic below (and more clearly by clicking the Wikipedia link). Even central Asia, south Asia and parts of Africa are less unequal that the US.

Nevertheless, when I saw one of the most egregious manifestations of this shameful datum in LA recently, even I was shocked. I wrote about my observations in The Social Ecology of Bunker Hill. And UK is sadly not far behind - it is the third most unequal society in this group of wealthy western countries.

Image via Wikipedia

Derived from CIA Data.

To help me understand what is going on regarding inequality in the US (and elsewhere) I have since read The Spirit Level: why equality is better for everyone, by Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett. Better late than never you might say.

However, yesterday I also had the pleasure of meeting Professor Pickett, who made an excellent presentation at a meeting that I am co-facilitating, and as the authors are also rebutting their detractors this very week, this post seems not untimely.

The Spirit Level is the clearest exposition I have yet read that reducing the poverty gap in the world's richest countries would improve life not only for the poor, but for society as a whole.

Its a really interesting read, and you can also check out the whole argument and the impressive evidence that the authors have amassed on the website of the Equality Trust.

The arguments have of course been challenged by various exclusionary elements. These have been summarised in a recent Guardian editorial, from which they may also be accessed: The Spirit Level: Spooking the Right. The authors have responded to these attacks here

Wilkinson and Pickett show that in the richer group of countries, and also, interestingly, within the US, inequality is correlated directly, often very closely, with higher levels of mental illness and drug use, of obesity, of teenage parenthood, of violence and imprisonment. Conversely inequality is negatively correlated with trust in society (a sense of community), with children's educational achievement and with social mobility (although data on social mobility is not available for the various states within the US).

In other words, countries that have more income equality have less mental illnes, drug use, obesity, teenage motherhood, violence and imprisonment, and more trust, educational achievement among children and social mobility.

What's not to like? Sounds like a pretty darn good bargain to me.

There are two ways, according to Wilkinson and Pickett, through which we might achieve greater income equality:

Less income gap in the first place (as in Japan), or
Redistribution through taxes and benefits (as in Sweden)

I think the second would be easier for us (although not easy), so we should go for it.

Really, this is a total no-brainer. The disadvantaged would be better off, and I (and everyone else) would have greater well-being. More equal societies work better for everyone. As I say, what's not to like?

And of course we'd get a whole lot of other things I'd like as well, such as less Murdoch, less carbon emissions, less consumerism and more ecological conservation and public spiritedness. So I'm definitely in.

Maybe the struggle for all this would throw up better, more informed and genuinely engaged leadership too. Could hardly be worse than what we've got at the moment.

So I am very clear in my own mind: the first thing I'm going to do between my travels is fight the cuts in UK, and also work for more discussion, and through that greater understanding and acceptance, of the Spirit Level theory.

Orpheus: the Mythical. A Musical by Richard Stilgoe and the Orpheus Centre

2010-07-21T10:49:00.061+01:00

I have never been to a musical by a mixed group of performers with and without disabilities, but I did last night: it was magic, and I'm totally bowled over.

Now, recently I have been engaging in some ~~pathetic self-promotion~~ lightly amusing self-deprecation by dropping a few celeb names here and there. In "It's True! I met Rihanna ..." I said that my life-time total number of brushes with celebrity is three.

Well, its actually four.

And this time I'm being serious.

I missed Richard Stilgoe from my list. He wrote the lyrics of Starlight Express, and chunks of Phantom of the Opera, and has done lots of other stuff on stage and radio. A very witty, very funny guy indeed, and totally brilliant musically. I do know him a bit, socially. I don't want to presume too much, but I do know him just a bit. I can add him to my list.

He's also the father of the brilliant jazz musician, the super-cool Joe Stilgoe. So I suppose in fact I have actually had five brushes with celebrity.

But enough of that. What I want to say is not about me, and it's actually important.

In the overall scale of things, the Orpheus Centre is the kind of thing that really matters.

Richard founded The Orpheus Centre, in his former family home in Godstone, Surrey, and he spends a great deal of time with the people who live and work there. It seems that its a really great place.

Named after Orpheus (the famous Greek musician), the Centre provides residential and domiciliary services and a fantastic learning programme for young adults with a range of disabilities.

It works with them to achieve personal progress through the performing arts. It supports them to gain confidence and self esteem and learn essential skills that will help the transition into fully independent living.

The Company performs all over the place (including last year at the Royal Opera House), and with other outfits like the Graeae Theatre Company and StopGAP Dance Company, also fabulous.

And they have put together this really wonderful, hilarious and uplifting show, on the theme of Orpheus' and Euridice's adventures in Hades.

Richard wrote the words and the music, and Joe helped with the musical arrangement. The Director is the very lovely spiky-haired Syd Ralph, and she's done an absolutely fabulous job. Its a really well-paced show. Also involved are some young actors from the Guildford School of Acting, who were brilliant, and looked as if they were having a total ball, which I learned afterwards that they were.

Seeing as its about the Argonauts, and Orpheus travelled with Jason, Hercules and Theseus, etc. etc. and Apollo, Caliope, Persephone, Mercury and all that crowd could always be put in there in the background, wreaking their havoc, Richard was able to cram almost every known myth into the story. There were lovely sheep, the three headed dog Cerberus, and a terrific dragon. There was humour, pathos, and really good dancing and singing, including really lovely wheelchair choreography.

I loved the testosterone-engulfed argonaut sailors, pretty thick the lot of them but filling the theatre with energy, and also the Sirens, softly singing "danger! danger! danger!" while dancing with the greatest possible allure.

It was also crammed with lovely Stilgoe-esque puns: e.g. the Argos being built with parts bought from a huge catalogue, and steered by some-one beating a tom-tom.

(For the non-Brits among you, "Argos" is the name of a chain of stores in UK where nothing is on display: you order from an immense catalogue, and our main GPS navigation system is called "Tom-Tom").

And the Golden Fleece was a traffic warden's yellow fleece jacket, of course.

Not to mention, obviously, the title of the thing.

Matt Lucas introduced it, and did a lovely job. He told us about his all-time worst heckle, and got the audience to do it en masse, to purge him of the horror, which was a lot of fun. Others during the week will be Michael Aspel, Penelope Keith, Tim Pigott-Smith and Jane Asher. And no less that HRH Prince Edward will be there for a Royal Gala one night.

The only, only (tiny) shortcoming is that there was no encore - we had one thumping good tune to end on, but we needed another one even more so to send us off like jet-fueled rockets into the warm summer evening: I think they just didn't expect to hear the audience in very demanding mood at the end, and so we were frustrated, and left a little more quietly than we might have done, which was a pity.

Never mind. I still loved it.

So if you are anywhere near Guildford this week, hie ye over to the Yvonne Arnaud theatre. You won't be sorry you did.

Members of the Orpheus Centre

Performing at the Linbury Theatre, Royal Opera House

London 2009

By Jack Stilgoe Jackstil. Downloaded from Flickr under creative commons license

Image via Wikipedia

Richard Stilgo

And here's a great picture of the whole troupe at Buck House a little while ago.

It's true! I met Rihanna ....

2010-07-16T10:42:00.023+01:00

My lifetime celebrity count so far is George Harrison (almost), Adam Faith and now ..... Rihana! And the laugh's on me.

On Wednesday we learned that a Beatles fan, Sue Baker of Reading, was able to meet the Fab Four quite easily in the early days, by simply going to their houses and knocking on their doors. Check it out. She met them all that way, and they would invite her in and stuff. That's just how it was in those days.

The same thing happened to me, pretty much. Twice in fact. Not so much with George, but certainly with Adam.

I went to school in Esher, outside London, and we heard that George Harrison had bought a house there, just down the road, so, without missing a beat, Sue and Heather and I went down to meet him.

I think we went two or three Saturdays is a row and rang the bell beside the huge closed gate of his house. We got no response at all, then one weekend a voice came out of the grill in the gate-post: "Go AWAY, little girls" the voice said, in firm, sonorous, disembodied tones.

So we retreated, in some disarray, feeling that our privacy had been breached in some way (before the days of CCTV don't forget). Such is the hubris of youth.

We never went back. We noted that the voice definitely did not have a Liverpool accent. He’s probably on a world tour or something we said.

George Harrison. (1943-2001) from M Devreux' Flickr Photostream

Adam Faith also lived in Esher, in a mock-Tudor house built on a hillside somewhere, I don’t remember where. So we went to see him as well, now being quite experienced at this kind of thing.

There was no gate this time, so we walked up the drive, past the rhododendrons and laurels, and knocked on the door. And, after a short pause, blow me down if the door didn’t open and we were invited in, just like that. First time lucky.

There was Adam Faith, right there, not much taller than us, all lovely and blond and square-jawed, with two minders. He looked really shy and we thought he was soooooo sweet.

We went downstairs to a sort of billiard room, and the three of us sat on a sofa on one side of the room, and the three of them sat on chairs at the other side. They were very nice to us and we just chatted about this and that, relaxed as can be. We asked him what it was like to be famous. It's great he said, I get to meet lots of nice girls like you. One of the minders asked us how old we were. Fifteen we said, we are all fifteen.

After about 20 minutes one of the minders said well thanks very much it was nice to meet you, and we went upstairs and back down the drive, pleased as punch. He had hugged us goodbye! We didn't say omygod because that was then, but that's how we felt. We could hardly wait to tell our story to the others. Such is the innocence of youth.

Adam Faith (1940-2003) downloaded from the Flickr photostream of Truus, Bob and Jan
Hard to believe that cardigan was EVER cool.

And only the other day I had another brush with celebrity, bringing my life-time total to three.

It was 7^th June this year, on a flight from London to LA, and it was Rihanna - omygod, omygod, omygod.

Now I totally know who Rihanna is, and the whole Chris Brown domestic abuse thing and stuff, and how well she handled it, and I totally love her for that, but I don't follow her really, really closely, and I have to say I didn’t recognize her, especially with her new red do.

There was quite a stir in the cabin when she came in with a friend and some guy who was carrying their bags, but I just thought that here was one helluva foxy lady, which she definitely is, and foxy ladies always cause a stir.

She came on board just at the very last minute, in a bit of a fluster, and her seat was right beside mine. I kid you not. OMG, OMG. OMG. And she was really, really nice and friendly with her lovely smile and she didn’t want to make a fuss or anything.

However, I was just a tiny, tiny bit annoyed because there were plenty of other spare seats in the cabin, and I like to have an empty one beside me if possible, for my books and stuff. I feel quite militant about that when the plane has space. And if the truth be told, I didn't think I could deal with all that foxyness right beside me all the way to LA.

So I quickly decided to move to an empty row, and just in case she thought I was being rude, I explained why: so that we could all have more space, and she and her friend would also be able to have the empty seat between them, which makes such a difference, doesn’t it? And just in case she thought it was the foxyness (as if!), I told her I totally loved her hair. Fantastic I told her and it really suits you. Oh thank you so much she said.

So I moved forward a few rows, and the next thing I knew they had upgraded to first class, and one of the flight attendants was showing me her photo in Metro. Oh, I said, that's who it was. Well, well.

Should have known that a really foxy lady like that wouldn't need any help from moi if she needed a bit more space on the way home.

Oh well!

Rihanna July 2010 by Platinumphoenix

Downloaded from Flickr under Creative Commons License

The Social Ecology of Bunker Hill

2010-07-12T04:43:00.331+01:00

Today, Sunday, I was up with the lawn sprinklers and the house-maids, that is even before the joggers, in this rather pleasant part of LA in which I am staying ......

I find it rather sweet the way these palms all lean towards the south!

I set off on a journey of ecological exploration, and found a sad story of social exclusion and control.

I drove through almost empty streets on my first visit to down-town LA, not three miles distant. I was very glad for the lack of cars when I encountered the many-layered complexities of the town centre, with all its fly-overs and underpasses and god-knows-what to confuse the new-comer.

Fortunately Third Street took me directly to my destination, Bunker Hill, where I had heard that there is a small park so steep that only goats can do the landscaping, as a small flock from San Diego did this week.

Here are a couple of them, getting down to work, with Price Waterhouse Cooper in the background.

LaMaCod. Downloaded from Flickr under Creative Commons license

It's the third year at this gig for the weed-whacking goats, but sad to say, it may be their last. It seems that the park is another example of the ecological depredation I have been mulling in connection with Newport Beach (a couple of posts back), which is why I came to take a look.

Check out the goat story. it's really quite cute. It seems that they saved the taxpayer $3000 over more conventional weed-control methods (i.e. in labour costs), and also, as one homeless person who lives in the neighbourhood said, they make everyone more friendly.....

For me the kicker was the last sentence of the goat story, tossed off lightly and without comment, where surely comment is due: the area will soon be developed.

No matter what small amount of social benefit is provided by this little patch, it will soon be crushed by the great god Mammon. However, I found the situation to be much worse than even I had expected.

Angel Knoll, as the little park is called, occupies an escarpment which has for a long time marked (as they often do) a social as well as a physical boundary: in this case between an historically elite area of LA and the more poverty-stricken miasmas of the flatlands below.

And this is still apparently the case, but in a new and desperate way.

At the top of the hill and to its west, once a residential area, are now to be found such entities as the luxurious, palm-fronted Omni Hotel, the super-shiny Price Waterhouse Cooper, shown in the above photo and on the right below, the striking and lovely Walt Disney Music Center, and others of similar stripe, many grouped around a pleasant water park.

Omni Hotel

Walt Disney Music Center

However, if you look the other way, towards the east, while no longer exactly impoverished, the area is markedly less up-scale.

LaMaCod. Downloaded from Flickr under Creative Commons license

It is here, among these buildings right in the heart of LA, that many, many (tens of thousands), homeless people live.

Strangely enough, this clear socio-geographical distinction is echoed in the park itself, which is divided in two. The upper part, the elite westerly part, is watered, green, planted with shady trees and provided with benches.

The lower, easterly part, seen here now neatly nibbled by the goats, is the part closest to the homeless people, and is completely free of any amenity (except free wi-fi, but that's a joke, surely). The luxurious trees you can see in this photo are in the upper, more westerly part of the park.

The two are divided by a fence, and a further fence surrounds the whole, forbidding and exclusionary, especially in the more desirable portion.

The single gate to the park is hidden away at the upper-most corner of the park: convenient for the office workers above to have their lunch in, less so for the homeless people living in the streets below.

It is approached from below by a rather forbidding flight of concrete steps, almost hidden beside the little railway for the tourists (originally built to help servants move from their homes in the flatlands to the elegant workplaces above).

Try going up that with a shopping cart, I thought.

You can't see the gate very easily from the top either, but it's there, underneath the California Plaza building, if you can spot it beyond the staircase, behind the palm tree.

But to get back to my story.

I drove down the flank of the escarpment on which Knoll Park lies, moving from west to east, past the pleasant and then the arid sections of the park. It was around seven o'clock this morning when I turned right onto Hill Street, which runs along the base of the escarpment, and past famous Pershing Square.

The whole street and its environs were astir, totally astir, with people waking up, packing their belongings, yawning, stretching, pushing their shopping carts, stowing blankets in rucksacks. There was a marked busyness and purpose about all this activity, particularly startling compared to the stillness of the streets I had just left.

Most shockingly I saw a person asleep in a wheelchair, in a door-way with a blanket pulled up over his head. I can hardly imagine living on the streets at all, let a alone in a wheelchair. And sleeping in a wheelchair every night? Crikey, that's all I can say to that. I don't mean to be facetious, but words completely fail me here.

In addition, many showed signs of other disabilities: mental illness, and all the exhaustions and despairs of addiction. How many are disabled in some way I thought. I wonder what services they have access to. It turns out that a major, perhaps the only, service that comes to them actually favours the rich.

Not all appeared to be long-term denizens of this zone: I saw one tall young man, neater than many of the others, praying with his palms up-turned, who had a suit, protected by plastic wrapping, swinging desperately on a hanger at the back of his ruck-sack.

In the space of 2-3 short blocks I think I saw upwards of 200 people, of which perhaps a quarter were women, busily engaged in packing up the evidence of their existence. I parked and walked around, moving through the community as if in a different dimension, which of course I am.

Soon I saw the reason for all this activity - two agents with the words "neighborhood security" emblazoned on the back of their shirts, smartly uniformed in purple, lightly armed and equipped with very nice bicycles and various other accoutrements of authority, were waking people up and making them move on. How callous they seemed, how insolently they stood and watched a man getting dressed on his bench.

By eight o'clock the streets were quiet again, ready for the tourists. Many of the former sleepers in fact looked very much like tourists themselves, with back-packs, wheelie-bags and not much else, anonymously and ironically blending with the affluence surrounding them.

Life in this part of the world is strikingly luxurious for many, but extremes of poverty are so close to the surface, and unemployment growing so rapidly, that one wonders how it can all be contained.

Three things come to mind:-

Ideology: The American Dream, a ruthless two-edged sword replacing any notions of collective entitlement with exclusion and desperation, is nevertheless a powerful opiate;
Intoxication: And then of course the real opiates, the cheap narcotics with which LA is awash greatly assist; and
Force: let's not forget the critical element of control (not to mention fear and loathing), AKA in this case "neighborhood security".

Shortly afterwards I sat outside a very nice coffee-house on the edge of this neighbourhood, just west of Pershing Square (drafting this blog as a matter of fact), and a young woman passed out at the table next to me. A family with teenage children waiting for the lights to change nudged each other and laughed.

One of those two purple-clad bozos on bicycles turned up and shook her awake. She roused herself and walked unsteadily away, muttering abuses at him and us.

Not long after that, as I still sat there, two young men occupied the same table, apparently in the aftermath of a one night stand. When the one that was dressed in flowing black priest-like robes walked away, the other, who had a huge suitcase with him containing only a sleeping bag and a few bits and pieces of electrical equipment (I know because he opened it up right in front of me), went into an emotional melt-down, weeping, pacing up and down the sidewalk and shouting at all around. It appeared he had not been paid.

The management called the authorities, and the very same cyclist arrived back again and took the young man away. About half an hour later the poor fellow returned, without his suitcase, opened the door of the coffee house and shouted that everyone should boycott the place.

It was a totally ineffective act of defiance. By that time there had been an almost complete turnover in the clientele, and no-one except the staff and I knew what he was talking about, and the staff just laughed, along with everyone else. Laughed rather nervously I thought: perhaps because they may be only a low-paid "job" away from the streets themselves.

What an important function these drugs fulfill: further disempowering vulnerable people where there should be solid programmes and services to remove poverty and joblessness, but which cannot be provided because, despite all the wealth around, the tax base is just way too small relative to the need. The costs of those two cyclists tasked with keeping street people as much as possible out of the eyes of everyone else is negligible compared to what should be in place. A total travesty of an equal, free and decent society is revealed.

Well as I know that the USA is the most unequal of any OECD country, I was shocked to be confronted by the reality. This was without doubt the most unabashed, in your face, front and centre poverty and oppression that I have seen in any major western city: utterly shameful in a city so rich, so engulfed in conspicuous consumption.

The only difference between this and a third world city (of which I have visited over 100, according to a FaceBook widget) was that there were apparently no children: in this at least LA holds back from absolute barbarism, but that is not much to say for the richest city in the eighth largest economy in the world (California).

And yet social struggle around Bunker Hill seemed very muted, very puny, very subdued to me, at least on that particular Sunday morning, although heaven knows, day-to-day living on the street must certainly be enough of a struggle for the extremely deprived. But where is the broad movement that understands this situation, that can advance their interests? What has happened to the upswelling of hopes that put Obama in power?

I know there are committed and principled organisations representing the interests of the poor and deprived, but why is it so hard for them to gain traction, to gain political weight and momentum in this country so committed, in fine words, to "equality" and "democracy"? Here I do not mean to sound naive: I am being rhetorical. It is a history of vicious attacks, supplemented by a suffocating ideology and attrition, about which I need to know more.

Without the solid foundation of a political movement behind him, Obama's progressive politics have just shrivelled away in the heat. Perhaps "evaporated" would be a better term: "shriveled" implies at least a prior state of solid substance. Compare this, for example, with Lula, by no means a revolutionary, who has made similar compromises with the world financial barons, but has nevertheless maintained in Brazil, with the active support (and let's be clear, pressure) of his constituency, a much more vigorous social contract, while at the same time getting out of recession rather quickly (relative to UK and US, that is). At least inequality is declining in Brazil.

I got back into my car and drove westwards to another escarpment, this time dividing the merely wealthy from the incredibly super-rich (and incredibly under-taxed). The fabled slopes of Beverley Hills float like an Avalon above the coastal plane of Santa Monica. Here, at a bend in Sunset Boulevard is a cinema, where I went to see a film, South of the Border, to see what it could tell me about the limitations of social struggle in Amerika.

Not much as it turned out, being sadly more focused on individual leaders (and on Oliver Stone himself) than on the movements behind them.

More is to be found elsewhere, for example in What is living and what is dead about social democracy. This is a paper by Tony Judt, in the NY Review of Books, which explores the dissonance in US thinking between being basically fairly liberal and wanting a decent society for all, but definitely not wanting taxes for oneself, and why the latter wins out. Says it better than I ever could.

And the same political dissonance, er ... confusion, has been found in UK, on which the ConDem's will soon be building their terrifying edifices of disempowerment. It's pretty bad there already, with rough sleepers and disabled people, among other populations, seriously under-served and neglected. How will we resist a similar fate before all the assaults on our welfare state that are in the pipeline?

To this question, of course, there is only one answer: organize. The question is, will the rate of organization outpace the accelerating efforts of the government to demonize the disempowered, in the ways that have been so very effective in the US.

Update: January 26 2011

Six months later, listening to Southern California national public radio KPCC in sunny Newport Beach, I hear a programme entitled Homelessness in Los Angeles: The Safer City Initiative. Turns out that I was in Zip Code 90014, the actual, original Skid Row. More accurately, I was on its outermost edge.

According to this excellent programme, the city fathers have been trying to address homelessness (AKA pander to voters) with a heavy police presence, sending rough sleepers off to jail etc. etc. and have thwarterd the efforts of more principled people trying to provide services to the vulnerable and desperate people living there.

It seems that the two-man "Neighborhood Security" team I had seen were were part of a much bigger planned programme of heavy handed policing. It has not been a success, according to the programme. No surprises there.

However, it is clear that there is at least a debate, in some circles, about the best way to solve homelessness: but its also clear the public is just not with this issue.

Update July 9 2011

In light of this debate its at least somewhat interesting the Will&Kate have chosen to visit 90014. Its in line with his work on homelessness in UK, and perhaps will give the debate a broader airing than is usually possible, as summarised, for example this LA Times piece: Royal Visit - making the most of Will and Kate's Skid Row photo-op.

Tea in the Garden

2010-07-06T02:22:00.002+01:00

Somewhere in LA, a lovely garden.

And fortunately its tea-time ......

Nothing like tea in the garden to restore the soul.

How lucky I am to have a loved and generous friend-and-relation with a house that I can sit in while she is away. Thank you darling!

________________

If you liked this, you may also enjoy: A garden: the best damn reading spot in the world

The Trees of Orange County

2010-07-02T01:28:00.010+01:00

As I mentioned in my last post, there is quite a bit of concrete in Newport Beach. At least two thirds of the town is covered in the stuff.

But there are loads of trees, and they have really knocked me out.

When you look at them individually, they are amazing - some with smooth thick bark like an elephant, or ribbed like a crocodile: some flaky as old paint.

Pink and blue and green

But when you see a mass planting, that is something else altogether:

By Nimisha Prasanth Pookal (flowers)

downloaded from Flickr under creative commons

By Nimisha Prasanth Pookal (flowers)

downloaded from Flickr under creative commons

I just love them.

But my favourites are two little old olive-type trees outside my daughter's apartment. They are pretty dull, frankly, as trees, although one has a lovely knarled old trunk, and the setting is unremarkable, but they are completely full, all day long, with tiny humming-birds, just doing their thing, whatever humming-birds do.

Mostly they seem to be engaged in full and frank exchange of views, and active conflict resolution. They seem to be rather assertive, and yet highly defensive little birds.

This suits my current mixed mood, and I love them for that.

By Nimisha Prasanth Pookal (flowers)

downloaded from Flickr under creative commons

Stunning!

Five things I like about Newport Beach (but three things not so much)

2010-06-30T16:22:00.015+01:00

So far, I have divided much of my life between UK and the Eastern Seaboard of the United States. Now for the first time I am spending time on the West Coast – Orange County to be precise. Its pretty much ground zero for affluent republicanism, but still, in many ways I’m feeling really lucky, in fact privileged, to be here.

View over Newport Harbor, Orange County, From Castaways Park

See what I mean?

Been dealing with a bit of family bovva, from which we are all now recovering, and there are few better places for recovery than Orange County, CA, or, as we say over here, the OC.

For starters, there’s the weather. It’s almost perfect – around 21 C or, as we say over here, about 70 degrees. There is “June Gloom” at the moment, which means seasonal cloudiness, which is fine by me as it keeps the temperature down.

But mostly its like Nairobi – fine, cool-to-warm and sunny, with no humidity, and I find myself muttering each morning, with Isak Dinneson, “Oh no, not another f**king perfect day”. Except that I’m not bored, in the slightest.

Secondly there is the friendliness. People here find it much easier to talk to strangers, even easier than New Yorkers do. It’s very refreshing, and when in Rome I find myself able to do as they do. Surprising, and very nice.

Thirdly there’s the retail therapy. This place is built for shopping. Honestly, it feels like Stepford Wives on wheels, not to mention steroids. Socking great six lane roads, I mean highways, with additional left and right turning lanes, and women (mostly) in SUVs, loads of them, cruising along at the mandatory 40 mph, going to get their stuff (at least in my imagination).

For me its not so much the retail therapy itself, I haven't been doing much of that, but how easy it is to get around.

Everywhere you want to go is easy to turn into, easy to park and easy to get out of, once you understand all the signage, of which there is much. Its a completely different driving culture to UK - the lanes are not so much about speed as about exit - its all about being in the right lane for the next turn you want to make, and the one after that.

It all makes moving around generally very easy (provided you have a car), which has its charms, after the congestion of UK (if I don't think of all the petrol, I mean gas, we are burning off, or the scandal, in this day and age, when we know what we know about carbon emissions, of the almost complete absence of public transport).

And there are acres and acres of car-parks, or as we say over here, parking lots. And they are all completely free.

South Coast Mall, Costa Mesa, CA. Orange County Archive

It's sad though. Newport Beach is mainly built around a natural harbour, with all its islands and inlets rationalised and now encrusted with mansions, slipways and yachts.

Newport Harbor from the Air, by Kenjet

This used to be the estuary of the Santa Ana river, which in the early 1900s was diverted, sheathed in concrete and now debouches about half a mile to the north, as you can just see in the photo, while the former wetlands are given over to more productive uses - high-end services, dense and mainly unattractive but nonetheless extremely costly housing and, as I say, acres of highway and parking lot.

That was quite a little land-grab from the collective commons!

Which brings me to my top favourite thing about Newport Beach: a little piece of land that was not stolen away.

In the midst of all this concrete and conspicuous consumption is an oasis called Castaways Park, which is a conservation area for native species. It is on a bluff, and has a striking view over yacht and mansion, highway and inlet. This little sanctuary (25 tiny acres in all) is the object of my daily walk, and the fourth really good thing about Newport Beach, and the one I like best of all. Check it out.

The park is adjacent to another small ecological preserve, this time the immediate margins of Back Bay which were saved from development by a huge struggle in the 60s and 70s, during which the land, already beleaguered by development, was wrested from the rapacious Irvine Company and assigned to public ownership Thank goodness for that.

Back Bay, Newport Beach, From Castaways Park

Back Bay, Newport Beach

And the fifth good thing is the ocean itself, which is totally lovely, especially the beaches. Swooping down the Pacific Coast Highway (or as we say over here, PCH ) listening to the great Ira Glass and “This American Life”, on my way to a meeting in Laguna Beach, can’t be bad! Walking on the cliffs above Crystal Cove is also totally wonderful.

Crystal Cove: sand, sea and millions of birds. by Zelkova

Pacific Coast Highway, Near Crystal Cove

Laguna Beach

On the downside, in addition to the gross over-development of the place, and directly related to it, in Newport Beach I feel distinctly odd doing my favourite thing – walking. Its been said before, but here the car is king, and the pedestrian a rare bird, unless you are poor or jogging, or moi.

Secondly, on the downside, and deeply shocking considering the wealth around here, there is no re-cycling of rubbish, (or, as we say over here, trash), unless you make a call to the Office of Sanitation with a specific request. I kid you not: no re-cycling in this day and age! And when you think of all the shopping that’s going on ….. my mind is boggling.

And right now a third major downside is that it’s virtually Wimbledon-free (except for a few brief bursts of that most perfect American icon, John Isner) and that’s driving me totally nuts, especially in the second week.

But still, I'm feeling lucky to be here, and mostly that's down to the weather, and the lovely, generous , welcoming people that I have met, and the tiny miracle of serenity, Castaways Park.

The view inland from Castaways Park

Cycling in Castaways Park

Castaways Park

I have to thank Nimisha Prasanth for all but two of the pictures in this posting. She posts on Flickr as pookal (Flowers). She is a wonderful photographer who has captured Castaways Park and its surroundings as I see them, and I love her for that.

A Moment of Truth

2010-05-17T21:02:00.001+01:00

A couple of posts back I wrote about a moment of connection, joy and delight between father and daughter that can expand to last a life time (A Magic Summer Evening Long Ago).

Then by twitter I received this wonderful photograph which captures so perfectly what I stumbled to express in words. The very moment of shared recognition.

What a lovely picture. I am without words.

The photograph is by Natasha Badhwar, a writer, teacher and film-maker who tweets with astonishing clarity and beauty. If you are not already following her you should seriously consider it. Your life would be enriched. @natashabadhwar.

She has kindly allowed me to share this picture with you.

I am lucky enough to have a picture of such a moment between my own daughter and I, when she was very young. You can find it here.

Kiss Goodbye to Sky TV

2010-04-23T10:05:00.008+01:00

In view of current interest in Murdoch and his hellish empire, I am re-publishing an old post from way back in November. Cutting loose seems like a pretty darn good idea right now.

But even more than your monthly subscription, gratifying as it may be to close that out, try not to vote for any party in which his grubby fingers are dabbling, or at least challenge your candidates on what he's up to with their party.

This is mainly for the limeys, although others may appreciate the sentiment.

Don't give any more of your precious money to that jackanape Rupert Murdoch, who has plenty to be getting on with, and gives such shocking service for the monthly payments he takes off us (so easy to open an account, so hard to close it).

Plus, in my humble opinion, Sky News, along with bed-mate Fox TV, is exceptionally economical with the truth. And I would actually say, informally, strictly from my own observation, that this is an understatement, to say the least. But it would take a Mori-poll to check that out, and I bet he could even get round that!

Now, I know I'm showing my age here (see "how not to act old" in my blog list), but I only watch the Freebox channels, and these are not only better (except for the crap), they are free. All the other channels are pretty much full of trivia, sit-coms and general mental rubbish and pollution, in my jaded view (except for the Simpsons, and the Dog Whisperer), and why the hell pay for crap if you don't have to? You may well ask.

What would I miss? The news channels of course, especially Al Jazeera, which is truly fabulous. But there is plenty of news on the The Freebox Channels, and on the internet now, so that's sorted.

The only thing I really will miss is recording, and speeding through the ads. Come to think of it, recording is getting to be absolutely essential in the battle against consumerism, but like the makers of IEDs they are jumping ahead of us technologically, with all this product placement ....

Actually, it feels like the dark ages now not to be able to record, and giving that up goes right up against my principle of forging ahead on all fronts technologically. But if it gets me out of the clutches of Skye TV, seems like a pretty decent compromise.

Especially as I can check out freecycle to see if I can pick up a digital recorder.

But even if I were to miss a few channels, the real thing is that I am getting really pissed off that any of my precious boodle, for which I have struggled mightily in this tough world, should go anywhere near that dark force and his hellspawn, helping them do the damage that they do to our hard-fought and much threatened freedom of speech and information every single effing day. I won't miss that feeling.

Earlier today I googled "television" with "I feel Lucky", and what did I get? You guessed it, Sky TV home page. Don't waste your time. Its freaking everywhere.

A Garden: The Best Damn Reading Spot in the World

2010-04-20T18:35:00.015+01:00

It’s that time of year again. Reading in the Garden.

Here is my spot at lunch-time on a warm day last week

Here it is this evening, with a nice mug of tea ...

And magnolias in full bloom ..

And here's my view, with primroses and everything greening up nicely ....

Oh dear. All the moss has been spring-cleaned. But it'll grow back.

And its still the best damn reading spot in all the world, bar none.

Except yours, of course ......

Oh, and by the way, what's the latest entry in the hilarious blog "How Not to Act Old"?

"Don't Take Pictures of your Freaking Flowers". I kid you not, and she's quite freakin' right. Its a very old-acting thing to do. We're all at it, as Spring moves in again. Check it out.

P.S. can't resist it, old-acting or not. Here's a view of the evening sky taken from that chair one evening last June. Not so many vapour trails about today! But they'll be back, like the moss, only quicker.

And here it is! The first one, taken about 05.15 this morning (a bit faint because of the dawn light).

I can't BELIEVE that I'm dealing in this total ephemera. Un-freakin'-believable. Havn't I got better things to do?

Yes, indeed. It's called reading.....

A Magic Summer Evening Long Ago

2010-04-11T13:13:00.048+01:00

I like Saturday Live on BBC Radio 4: always interesting conversations with interesting people. This Saturday, in the midst of all this interestingness, one phrase really resonated.

“We've all got that little bit of magic, that stays with you all your life ... a place of inner calm and happiness", said actor Charles Collingwood (Brian Aldridge in The Archers).

I hope its true that everyone has such a place. It is true for me, and it's this place.

Nothing remarkable in this view you might think, and you would be right, but for me it embodies thirty seconds that have shaped my entire life.

I was five years old, and had just finished my bath. My father wrapped me in a towel and lifted me to a chair beside the bathtub, so he could dry me.

I looked at my small brown hands gripping the wooden chair back, and then up my father and then through the open window, where I saw approximately what you see in the picture.

It was a summer evening, so the sun was slanting in from the left, full onto the Down. (Middle English “Doun”: a hill. Similar to the modern “dune”, as in sand-dune. A rounded, chalky, mainly treeless hill in southern England).

It must have been a weekend, (a) because my father was bathing me, and (b) because that is the village cricket field in the foreground, and there was a game going on, with long evening shadows cast by the pavilion and the players, the bang of bat on ball, and gentle cheers and clapping every now and then, as a run or two was scored. Beyond the field I could see the wooded dip where the little river ran, the low, flinty, grey village school on the hillside, and the ancient hollow in the flank of the Down, which we called “the vineyard”, a sun-trap where the Romans used to cultivate their vines, so we heard.

I knew that hill well. Sometimes we took our jam sandwiches, wrapped in greaseproof paper, and climbed to the top for the wonderful view back over the valley and our house. It was a hard, steep, tussocky climb for little legs, up through the shady churchyard and onto the wide open hill, under the sky and song of the skylarks. The sun was always burning hot up there, so my memory goes.

Sometimes we didn’t make it to the top, and sat in a row on one of the little paths worn by centuries of grazing sheep, like contours, almost like steps, into the side of the hill, with our plimsoled feet resting on the path below, the backs of our bare legs scratched by the grasses. Close to the ground, we could hear the summer insects buzzing among the thick, sheep-cropped chalkland plants, full of little flowers miniaturized by all those eons of nibbling. In the time-honoured way, we could lie on our backs and gaze upwards, trying to see the skylarks, or roll over and peer into the tiny, shady, busy world among the grasses.

Looking up, we could see clear across the village below, the beloved stream running through it and the green fields and hedgerows all around, to another row of Downs to the south of us, with great Butser Hill like a rampart to the east. Sometimes, shading our eyes with our hands, elbows on knees, we could see the glittery sea far, far in the distance. Sometimes an ancient green bus trundled with glinting roof along the dusty road by the edge of the hill, and stopped right outside the school below us, on its way to Petersfield, where I was born.

All this I knew about the hill, in the moment that I looked at it in the evening sunlight, and heard the gentle cricket sounds below, and laughed at my father's silly jokes as he quickly dried me.

Standing on my chair in the cool, blue bathroom, I remember that a swallow swooped over the field, from the direction of the hill, and into her nest just above me, under the eaves of our house.

But what I remember most is that I was bursting with happiness to be with my father, and, very best of all, I knew that he was happy too, as he carried me smiling into the bedroom I shared with Andrew, age four, for a bedtime story.

And ever since then I have loved the Downs, the "sunlit uplands" of churchillian fame, and quiet summer evenings when the air-pressure is high and the swallows are swooping, living their lives. I have loved looking outward through windows: I have found that an outlook, a view, is necessary to me.

Many people love these things of course, but for me they are the frame of security itself. They take me to my own foundations.

And how extraordinary is the elasticity of time and place when it comes to the emotions! Those thirty seconds encompassed me, my father, the Down, its life and its place in my life: they lasted half a minute, and a whole lifetime. Sheer magic!

Alexander McQueen: Why I'll Miss Him

2010-02-11T20:14:00.038Z

Alexander McQueen. High Heeled Shoe 2009

By whatshewears

Flickr Creative Commons

The death of Alexander Lee McQueen so shocked and upset and touched me that I left my deadlines to spend an hour or so that evening setting up a post, just a few pix, to express my feelings.

Next morning I took it down. "What am I thinking?" I thought. What exactly are my feelings?

You see, my formative years were spent in the women’s liberation movement, which still has a beating heart. We had then, and still have, concerns about the objectification of women. And here I am, wanting to comment on the death of someone who made his living by objectifying womanhood, if not women themselves, sometimes in the most extreme ways. I cannot let that go by me. I have to interrogate myself on that one, I thought.

He was at the pinnacle of a profession about which one must ask questions, and he seemed to be asking them. Nevertheless, he was hailed as a genius by even its silliest propagandists, sycophants and hangers-on, those one would most want to question, as well as by its serious and thoughtful adherents. Did they not see the questions, or where the questions not there? Did they not see the anger? I am quite perplexed.

So today I have to spend another hour thinking about that, sorting it out and re-posting.

Now (full disclosure), I am not a fashionista, or even minimally fashionable, come to that. Those who know me might chortle at the thought. I don’t read the magazines that peddle destructive fantasies to women, nor even flick through them in waiting rooms. All that stuff made me very unhappy once, and I totally reject the rampant consumerism that they promote. Today I dress for comfort not for speed.

But fashion is not simply clothing (and perhaps on the catwalk its not even clothing), its also art and creativity, and something about this guy's work got to me. There is social commentary, less widely noted than the brilliance and originality of his styling, but the fact that it reached me, about as far from the fashion world as it is possible to get, is evidence in itself of the power of the message, whatever it is.

His work is very, very edgy: teetering like his models at the boundaries of composure, terror, glamour, melancholia, sexuality, the macabre, the sweet and the terribly painful. This teetering is interesting in itself: he manages to convey so much contradiction and complexity, to use the extremes of his industry to criticize it, and to suggest, more than suggest, that things are not quite right, not as they aught to be.

He was part of Claire Wilcox' hugely successful exhibition on “Radical Fashion” at the Victoria and Albert Museum for the Decorative Arts, way back in 2002. His models were in glass cages, and thousands of moths were released Moths? *blinks rapidly*! Talk about a many-layered metaphor!

And take a look at this little number, that is so sweet and lovely in concept, and yet so strangely armoured and tense in execution, so threatening. There's a dissonance there: hard to define, but definitely there, I think. That is what he does - makes you feel uncertain. And yet a beautiful dress, beautifully made.

And then there are those astonishing shoes of his. So incredibly extreme and high and sexy, so odd, so puzzling, so outrageous and glamorous, but at the same time so downright ugly, and hinting at disablement: the club foot, the bound foot, limitations in mobility. And talk about teetering ….

Dazed and Confused Magazine. October 2009

Downloaded from Flickr

.... hints of stilts, the circus, the illusion, the freak show....

This video is fascinating. I hope you have time to view it. Its of his last show, for Spring 2010. Maybe you saw it streamed live, in itself an innovation.

In stark contrast to the lovely, feminine and familiar McQueen silhouettes, the parallel (literally) between the models and the cameras (or are they machine tools?), different kinds of automata, each on their respective runways, endlessly mirrored in the backdrop, is shocking, isn't it? And perfectly clear. It's actually a terrifying image of the self-absorbed, self-referential elements of the fashion industry, isn't it?

And what about the lightly reptilian fabric, and the distinctly reptilian hair-dos, and the stalking gait of the models, forced on them by the shoes? Combine this with the predatory silhouette of the cameras, like a couple of praying mantis: and we all know what praying mantis do with their own, with those they "love".

And what about this one? The machine tools, this time spray guns, actually attack the model innocently pirouetting between them in her flouncy white dress. It's very beautiful and original, and got thunderous applause, but it looks like a gang rape, or at least an absolutely devastating hissy fit.

I know nothing of the theory of fashion, nor much about McQueen or his life, so I should not, but I do, dare to comment: there is something about his attention to both the beauty and the horror of fashion that is important, as well as arresting. He was angry, in fact I think he was deeply angry, and he was asking very big questions about his industry, from deep within it.

Not questions about the objectification of women, perhaps, more about the cruelty and rapaciousness of the fashion/entertainment world, and perhaps also, by implication, the society of which it is the expression. This last is perhaps not impossible, although the focus was clearly his love-hate relationship with the fashion world.

And now it is all in the past. And we are left with an enigma, and the awful tragedy of genius dying way too early.

And, sadly, yet another disturbing example of the fashion industry not looking after its own, even its greatest.

And I'll miss him: he had serious things to say.

Alexander McQueen 1969-2010

By Po Li

Flickr Creative Commons

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Now we have to follow up, and nail the whole cuts agenda.

For the record, a selection from the scores of related articles

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Alexander McQueen: Why I'll Miss Him