It seems we, the Great Britannia, don’t have to follow the advice of actual experts in contagious disease. Actual virologists. Image being the cause of passing a virus to someone with a compromised immune system, leading to their death, because you went to a Stereophonics gig. Or Lewis Capaldi.
No, I’m not that worried for myself. But that doesn’t mean I ought to be an arsehole about it. Based on the advice we’ve been given, we could be excused for not knowing what the hell to do, but we do seem to have more in common with the Trump approach than pretty much everyone else (not that we’re that bad yet – we haven’t refused the test provided and decided to make our own unreliable version, we haven’t refused to test in large numbers in case it hurts chances of re-election (although it does seem we’re not testing anywhere near enough), and we certainly haven’t tried to bribe scientists for an exclusive vaccine. Seriously, the guy is such a maggot).
Even if it ‘only’ kills 1% of the infected (at best – more like 3-4 at worst), it seems a little callus to immediately write that 1% off without even trying to prevent it. Doesn’t seem that difficult. Stay away from people if you can, especially those more at risk. Wash your hands more often, for longer (regular ordinary soap kills this thing in approximately 20 seconds, breaking down the protective barrier the virusy bastard has evolved for itself). Even if you don’t want to sing Happy Birthday twice over, just find something else (for sci-fi nerd me, it’s the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear, spoken slowly).
I doubt there’s no cause for alarm at all like some muppets are saying (step forward, again, Ms Hopkins), but we do seem to be panicking in an entirely unhelpful way. It seems to be either one extreme or the other – either a ‘meh, who gives a shit’ or a ‘pandemonium! Sell, sell, sell! Tell your clients to invest everything in canned food and shotguns and get to the bunker!’ when neither approach seems sensible. Not that I actually know, of course. All I can really do is my best to keep myself un-infectious.
Oh, and if you’re sitting on a years’ worth of bog paper or hand sanitiser for no other reason than you are every man for himselfing or thinking you can sell it on at an increased price, may you be cursed with everyone always remembering what a selfish prick you were when this thing passes. When the much worse consequences of unchecked climate change bite, you’ll be begging for the good old days of pandemics.
This weird thing of us all thinking because we’re British we can just carry on regardless is actual insanity, and is born of repeated nonsense spewed out over years and is the same reason we’re doing that whole leave the EU thing. The Sunday Times spaffed out an opinion piece: ‘I’m 83. I survived rationing. The coronavirus doesn’t scare me.’ These things are not related. I’m 40. I survived Alton Towers. Getting eaten by rabid lambs doesn’t scare me.
Then there’s the data that suggests that during the peak of the outbreak in China, total mortality rates actually went down because day-to-day living and working in such a polluted environment is actually more damaging to people than a pandemic. That doesn’t mean pandemics are good things, but it does mean we (or, more specifically, the global economic systems we have in place to prop up this weird obsession with capitalism) are the problem.
The advice we’re getting from officials is contradictory and changing every couple of days:
Day One: Carry on as normal, taking in on the chin, and because of some pseudoscientific thing I heard, everything will be fine, and only half a million people will die. And more importantly, the money my rich mates cream off the economy will be saved. Hooray! What’s that? The World Health Organisation thinks that’s bullshit? To hell with them. We’re British!
Day Four: So you know a few days ago we said disregard what the rest of the world is doing? Yeah, actually, do what they are doing. Don’t go out, don’t mingle. Schools? Staying open (economy first, lives second, remember?). Businesses? Staying open – just don’t go and use them. That way, my rich mates in the insurance industry don’t have to pay out.
Day Six: Um. Yeah, schools are closing. The science has changed. And by that we mean the science is the same as it always was, but we’ve just not listened until now, and it seems like we’d better start doing the same as everyone else.
Seems like nobody actually knows what to do. Or is putting the economy and the financial interests of the very wealthy above, literally, the lives of the vulnerable. Or simply doesn’t give a single shit about any of us. Or all of the above.
I hope that this thing will blow over with not much more damage than swine flu or bird flu, or even regular flu. But if it doesn’t, I really don’t think the mere fact that We Are Britain will do much to help us in the end. Seems unlikely this time, but eventually, our media-led, chest-beating hubris will be the ruin of us all on this fair isle.
I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear, Frank Herbert's Dune.
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Thursday, February 20, 2020
Work unto death.
There’s a particularly insidious type of propaganda that waxes and wanes in terms of its popularity. You see it in the results of studies conducted by right-wing think tanks, or in the headlines of right-wing newspapers, about how you live a longer happier life if you keep working into old age. How ‘keeping busy’ in a job staves off degenerative brain conditions for longer. How those in their 60s and 70s are going to save us from economic woe by working, thereby powering a new boom.
It's all bullshit. There is a difference between a person being lucky enough to have made a comfortable living doing something they love, something that defines them, and for them to continue doing it, be it related to art, such as writing, painting, sculpting, acting, directing or playing music, or engineering, such as designers or mechanics, or indeed anything else, and someone having to work long past the time they should have retired simply to be able to afford to put their heating on.
And those scummy misleading headlines and studies know it.
Yet I keep seeing the reality of it. The old man shuffling around Sainsbury’s in a uniform when he should be shuffling around his garden or chatting down the pub or something. My local Asda is a pretty depressing place for this. An elderly woman operating the till, going as fast as she can, but still going slowly. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong and she loves it, but she didn’t strike me as someone enjoying herself.
It would be better if she was paid properly for it. If the people at the top of the hierarchy of that company didn’t make more in a month that she would make working full time for a whole year. The next till along is operated by a guy with a tube attached to his nose to assist with breathing. Looks to me like he’s just focusing on moving each item in front of the scanners at a steady pace and trying not to overtax himself. There are those that will tell you this is what people need to give them purpose, but doing something a machine can do for not really enough money to live on is not purpose.
As a populace we’ve fully bought into the bullshit that as a country we simply can’t afford to look after people. That the welfare state is just too much, and sadly there’s just no way to help the millions of families that have fallen below the poverty line since the said welfare state has started to be dismantled. That leaving the EU has already cost us more than the welfare state ever did doesn’t seem to register. That tax avoidance costs us orders of magnitude more every year doesn’t seem to register. Perhaps because the avoiders run much of the media and a chunk of the government. Hey look at that, propaganda works.
We can afford it. We could afford it if greedy arseholes paid their fair share and didn’t rig the whole thing to ensure they don’t. But we appear to be hardwired to kick against it. Some deep-rooted instinct to tip our hats to the gentry, being thankful for the dribble of scraps they deign to throw our way, contemptuous of those that fall behind, unable to get by on barely more than nothing. It’s truly bizarre, and I don’t think I’ll ever understand why.
Occasional feature: Ending with a song loosely related to the post (or more like a lyric I can take out of context and loosely relate to the post):
The Jam: Smithers Jones: “Work and work and work and work ‘til you die, ‘cause there’s plenty more fish in the sea to fry.”
It's all bullshit. There is a difference between a person being lucky enough to have made a comfortable living doing something they love, something that defines them, and for them to continue doing it, be it related to art, such as writing, painting, sculpting, acting, directing or playing music, or engineering, such as designers or mechanics, or indeed anything else, and someone having to work long past the time they should have retired simply to be able to afford to put their heating on.
And those scummy misleading headlines and studies know it.
Yet I keep seeing the reality of it. The old man shuffling around Sainsbury’s in a uniform when he should be shuffling around his garden or chatting down the pub or something. My local Asda is a pretty depressing place for this. An elderly woman operating the till, going as fast as she can, but still going slowly. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong and she loves it, but she didn’t strike me as someone enjoying herself.
It would be better if she was paid properly for it. If the people at the top of the hierarchy of that company didn’t make more in a month that she would make working full time for a whole year. The next till along is operated by a guy with a tube attached to his nose to assist with breathing. Looks to me like he’s just focusing on moving each item in front of the scanners at a steady pace and trying not to overtax himself. There are those that will tell you this is what people need to give them purpose, but doing something a machine can do for not really enough money to live on is not purpose.
As a populace we’ve fully bought into the bullshit that as a country we simply can’t afford to look after people. That the welfare state is just too much, and sadly there’s just no way to help the millions of families that have fallen below the poverty line since the said welfare state has started to be dismantled. That leaving the EU has already cost us more than the welfare state ever did doesn’t seem to register. That tax avoidance costs us orders of magnitude more every year doesn’t seem to register. Perhaps because the avoiders run much of the media and a chunk of the government. Hey look at that, propaganda works.
We can afford it. We could afford it if greedy arseholes paid their fair share and didn’t rig the whole thing to ensure they don’t. But we appear to be hardwired to kick against it. Some deep-rooted instinct to tip our hats to the gentry, being thankful for the dribble of scraps they deign to throw our way, contemptuous of those that fall behind, unable to get by on barely more than nothing. It’s truly bizarre, and I don’t think I’ll ever understand why.
Occasional feature: Ending with a song loosely related to the post (or more like a lyric I can take out of context and loosely relate to the post):
The Jam: Smithers Jones: “Work and work and work and work ‘til you die, ‘cause there’s plenty more fish in the sea to fry.”
Wednesday, January 22, 2020
Relief. For a time.
Something happened a few days ago that made me see I’d been tense and anxious without realising it. I’d been moaning about the amount of rain we’d had; almost, it seemed to me, constant since Autumn. Nobody else I spoke to about it seemed to notice much. They knew we’d had rain – you couldn’t not know. But it didn’t seem to bother anyone greatly that we’d barely had a 24-hour period without rain for months.
It's England. We’re famous for rain. I realise this. But the giant puddles and waterlogged woods I walk past and through on my way to and from work weren’t getting smaller or drying up. It turns out it hadn’t stopped raining for more than a day since September. Until just the other day.
It’s hard not to feel disingenuous moaning about constant rain in light of all that’s been going on in Australia and also when the rain we’ve had is inconsequential when compared to what Indonesia has been going through (what, you didn’t know? Your usual source of news failed to bring the terrible climate change-fuelled flooding to your attention? Funny that, with Indonesia being a country of people of a different colour or religion or standing on the world stage that your planet-destroying billionaire-defending press thought it wasn’t worth mentioning, what with a prince deciding to move out of his gran’s house being all that’s apparently newsworthy (a good backdrop for the upcoming likely economic suicide the country’s about to commit too – ‘take back control’ indeed. What a ridiculous joke). The day our hateful, lying, spiteful, complicit media go up in flames will be a good day. But I digress), it feels somewhat hypocritical to complain. But again, England. Complain is what we do.
We’ve had a mild Winter. That’s pretty much undeniable. And yes, to harp on about one mild Winter being down to climate change would be as bad as those that claim a cold snap is evidence supporting their denial. I know the difference between weather (the weather in one place, at one time, being evidence of nothing) and climate (weather trends over the world over an extended period of time, being evidence of our current way of life being somewhat doomed in a matter of decades, perhaps years). But a mild Winter coupled with knowledge of what’s happening to the climate has been leaving me sick with anxiety.
So when, over the last few days, the clouds cleared, and the stars shone at night, and the temperature dropped, and the morning came with frost, and the air was cold, I felt what I’d been missing. The muddy puddle I usually have to navigate through crunched underfoot. The leafless trees were gorgeous against a clear bright sky. The sunset was astonishing. It was such a relief. It was joyous.
It's already gone. Today was too warm again, and the ground was wet again. But I can hold on to that feeling, for a while. I can try not to worry too much about those moments becoming rarer until they disappear entirely in the years ahead.
People are asking the wrong question about climate change. The question isn’t ‘Is this drought/fire/flood/hurricane caused by climate change?’ All those weather phenomena have always been with us. The question is ‘How much worse is climate change making it?’ The answer is, a lot, but nowhere near as much as it’s going to.
You’re not the one that can fix it. Neither am I. Remember, about 100 companies are responsible for 71% of all carbon emissions. They are the ones that can, while not fix it exactly, certainly mitigate the absolute worst of it. They could have fixed it, in the 80s. They knew even then, but, you know. Money. Profit. Shareholders. BP. Exxon. Shell. Blood on their hands, all of them.
I suppose the point to make is take those moments of relief and joy where you can. While you can.
It's England. We’re famous for rain. I realise this. But the giant puddles and waterlogged woods I walk past and through on my way to and from work weren’t getting smaller or drying up. It turns out it hadn’t stopped raining for more than a day since September. Until just the other day.
It’s hard not to feel disingenuous moaning about constant rain in light of all that’s been going on in Australia and also when the rain we’ve had is inconsequential when compared to what Indonesia has been going through (what, you didn’t know? Your usual source of news failed to bring the terrible climate change-fuelled flooding to your attention? Funny that, with Indonesia being a country of people of a different colour or religion or standing on the world stage that your planet-destroying billionaire-defending press thought it wasn’t worth mentioning, what with a prince deciding to move out of his gran’s house being all that’s apparently newsworthy (a good backdrop for the upcoming likely economic suicide the country’s about to commit too – ‘take back control’ indeed. What a ridiculous joke). The day our hateful, lying, spiteful, complicit media go up in flames will be a good day. But I digress), it feels somewhat hypocritical to complain. But again, England. Complain is what we do.
We’ve had a mild Winter. That’s pretty much undeniable. And yes, to harp on about one mild Winter being down to climate change would be as bad as those that claim a cold snap is evidence supporting their denial. I know the difference between weather (the weather in one place, at one time, being evidence of nothing) and climate (weather trends over the world over an extended period of time, being evidence of our current way of life being somewhat doomed in a matter of decades, perhaps years). But a mild Winter coupled with knowledge of what’s happening to the climate has been leaving me sick with anxiety.
So when, over the last few days, the clouds cleared, and the stars shone at night, and the temperature dropped, and the morning came with frost, and the air was cold, I felt what I’d been missing. The muddy puddle I usually have to navigate through crunched underfoot. The leafless trees were gorgeous against a clear bright sky. The sunset was astonishing. It was such a relief. It was joyous.
It's already gone. Today was too warm again, and the ground was wet again. But I can hold on to that feeling, for a while. I can try not to worry too much about those moments becoming rarer until they disappear entirely in the years ahead.
People are asking the wrong question about climate change. The question isn’t ‘Is this drought/fire/flood/hurricane caused by climate change?’ All those weather phenomena have always been with us. The question is ‘How much worse is climate change making it?’ The answer is, a lot, but nowhere near as much as it’s going to.
You’re not the one that can fix it. Neither am I. Remember, about 100 companies are responsible for 71% of all carbon emissions. They are the ones that can, while not fix it exactly, certainly mitigate the absolute worst of it. They could have fixed it, in the 80s. They knew even then, but, you know. Money. Profit. Shareholders. BP. Exxon. Shell. Blood on their hands, all of them.
I suppose the point to make is take those moments of relief and joy where you can. While you can.
Sunday, December 29, 2019
Have I been wrong all this time? (Spoiler: No. Maybe, a little.)
I’ve always kind of hated text speak. ‘m8’? What the fuck? How hard is it to type ‘mate’? Useless cretins. I’ve only ever used ‘lol’ twice, and both times it was sarcastic for things that were decidedly unfunny. Emojis and all the associated pictures that you can add to your messages feel like an evolution of that text speak that annoys me so I don’t use them. I never mind it when other people use them, but because text speak always annoyed me, I’ve always refused to use them myself. They say a picture paints a thousand words. Well, give me the thousand words any day. Words can make you understood if you use them correctly. Words have immense power. Power to uplift, power to crush. Power to deceive (just ask most of the UK press).
I’ve tried at times to describe, a little, what it means to me to have Rach in my life, and how I might have turned out without her in older blog entries. Most people know a little about how it feels to be in love. About how having someone there to support, share and experience with makes everything make a little bit more sense. And because most of you know, I’ll not waste time trying to explain how she fills up my heart and soul with a warm glow every day, or how literally everything would be worse without her.
Instead I’ll come to the point (such as it is). She uses smiley faces, colourful heart pictures and other types of emojis in her texts to me. When she affectionately calls me a dork because I have to finish on the hour when doing overtime, not half-past or quarter-to, followed by a smiling face, or a kissing face and some hearts, it genuinely makes my day. I grin and have that little floating-on-air moment you have when you get confirmation that someone you love loves you in return. And I got it because of the emojis I refuse to use.
Still not doing text-speak. Always ‘you are’, or ‘you’re’, never ‘ure’. But knowing now how they can sometimes brighten a day, I may occasionally start using a picture or two. To be honest, the thumbs up in Skype is also a pretty useful thing when you’ve got nothing else to say, but saying nothing feels a little rude. So, maybe the occasional picture along with the words isn’t so bad after all.
Saturday, November 30, 2019
Alone? Not alone.
I was anxious about climate change back in the ‘90s. I wondered why, if it will inevitably lead to global catastrophe, nobody in a position to do anything about it was bothering. Throughout the early 2000s it became increasingly clear that the monster campaign of disinformation and bribery backed by the fossil fuel industry, influencing policy and media coverage, was able convince the public that the threat was vague, possibly not even real, and climate scientists, while trying repeatedly to get the message across with no funding, no experience, no backing and only research on their side, were side-lined and maligned at every turn. Each year that went by increased my anxiety and my fear and while I did what I could, the obvious truth was and remains no matter how much we recycle, reuse and repurpose, we won’t stop the ecological collapse without either overcoming or securing the backing of the capitalist machine that holds the media and the governments of the world in useless limbo.
Recently it’s become ever more difficult. The anxiety has morphed into a constant terror, a dull thudding knot always with me in the pit of my stomach, ready to snatch away any peaceful moment of introspection, semi-regularly spilling over into extended periods of frantic hopelessness that drive out other thoughts, robbing me of sleep and causing me to snap at my children.
Why, when extreme weather events are becoming ever more consistent, are Exxon Mobil still allowed to flood social media with greenwashing about how they’re funding bullshit, untested technology about sucking carbon molecules out of the air, while continuing to invest millions in fossil fuels? Why, when wildfires spread further and burn for longer every summer are we (that’s the royal we, as in governments and people actually in a position to invest) not building more offshore windfarms when it’s a proven technology that could replace coal (wind currently accounts for about 22% of energy sources)? Why, when research says we are currently waving goodbye to our chance to limit warming to 1.5 degrees and coming up on multiple major climate tipping points that will push us beyond 3 degrees (which will affect us all, ruinously) are we still increasing the amount of carbon we shit into the atmosphere year on year?
It didn’t seem like anyone else was being affected in this way. It seemed like the frightening reports just kept coming to a collective shrug from everyone else, while I quietly fretted more and more. Well, it turns out I’m not alone. Inspired by a child, almost one tenth of the entire population of the world walked out on a Friday to protest the criminal lack of action from those in positions of power and influence around the world. It turns out millions and millions of other people are terrified, and want things to change. It doesn’t sound like a good thing, but it sure made me feel less alone.
Slowly, too slowly, the needle is turning. Even the global disinformation network has mostly stopped denying climate change exists and is caused by humans, although it is still trying to stop anything being done about it, and business as usual on this front possibly gives us barely a handful of years before widespread collapse (and as that article points out, in some places, the collapse is already happening in a smaller scale in some countries). So far this year 100% of academic papers agree on the science.
It was women that helped me to get up and carry on, as usual. The doom and gloom articles, trying to get me to give up hope completely are usually written by men. The global strike was triggered by a girl, and it is the female climate scientists that are largely inspiring me to not lose all hope and acknowledge that yes, while catastrophic warming is now largely inevitable, leading to an uncertain and shitty future for my kids and likely curtailed old age for me, extinction is not yet a foregone conclusion. In the not-too-distant future, we’re all going to have to make a choice: Extinction? Or Rebellion?
Recently it’s become ever more difficult. The anxiety has morphed into a constant terror, a dull thudding knot always with me in the pit of my stomach, ready to snatch away any peaceful moment of introspection, semi-regularly spilling over into extended periods of frantic hopelessness that drive out other thoughts, robbing me of sleep and causing me to snap at my children.
Why, when extreme weather events are becoming ever more consistent, are Exxon Mobil still allowed to flood social media with greenwashing about how they’re funding bullshit, untested technology about sucking carbon molecules out of the air, while continuing to invest millions in fossil fuels? Why, when wildfires spread further and burn for longer every summer are we (that’s the royal we, as in governments and people actually in a position to invest) not building more offshore windfarms when it’s a proven technology that could replace coal (wind currently accounts for about 22% of energy sources)? Why, when research says we are currently waving goodbye to our chance to limit warming to 1.5 degrees and coming up on multiple major climate tipping points that will push us beyond 3 degrees (which will affect us all, ruinously) are we still increasing the amount of carbon we shit into the atmosphere year on year?
It didn’t seem like anyone else was being affected in this way. It seemed like the frightening reports just kept coming to a collective shrug from everyone else, while I quietly fretted more and more. Well, it turns out I’m not alone. Inspired by a child, almost one tenth of the entire population of the world walked out on a Friday to protest the criminal lack of action from those in positions of power and influence around the world. It turns out millions and millions of other people are terrified, and want things to change. It doesn’t sound like a good thing, but it sure made me feel less alone.
Slowly, too slowly, the needle is turning. Even the global disinformation network has mostly stopped denying climate change exists and is caused by humans, although it is still trying to stop anything being done about it, and business as usual on this front possibly gives us barely a handful of years before widespread collapse (and as that article points out, in some places, the collapse is already happening in a smaller scale in some countries). So far this year 100% of academic papers agree on the science.
It was women that helped me to get up and carry on, as usual. The doom and gloom articles, trying to get me to give up hope completely are usually written by men. The global strike was triggered by a girl, and it is the female climate scientists that are largely inspiring me to not lose all hope and acknowledge that yes, while catastrophic warming is now largely inevitable, leading to an uncertain and shitty future for my kids and likely curtailed old age for me, extinction is not yet a foregone conclusion. In the not-too-distant future, we’re all going to have to make a choice: Extinction? Or Rebellion?
Thursday, October 17, 2019
Not a traitor.
We’ll start with a Final Jeopardy question:
The irreparably corrupt convincing the (mostly) uninformed to demand the incompetent deliver the impossible.
Answers on a post card.
Feeling bereft that my children and their children (if the species lasts that long) will be denied the chance to work, live, love and settle in nearly 30 other countries as easily as getting on a train does not make me a traitor.
Wanting to be part of a larger international community working together to achieve positive outcomes, and not wanting to retreat to a more insular existence looking to a rose-tinted past does not make me a traitor.
Being worried about people I know having to deal with uncertainty regarding their right to stay in the place they’ve lived and worked for years and years does not make me a traitor.
Pointing out that the vote of 17 million people out of a country of 66 million doesn’t really give anyone carte blanche to do things that will take decades to recover from doesn’t make me a traitor.
Disagreeing with the assertion from the Daily Express that the said 17 million have been ignored, because the past three years has been almost nothing but an attempt to deliver this impossible thing you think you want does not make me a traitor.
Pointing out that about 1.5 million of them have died in the 3 years since, and that millions more now have a right to vote, making the original result somewhat out of date doesn’t make me a traitor.
Thinking that it’s strange that those in positions of influence advising we go ahead and leave without a deal stand to make £8.3 billion from their hedge fund speculations betting against the performance of UK companies because they know the country will be negatively affected isn’t reported more widely in the press doesn’t make me a traitor. (Eat, and I can’t stress this strongly enough, the rich.)
Feeling depressed when thinking about the sheer amount of good that could have been done year after year if dickheads didn't obsess over stupid shite don't make me no traitor.
Finding it hard to understand how non-racist leave voters don’t think that the massive level of support from racists and the sharp rise in racist violence the day the result was announced isn’t cause for concern and possibly a rethink doesn’t make me a traitor.
Pointing out that precisely nobody voted for no deal, which in fact highlights the profoundly unworkable nature of the original referendum, cursed from the outset, does not make me a traitor.
Being afraid for people who are dependent on drugs imported from other EU countries does not make me a traitor.
Saying that if you’re surprised that the ‘plan’ to take us out keeps falling apart when it comes up against the cold light of reality and long-established Parliamentary law means you’re not getting enough actual fact in your tabloid-fed bullshit does not make me a traitor. (As a starting point, try supplementing your red-top nonsense by following actual legal expert David Allen Green, if you can stand the hellscape Twitter has become.)
Thinking that ripping up over 4 decades of social, legal and economic integration without anything to replace it with is highly likely to cause recession, anxiety, social unrest, violence and the collapse of institutions and arrangements dependent on this integration (like, say, the NHS or the Good Friday Agreement) doesn’t make me a traitor.
Feeling impotent fury watching an old colleague’s record store go from a growing business to a stagnating one, barely afloat in the years since the referendum as stock imported from Europe rises steadily in cost due to a floundering and uncertain pound, and punters find themselves with less disposable income does not make me a traitor.
Repeat after me: NONE. OF. THESE. THINGS. MAKE. ME. A. TRAITOR.
The irreparably corrupt convincing the (mostly) uninformed to demand the incompetent deliver the impossible.
Answers on a post card.
It was intimated to me not so long ago that not wanting to leave the EU meant that somehow I was a traitor to the UK, siding with the enemy. I suppose the first point is that when did the EU become our enemy? Secondly, I have long established my dislike of obsessive patriotism, how it’s little more than mild racism, and how one of the best things for us as a species in the long run would be to stop allowing lines drawn on a map dictate where we can and can’t go, drop this infantile tribalism and just, you know, treat each other as fellow humans rather than allowing the country of one’s birth or one’s parents’ or grandparents’ birth inform how worthy we think people are of basic respect.
Feeling sad while posh twats cheer a person declare an end to free movement with a smirk on her face does not make me a traitor.
Thinking it's bizarre that said person seems really pleased about introducing an 'Australian-style points system' under which her own family would have most likely been denied entry to the UK doesn't make me a traitor.
Feeling bereft that my children and their children (if the species lasts that long) will be denied the chance to work, live, love and settle in nearly 30 other countries as easily as getting on a train does not make me a traitor.
Wanting to be part of a larger international community working together to achieve positive outcomes, and not wanting to retreat to a more insular existence looking to a rose-tinted past does not make me a traitor.
Being worried about people I know having to deal with uncertainty regarding their right to stay in the place they’ve lived and worked for years and years does not make me a traitor.
Pointing out that the vote of 17 million people out of a country of 66 million doesn’t really give anyone carte blanche to do things that will take decades to recover from doesn’t make me a traitor.
Disagreeing with the assertion from the Daily Express that the said 17 million have been ignored, because the past three years has been almost nothing but an attempt to deliver this impossible thing you think you want does not make me a traitor.
Pointing out that about 1.5 million of them have died in the 3 years since, and that millions more now have a right to vote, making the original result somewhat out of date doesn’t make me a traitor.
Thinking that it’s strange that those in positions of influence advising we go ahead and leave without a deal stand to make £8.3 billion from their hedge fund speculations betting against the performance of UK companies because they know the country will be negatively affected isn’t reported more widely in the press doesn’t make me a traitor. (Eat, and I can’t stress this strongly enough, the rich.)
Feeling depressed when thinking about the sheer amount of good that could have been done year after year if dickheads didn't obsess over stupid shite don't make me no traitor.
Finding it hard to understand how non-racist leave voters don’t think that the massive level of support from racists and the sharp rise in racist violence the day the result was announced isn’t cause for concern and possibly a rethink doesn’t make me a traitor.
Pointing out that precisely nobody voted for no deal, which in fact highlights the profoundly unworkable nature of the original referendum, cursed from the outset, does not make me a traitor.
Being afraid for people who are dependent on drugs imported from other EU countries does not make me a traitor.
Saying that if you’re surprised that the ‘plan’ to take us out keeps falling apart when it comes up against the cold light of reality and long-established Parliamentary law means you’re not getting enough actual fact in your tabloid-fed bullshit does not make me a traitor. (As a starting point, try supplementing your red-top nonsense by following actual legal expert David Allen Green, if you can stand the hellscape Twitter has become.)
Thinking that ripping up over 4 decades of social, legal and economic integration without anything to replace it with is highly likely to cause recession, anxiety, social unrest, violence and the collapse of institutions and arrangements dependent on this integration (like, say, the NHS or the Good Friday Agreement) doesn’t make me a traitor.
Feeling impotent fury watching an old colleague’s record store go from a growing business to a stagnating one, barely afloat in the years since the referendum as stock imported from Europe rises steadily in cost due to a floundering and uncertain pound, and punters find themselves with less disposable income does not make me a traitor.
Repeat after me: NONE. OF. THESE. THINGS. MAKE. ME. A. TRAITOR.
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
I suppose you’ve still gotta hope, right?
There’s been a lot of stuff getting me down lately. Following the 2016 illegally fought and won advisory referendum on our membership of the most successful peace-project in human history (yeah, alright, I’m over-egging the pudding a bit; I know the EU isn’t perfect, but it’s a damn sight better than any possible outcome we’re now faced with), the UK press are still pushing for this fucking catastrophe and since then we’ve gone from ‘£350 million a week for the NHS’ to ‘People will have the food they need’ and ‘Nah, we won’t abide by the law if we don’t feel like it’. This is not the same thing.
Over the pond, people are still sending ‘thoughts and prayers’ to families of shooting victims, while at the same time making it easier for any Trump-inspired numpty to buy an automatic death machine.
Still no sign of governments anywhere doing anything to tackle climate change that might actually make an appreciable difference – no, setting fire to the Amazon rainforest doesn’t count. But, there might be reason here for hope. For young people all over the world are no longer content to sit back and watch their future burn and are fighting back. Awareness of the scale of the issue is increasing everywhere and rich old white men are working hard to discredit the movement by launching consistent personal attacks on young figurehead Greta Thunberg. So far, little significant change has happened, but the movement is gaining ground and if the tide turns, then maybe climate change won’t be the civilisation-ender it’s gearing up to be.
Too many powerful people with a vested interest in things staying the way they are preventing real change for there to be anything more than a tiny chance, but you never know, and I’m trying not to take the ‘it’s a lost cause, might as well give up’ route, like Jonathan Franzen, who, quite frankly, appears to be trying to convince people not to disrupt the status quo so he can live out the rest of his life not having to give a shit. (I'm not linking to his article, because it's the last thing he deserves, but I will link to this glorious counterpoint.) It’s hard and there are still days when all feels lost, but kids with a lot more to lose than I have (I’ve already had 40 years, they haven’t) and people much, much smarter than I am haven’t given up yet. I suppose I can do no less.
Occasional feature: Ending with a song loosely related to the post (or more like a lyric I can take out of context and loosely relate to the post):
The Strokes: Heart in a Cage: “So don’t teach me a lesson, ‘cause I’ve already learned; the sun will be shining and my children will burn.”
Over the pond, people are still sending ‘thoughts and prayers’ to families of shooting victims, while at the same time making it easier for any Trump-inspired numpty to buy an automatic death machine.
Still no sign of governments anywhere doing anything to tackle climate change that might actually make an appreciable difference – no, setting fire to the Amazon rainforest doesn’t count. But, there might be reason here for hope. For young people all over the world are no longer content to sit back and watch their future burn and are fighting back. Awareness of the scale of the issue is increasing everywhere and rich old white men are working hard to discredit the movement by launching consistent personal attacks on young figurehead Greta Thunberg. So far, little significant change has happened, but the movement is gaining ground and if the tide turns, then maybe climate change won’t be the civilisation-ender it’s gearing up to be.
Too many powerful people with a vested interest in things staying the way they are preventing real change for there to be anything more than a tiny chance, but you never know, and I’m trying not to take the ‘it’s a lost cause, might as well give up’ route, like Jonathan Franzen, who, quite frankly, appears to be trying to convince people not to disrupt the status quo so he can live out the rest of his life not having to give a shit. (I'm not linking to his article, because it's the last thing he deserves, but I will link to this glorious counterpoint.) It’s hard and there are still days when all feels lost, but kids with a lot more to lose than I have (I’ve already had 40 years, they haven’t) and people much, much smarter than I am haven’t given up yet. I suppose I can do no less.
Occasional feature: Ending with a song loosely related to the post (or more like a lyric I can take out of context and loosely relate to the post):
The Strokes: Heart in a Cage: “So don’t teach me a lesson, ‘cause I’ve already learned; the sun will be shining and my children will burn.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)