Today - it's the crazy bit. Let's talk about the ridiculous elements of British democracy, most of which are characterised by their lack of democracy. We begin in the upper house of our national parliament, where, upon the red seats, in their ermine robes, our Lords carry out their work.
There are 792 of them currently, making the UK one of the few countries in the world to have more members in the upper house than in the lower. What are they doing there?, I hear you mumble disinterestedly. Well, I say, with gumption, 90 of them are there merely by who their fathers were. The hereditary peers of the land, of whom there are about 900, elect their ninety representatives to the house, which, in a peculiarly British sense, makes them the most democratically legitimate of all the members. Only here.... Secondly, 26 of the lords are not lords at all, but bishops, the most senior within the Church of England. What are they doing there? Well, good question. There is no separation of church and state in the UK, meaning this unwelcome invasion into politics by members of a single religion, and also explaining why the odious national anthem contains reference to God. (For an atheist, republican and pacifist, my anthem is borderline offensive. I think the only word I relate to in it is "happy". And I'm that precious little, as well.) Finally, the majority of the Lords are simply chosen by the party leaders, who twice-yearly fill the house with their largest donors, most successful party apparatchiks and most irritating failed MPs. Ironically, this ramshackle bunch actually do a damn good job of preventing the occasional lunacies of government policies from becoming law, though they are ultimately subservient to the lower house due to the Parliament Act of 1911. This gatekeeping job means the Lords are actually more respected than the Commons by the vast majority of the population. Only here....
So that's that done. The monarchy, as you are no doubt aware, is an expensive joke. While the Queen's job as figurehead is undoubtably important, the idea of selecting a head of state based on whose womb they came out of is as repugnant as it is outdated. Secondly, the fact of the monarchy, far from being a safeguard on insanity, actually worsens democracy. The Royal Prerogative refers to actions which are consitutionally carried out by the monarch alone, which in this day and age means at the total whim of the prime minister. These include DECLARING WAR. Yes, the PM can, if he or she so desires, and they often do, declare war on another country without asking parliament at all. And they say the system works....
Finally, let's explore the minefield of devolution. As you know, the UK is made up of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. It may interest you to know that the latter three all have their own parliaments, national, proportionally elected, with powers over health, education and the like, while England does not, having to make do with the UK parliament, which of course has members from all four nations. Isn't that blatantly unfair?, I hear you scream through gritted teeth. Well, yes. In an attempt to cool the flames of Scottish and Welsh independence, and continue the peace process in NI, the last Labour government introduced these devolved parliaments, and, in a spirit of progressivism, made them proportionally elected (24th, guys!) and fair. Why is this a problem? Well, back when Labour introduced university tuition fees in England, the parliamentary vote was so tight, only a 20 vote majority, that it wouldn't have passed without the votes of Scottish MPs, whose own constituents WERE NOT AFFECTED thanks to their devolved parliament continuing to fund their students through university. MAHHH! Doesn't that make you insane? It does me.
Three examples of sham democracy there, folks. Join me again, probably on Saturday, when I'll maybe tell you what I have been (will have had been?) doing this week, and will certainly review The Impossible Astronaut. For I am a Whovian. Follow, twitter, blah blah, OK zzzzz.
EDIT: Also someone vote on the damn poll, willya? Kthanxbai.
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Monday, 18 April 2011
Monday, 11 April 2011
Explosions of the mind. (BSDA #8)
For the last few hours, while reorganising my history revision notes into things of true beauty, I've been watching Rory McIlroy, the 54 hole leader and favourite, implode mentally in his fourth round at the Masters. He never really got going and after a freak tee shot at the tenth, which hit a tree branch and ricocheted to the left, leaving him out of position and able only to get a triple bogey, he collapsed over the next few holes, missing easy putts left right and centre to put him well back on the leaderboard. It is all too similar to his second round 80 at the Open at St Andrews last year, after his record-equalling 63 the previous day. What can we learn from this? Only, I think, that it is a mental issue, nothing to do with ability.
I have experience of this myself, though naturally not on the scale of McIlroy today. In exams, interviews and other important events, I have found myself vulnerable to mental collapses when considering the scale of what I am attempting. This year, with exams approaching apace, I am trying to fully relax myself by only revising when it feels right to do so, rather than forcing myself into it at inopportune times, and by organising my notes into something I am totally confident with, rather than the confusing mess they ended up as last year. Clearly whether this will work is something I will only discover on results day, but I am far more confident as a result of these measures that I hope I can realise my goals and prevent a recurrence of previous explosions of the mind.
Finally, congratulations to Charl Schwartzel, whose composure has been in my view the deciding factor in his Masters success.
I have experience of this myself, though naturally not on the scale of McIlroy today. In exams, interviews and other important events, I have found myself vulnerable to mental collapses when considering the scale of what I am attempting. This year, with exams approaching apace, I am trying to fully relax myself by only revising when it feels right to do so, rather than forcing myself into it at inopportune times, and by organising my notes into something I am totally confident with, rather than the confusing mess they ended up as last year. Clearly whether this will work is something I will only discover on results day, but I am far more confident as a result of these measures that I hope I can realise my goals and prevent a recurrence of previous explosions of the mind.
Finally, congratulations to Charl Schwartzel, whose composure has been in my view the deciding factor in his Masters success.
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
The Baader-Meinhof Complex REVIEWED. (BSDA #5)
So today I watched a film called the Baader-Meinhof Complex, about the Rote Armee Fraktion, the extremist left-wing terrorist organisation which operated in Germany mainly in the 1970s. Let's start with the simple bit. It was an extremely good film which I would recommend to anyone with an interest in terrorism (not in that way, you understand), late German history or social revolutions. Or indeed simply if you like good films. (Parental advisory, of course, given the copious amounts of violence, drug use and nudity.)
Fred Kaplan of the New York Times said that "when the film opened in Germany last year, some younger viewers came out of theaters crestfallen that the Red Army Faction members, still mythologized, were such dead-enders. Some who were older complained that the film had made the gang look too attractive. But they were dead-enders, and they were attractive. A film about them, or any other popular terrorist movement, has to account for both facts if it seeks to explain not just their crimes but also their existence."
Fred Kaplan of the New York Times said that "when the film opened in Germany last year, some younger viewers came out of theaters crestfallen that the Red Army Faction members, still mythologized, were such dead-enders. Some who were older complained that the film had made the gang look too attractive. But they were dead-enders, and they were attractive. A film about them, or any other popular terrorist movement, has to account for both facts if it seeks to explain not just their crimes but also their existence."
I think this is a brilliant review, hence the shameless stealing. The best thing about this film is that it neither totally glamorises nor totally pathologises the RAF - instead it gives you the whole story. The violence, the sexual freedom, the casual misogyny, the brutal murders, the disdain for the law both from the RAF and the authorities, the madness, the Marxian politics and the wider picture of the radicalised German left of the time. There's very little in the way of moralising here; some have argued there's too little. It is the viewer's decision as to how to interpret the actions of the RAF: are they just brutal killers? Sexy freedom fighters? A group with ideals gone wrong? To me, the latter seems the case, but this is a matter of individual interpretation.
Despite the German film industry only having about four actors, the movie is superbly acted throughout. Even the guys in bit part roles manage to fill you with an understanding of their characters' complexities and the difficulties of living in such a radical and brutal world as that of the RAF. I did however think some of the characters' roles were underdeveloped, and too many characters simply popped in and out of the action randomly, though this is probably a necessary consequence of trying to summarise the actions of a movement over ten years within two and a half hours.
Whether you watch it as a study of a hugely controversial group in recent history, or as a crime drama, or as a political thriller, there is very little wrong with this film. It was a worthy recipient of its many awards, and is only a part of the 21st century renaissance within German film which happily shows no signs of abating.
9/10
Oi oi oi. If you enjoyed reading this, there's only one thing to do now. No, not hijack a plane or storm the German embassy in Stockholm. Follow this blog. And good stuff will probably happen.
Saturday, 2 April 2011
TEACHER ATTACK!!!! (BSDA #2)
In which an embarrassing but true story is recounted.
Random acts of violence are a part of my life. Rarely a day goes by when something isn't amusingly stolen from me, necessitating the most vicious and vindictive of reprisals. However, the other day - I took it to the next level.
Let's set the scene. Four guys clustered, seated, round a table. Three on the south side, one on the other. I the middle one of the three. Atop the table - a few books, a ring-binder folder, and a pencil case with a zip, currently opened, inside which sits an innocuous grey hole punch. And, unusually, a teacher, standing, conversing, immediately to the right of the solo sitter.
The solo sitter, who for the purposes of this blog we'll call Will (cos that's his name), enjoys stealing things from me, to which I conventionally respond with mock violence. Today he does just that. He reaches forward, takes from my case a pen, leans back with it solely in his grasp. The teacher continues talking, slowly, achingly slowly, the time before I can lunge for the pen stretching away far into the distance. Eventually I can bear it no more - I must have it now! I know the best way to recover it, I decide: smack Will's arm with the pencil case. A foolproof plan, I think. I seize the case and lift up my arm to strike.
I thump the case down violently; Will retracts his arm with lighting speed; the case hits the table; and, horror of horrors, the hole punch jumps free and whacks the teacher hard on the hip.
The shriek of pain she gave could have awoken the very hounds of Hell. The world is over, I think; Lucifer and all his friends have come for me - I'll burn my books! (Yes, I make obscure Kit Marlowe references too.)
In actual fact, this story has a happy ending. When the pain had thankfully receded, the teacher took it in good spirits; laughed about it, as did my friends for the next three freaking days. (And counting.) But the emotional torment it created within me may never go away, for, you see, dear friends, I punched someone.
(Come on, you knew that pun was coming, right?)
Blog Some Days In April needs readers! If you value your sanity, but especially if you don't - follow this blog. A thousand glorious things will happen when you do. Or six.
Random acts of violence are a part of my life. Rarely a day goes by when something isn't amusingly stolen from me, necessitating the most vicious and vindictive of reprisals. However, the other day - I took it to the next level.
Let's set the scene. Four guys clustered, seated, round a table. Three on the south side, one on the other. I the middle one of the three. Atop the table - a few books, a ring-binder folder, and a pencil case with a zip, currently opened, inside which sits an innocuous grey hole punch. And, unusually, a teacher, standing, conversing, immediately to the right of the solo sitter.
The solo sitter, who for the purposes of this blog we'll call Will (cos that's his name), enjoys stealing things from me, to which I conventionally respond with mock violence. Today he does just that. He reaches forward, takes from my case a pen, leans back with it solely in his grasp. The teacher continues talking, slowly, achingly slowly, the time before I can lunge for the pen stretching away far into the distance. Eventually I can bear it no more - I must have it now! I know the best way to recover it, I decide: smack Will's arm with the pencil case. A foolproof plan, I think. I seize the case and lift up my arm to strike.
I thump the case down violently; Will retracts his arm with lighting speed; the case hits the table; and, horror of horrors, the hole punch jumps free and whacks the teacher hard on the hip.
The shriek of pain she gave could have awoken the very hounds of Hell. The world is over, I think; Lucifer and all his friends have come for me - I'll burn my books! (Yes, I make obscure Kit Marlowe references too.)
In actual fact, this story has a happy ending. When the pain had thankfully receded, the teacher took it in good spirits; laughed about it, as did my friends for the next three freaking days. (And counting.) But the emotional torment it created within me may never go away, for, you see, dear friends, I punched someone.
(Come on, you knew that pun was coming, right?)
Blog Some Days In April needs readers! If you value your sanity, but especially if you don't - follow this blog. A thousand glorious things will happen when you do. Or six.
Friday, 1 April 2011
The visual and narrative conventions of documentary television. (BSDA #1)
[So I'm attempting BSDA, my own acronym for Blog Some Days in April, a kinda cop-out version of the internet tradition. Two reasons why I can't do every day - I'm away from the 18th to the 22nd, and, well, I have a life. Not to mention revision. My challenge is therefore to do 20 blogs this month. I hope you'll join me in my quest. If you want to, please follow. Now - on with the rant.]
I really hate watching Andrew Marr walk around shopping centres. By this, I don't mean that I occasionally see him perusing the shelves at Topman or whatever, because I don't go to those kind of places. And I'm sure he doesn't either. What I'm talking about is documentaries. It seems that today it is absolutely essential for every director on the BBC to fill at least 40 minutes of their hour-long shows with fatuous nonsense, moody music and presenters walking around NOT SAYING ANYTHING.
Yesterday I watched a programme about the census with Marr and one about employment practices through the last half-century with Kirsty Young. They were an hour long each. I managed to watch them both in 37 minutes. Why was this? Simply, I fast-forwarded through any pointless scene-setting or conclusive narration (the BBC seems to take the philosophy of "tell them what you're going to say, tell them, then tell them what you've said" to ridiculous levels by giving each the same amount of time), transitional shots of the presenters a) walking through busy streets b) waiting for trains or c) driving massive cars through the countryside (green credentials writ large), and any attempts by the presenter to talk to a non-expert in the middle of the street, or, worse, their cosy suburban households. I simply hate listening to people tell me about their own life as if that somehow illuminates a wider social change (because very often this leaves gaping holes in the argument as the presenter searches desperately for some way to qualify a personal anecdote as though it were an established social trend). All these things are, it seems, held to be necessary for people to remain interested in a programme for a whole hour, a timespan so immense in the days of 24/7 television that it's necessary for newsreaders to tell us the time four times in every broadcast, as though we were fruitflies and might die, unfulfilled, before the next announcement.
Another tremendously irritating convention is to send your superstar presenter all around the world to film tiny little segments of to-camera work in front of as many different examples of "nature" as possible. The rockstar-turned-physicist Brian Cox has fallen victim to this, with his latest series Wonders Of The Universe featuring him making sandcastles and smiling inanely into camera in the Namibian desert. Not Brighton, not Blackpool, not even a freaking studio but a country thousands of miles away whose only connection to a spiel about entropy seems to be its larger collection of sand. Despite that, he still used a regular bucket.
I like TV documentaries. I like their capacity to inspire, educate and entertain, in the great Reithian tradition on which public service television was founded. So it really hurts me to see directors waste their presenters' talents by filming them silently reading train timetables or standing in front of Patagonian glaciers as though that in itself were somehow information. This madness has got to stop.
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
Barely quantifiable anger
So I was reminiscing today about last year's student protests, and how a largely peaceful and passionate movement was hijacked by a few vandals, who of course got all the attention from the conservative media. While a pessimist might note that the protests entirely failed in their aims, that seems a fairly pointless conclusion to reach given that a majority of the population supported the protesters (who did include me, though on a school-level protest, not the main London one - we got on the local news though!) and the disapproval rates of the government have stayed high all winter.
Last Saturday, the March for the Alternative in London brought together 400,000 people opposed to the irrational and ideologically motivated cuts to public services introduced by this government. (Let's be clear - no-one voted for this, me because I was too young (!) but most people because even the Tory manifesto said "no frontline cuts" and "no top-down reorganisations of the NHS".) Once again, there was sporadic trouble but this time literally only 50 or so people did anything criminal at all. The Daily Mail's resident bigot, Melanie Phillips tried to tar the legitimate protest group UK Uncut with the epithet of anarchists, but, y'know, they aren't. However, it emerges that the UK Uncut members who occupied Fortnum and Mason were tricked into arrest by the police, who, a video released on the Guardian website makes clear, said they would be free to go when they left the store. They then walked out... straight into a police kettle where they were immediately arrested. Ho hum.
So this brings me back to this blog's title. Anger is a relative concept. It's possible to get astoudingly angry about tiny little things, while allowing capitalists to get away with paying only a pittance in taxes to a country which gives them everything. Anger must be directed if it is to achieve anything. The March for the Alternative and the UK Uncut movement are all legitimate harbingers of anger, but we must be so careful not to let vandals and wreckers destroy them as they did the tuition fees protests. An irresponsible and biased media is clearly not going to help here. Therefore activists must keep making their case eloquently and passionately in the British democratic tradition, so that the barely quantifiable anger against the government of the country's progressive majority can be refined into a real popular movement - a movement with the power to change.
Phillips: http://bit.ly/fK7Pe7
Guardian footage: http://bit.ly/fto02l
My point made better: http://bit.ly/iaxIEH
Last Saturday, the March for the Alternative in London brought together 400,000 people opposed to the irrational and ideologically motivated cuts to public services introduced by this government. (Let's be clear - no-one voted for this, me because I was too young (!) but most people because even the Tory manifesto said "no frontline cuts" and "no top-down reorganisations of the NHS".) Once again, there was sporadic trouble but this time literally only 50 or so people did anything criminal at all. The Daily Mail's resident bigot, Melanie Phillips tried to tar the legitimate protest group UK Uncut with the epithet of anarchists, but, y'know, they aren't. However, it emerges that the UK Uncut members who occupied Fortnum and Mason were tricked into arrest by the police, who, a video released on the Guardian website makes clear, said they would be free to go when they left the store. They then walked out... straight into a police kettle where they were immediately arrested. Ho hum.
So this brings me back to this blog's title. Anger is a relative concept. It's possible to get astoudingly angry about tiny little things, while allowing capitalists to get away with paying only a pittance in taxes to a country which gives them everything. Anger must be directed if it is to achieve anything. The March for the Alternative and the UK Uncut movement are all legitimate harbingers of anger, but we must be so careful not to let vandals and wreckers destroy them as they did the tuition fees protests. An irresponsible and biased media is clearly not going to help here. Therefore activists must keep making their case eloquently and passionately in the British democratic tradition, so that the barely quantifiable anger against the government of the country's progressive majority can be refined into a real popular movement - a movement with the power to change.
Phillips: http://bit.ly/fK7Pe7
Guardian footage: http://bit.ly/fto02l
My point made better: http://bit.ly/iaxIEH
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
Anthems
I made a list of good national anthems. This is good revision. Oh... wait. No, the other one. A complete, albeit satisfying, waste of time. I waste time frequently.
The official top seven.
I hope you enjoyed that. Procrastination over.
The official top seven.
- Einigkeit und Recht und Freiheit - Germany. This is the best cos it's nice, int'it? *
- La Marseillaise - France. This one fits best the country's national stereotype. There's something about letting impure blood water your furrows that can only be French. Maybe it makes the garlic grow better or something.
- Advance Australia Fair - I won't insult your intelligence. Some Aussies don't like this. They say it's too dull. But believe me, guys. You were right to choose it over GSTQ, which is simply the worst dirge ever written.
- O Canada - best used to make ironic statements about the United States. **
- Fratelli d'Italia - aside from an introduction that sounds like a fairground ride's music, this is absolutely brilliant. You just can't help but love it.
- Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau - inspiring and beautiful. This is why the Welsh often beat us at rugby. ***
- Het Wilhelmus - possibly the only anthem to be written in the first person. The reference to the king of Spain is admittedly odd, but this does sound wonderful, although I totally understand that it is slow and reverent and suffers from the two problems I always attack GSTQ for, being, a praising of God and a monarchical sentiment. Also, ik hou van hoe de Nederlanders spreuk woorden. (Sorry. Google translate.)
*Some stupid people think it's Deutschland über alles, which hasn't been true since Hitler and is totally at odds with modern German liberalism. They're not crazy militarists, you idiotic British racists.
** How many Americans know that their anthem's tune comes from an old English drinking song called To Anacreon In Heaven? The song was commonly used as a sobriety test: if you could sing a stanza of the notoriously difficult melody and stay on key, you were sober enough for another round. Haha. I'd buy a drink for anyone who could recite Francis Scott Key's lyrics after a couple, though.
*** Except this year!!! Yay for England. Boo for the Grand Slam fail. :(
Honourable mentions.
- Auferstanden aus Ruinen. So yeah, this isn't an anthem anymore, and yeah, it was kinda the anthem of a repressive totalitarian regime... but come on. It's lovely. It's sweet and fluffy, like clouds and sheep in springtime and hummingbirds and pillows and the Stasi.
- The Internationale and The Land. Two anthems here, each not to a nation, but rather to political ideologies, socialism and liberalism ( the latter is more specifically for land value taxation, but let's not overcomplicate things). Regardless of your political inclinations (I sit uneasily between both these camps) these songs are magnificent anthems for what they claim to represent.
- Jerusalem. So this isn't actually the anthem of anywhere, but it should be. The only important patriotic song which actually mentions England, a progressive anthem to unity and a theologically and politically radical song (no, it isn't a hymn and the mentions of Jesus are deliberately ambiguous and ultimately negative) which is nicely complex and affords many potential interpretations, this is the only possible anthem for England.
I hope you enjoyed that. Procrastination over.
Thursday, 10 March 2011
The monarchy, parts two and three
Last time on "antmoorfield rants incoherently", we discussed the issue of that august British institution of the Parliament and how its members are somehow unable to criticise that other august British institution the monarchy.
You may know, unless you herd goats in Mongolia for a living, that next month is this country's first real royal wedding for 30 years. (Chas and Cam don't count, cos he's a divorcee and she's a dog.) Oh the atmosphere is electric - the coverage on the media gets ever more hysterical and faux-patriotic, and TV presenters shriek such absurdities as "everyone wants an invitation to the royal wedding" (Kate Galloway) at such soul-splitting volume that dogs up and down the land have been known to run around their gardens yelping. (By dogs here I of course mean middle-aged female conservatives.)
There is a surprising lack of response to this media infatuation with two privileged toffs tying the knot. This is despite the fact that absolutely no-one I know is the slightest bit interested in the event, apart from middle-aged female conservatives. Everyone else knows that the wall-to-wall Kate and Wills (what a ghastly nickname) coverage is just a front for savage Tory cuts and the imminent double-dip recession. But still, a nice day out for all the family. And you'll get the time off if you've just lost your job....
Media orthodoxy scares me, as a liberal, as whenever someone (even when that someone is Sky's resident harridan Kay Burley) proclaims that the whole country is in favour of something, and overjoyed at the prospect of our future king and his beautiful queen having a fairytale wedding, I have to ask when we emigrated to Nazi Germany. I wasn't aware that free speech was forbidden. (Well, at least before the Bryant affair. Ref part one...)
Finally, it must be said that although I totally acknowledge that republicans like myself are a minority in this country (the figure's remained constant at around 20% since the 60s) there does seem to be a massive shock whenever someone says they are one. I don't know if this is just the rural naturally conservative area in which I live, but everyone I've told of my republicanism seems totally surprised and, even, kind of concerned. (You see? Why do I have to couch this in the language normally used to describe gay people coming out! This is a political belief, you know, not a sexuality!)
The apathetic majority, around 75% if figures can be believed, are not being allowed to consider both sides of the argument. When people bumble on about tourism, time and tradition, it seems to me that there is a wilful desire to cut off debate at source. Now the pressure group Republic have a brilliant denunciation of all monarchist arguments, so I have no need to go into the answers here. All I'm trying to say is that this country thrives on debate. There's no sense in refusing to talk about something because you think you'll lose the argument - children do that. Most people have grown up, on the whole. (Notable exceptions including Boris Johnson, Richard Hammond and the son and heir, Charles Windsor.) This is a debate that we need to have. I'd like to see a referendum on the monarchy, probably when the current Queen dies, and with both sides given the option to present their opinions fairly and without the media bias that currently existed. To me, this would give people the chance to talk about what it means to be British, what it means to respect traditoin and what, ultimately, is the point of democracy.
Signing off,
antmoorfield.
Vive la Republique!
You may know, unless you herd goats in Mongolia for a living, that next month is this country's first real royal wedding for 30 years. (Chas and Cam don't count, cos he's a divorcee and she's a dog.) Oh the atmosphere is electric - the coverage on the media gets ever more hysterical and faux-patriotic, and TV presenters shriek such absurdities as "everyone wants an invitation to the royal wedding" (Kate Galloway) at such soul-splitting volume that dogs up and down the land have been known to run around their gardens yelping. (By dogs here I of course mean middle-aged female conservatives.)
There is a surprising lack of response to this media infatuation with two privileged toffs tying the knot. This is despite the fact that absolutely no-one I know is the slightest bit interested in the event, apart from middle-aged female conservatives. Everyone else knows that the wall-to-wall Kate and Wills (what a ghastly nickname) coverage is just a front for savage Tory cuts and the imminent double-dip recession. But still, a nice day out for all the family. And you'll get the time off if you've just lost your job....
Media orthodoxy scares me, as a liberal, as whenever someone (even when that someone is Sky's resident harridan Kay Burley) proclaims that the whole country is in favour of something, and overjoyed at the prospect of our future king and his beautiful queen having a fairytale wedding, I have to ask when we emigrated to Nazi Germany. I wasn't aware that free speech was forbidden. (Well, at least before the Bryant affair. Ref part one...)
Finally, it must be said that although I totally acknowledge that republicans like myself are a minority in this country (the figure's remained constant at around 20% since the 60s) there does seem to be a massive shock whenever someone says they are one. I don't know if this is just the rural naturally conservative area in which I live, but everyone I've told of my republicanism seems totally surprised and, even, kind of concerned. (You see? Why do I have to couch this in the language normally used to describe gay people coming out! This is a political belief, you know, not a sexuality!)
The apathetic majority, around 75% if figures can be believed, are not being allowed to consider both sides of the argument. When people bumble on about tourism, time and tradition, it seems to me that there is a wilful desire to cut off debate at source. Now the pressure group Republic have a brilliant denunciation of all monarchist arguments, so I have no need to go into the answers here. All I'm trying to say is that this country thrives on debate. There's no sense in refusing to talk about something because you think you'll lose the argument - children do that. Most people have grown up, on the whole. (Notable exceptions including Boris Johnson, Richard Hammond and the son and heir, Charles Windsor.) This is a debate that we need to have. I'd like to see a referendum on the monarchy, probably when the current Queen dies, and with both sides given the option to present their opinions fairly and without the media bias that currently existed. To me, this would give people the chance to talk about what it means to be British, what it means to respect traditoin and what, ultimately, is the point of democracy.
Signing off,
antmoorfield.
Vive la Republique!
The monarchy, part one
It is a common misconception, among non-British people, that we're all fascinated by, and in love with, the monarchy. Many (by which I mean a very small number, because my internationalism is something that I need to work on) non-British people have said to me something along the lines of "do you go and drink tea with the Queen at Buckingham Palace? Have you seen the Crown jewels? Isn't it a fairytale?" The answers to these questions, by the way, in reverse order, are, "no, not really", "yes", and "of course not, you blithering fool". (It's worth pointing out that this is actually made up, but go with it. I'm going somewhere, you'll see.) However, to a great extent this is cultural assumption and stereotype, and so there isn't really anything significant to read into it. Furthermore, the extent to which this is meaningful is very little - to most foreigners, the importance of the monarchy as a concept stretches about as far as tourism and some dollars and yen for the Exchequer.
On the other hand, it is rather more disturbing when the great British people seem to be wilfully rejecting any kind of rational debate into the issue of whether having a monarchy is actually appropriate, democratic or even legitimate. Three facets of this debate infuriate me. Let's deal with them in turn, by the process of male-dominant primogeniture if you insist.
Firstly, it came to my attention this week that it is actually forbidden to criticise the royals or their institution in Parliament. Now, OK, this takes some getting used to. There's this building, right, where people go and discuss matters of great urgency to the nation in order to get their political views into legislation. Excellent idea! One of the few things we Brits can be proud of is the exportation of democracy to the rest of the civilised world. But there's an issue. This week in Parliament, former Foreign Office minister Chris Bryant MP asked whether the disgraceful conduct of the Duke of York (porcine bloke, arrogant, loudmouth, altogether an arse) would be grounds for calling for his resignation as the UK's Special Trade Representative, a job which involves going round the world buttering up diplomats and politicians so we can flog stuff at them. Perfectly legitimate question. I'll let you guess what happened next, based on the normal rules of parliamentary procedure.
a) The Speaker took note of his comment and promised to arrange a debate on the subject
b) The Speaker took note of his comment and promised to deliver Bryant's concerns on the matter to the relevant minister.
c) The Speaker took note of his comment and promised to allow other hon. Members to talk on the issue.
Taken your guess?
No, you're all wrong! It's actually d) The Speaker took issue with his comment and forcibly told him that all references to the royals in the house should be "brief, sparing and respectful" and refused to let debate continue. I'll let you digest that.
This is a democratic house where people discuss social issues. Check. Free speech is a right in a civilised society. Check. People are elected to try to make the world a better place. Check.
So why in the name of all that's liberal can't we even debate this issue in a democratic house! This is a national disgrace - all that talk of liberty and equality is just arse-gas, it seems - us poor plebs should know our place and not question our betters, gawd bless 'er Majesty.
Good Christ! (Let's not forget that the established church is headed by the Queen herself. It doesn't take an Archbishop to work out the problems that causes...)
So. We have this situation, where 20% of the British people are unable to express their concerns about the monarchy in the elected House of Commons. OK, so. Where next? Yeah, the media.
In part two of this angry rant, we consider the role of the newspapers and telly in this national shitpile. Until then, keep warm, keep happy and keep well.
On the other hand, it is rather more disturbing when the great British people seem to be wilfully rejecting any kind of rational debate into the issue of whether having a monarchy is actually appropriate, democratic or even legitimate. Three facets of this debate infuriate me. Let's deal with them in turn, by the process of male-dominant primogeniture if you insist.
Firstly, it came to my attention this week that it is actually forbidden to criticise the royals or their institution in Parliament. Now, OK, this takes some getting used to. There's this building, right, where people go and discuss matters of great urgency to the nation in order to get their political views into legislation. Excellent idea! One of the few things we Brits can be proud of is the exportation of democracy to the rest of the civilised world. But there's an issue. This week in Parliament, former Foreign Office minister Chris Bryant MP asked whether the disgraceful conduct of the Duke of York (porcine bloke, arrogant, loudmouth, altogether an arse) would be grounds for calling for his resignation as the UK's Special Trade Representative, a job which involves going round the world buttering up diplomats and politicians so we can flog stuff at them. Perfectly legitimate question. I'll let you guess what happened next, based on the normal rules of parliamentary procedure.
a) The Speaker took note of his comment and promised to arrange a debate on the subject
b) The Speaker took note of his comment and promised to deliver Bryant's concerns on the matter to the relevant minister.
c) The Speaker took note of his comment and promised to allow other hon. Members to talk on the issue.
Taken your guess?
No, you're all wrong! It's actually d) The Speaker took issue with his comment and forcibly told him that all references to the royals in the house should be "brief, sparing and respectful" and refused to let debate continue. I'll let you digest that.
This is a democratic house where people discuss social issues. Check. Free speech is a right in a civilised society. Check. People are elected to try to make the world a better place. Check.
So why in the name of all that's liberal can't we even debate this issue in a democratic house! This is a national disgrace - all that talk of liberty and equality is just arse-gas, it seems - us poor plebs should know our place and not question our betters, gawd bless 'er Majesty.
Good Christ! (Let's not forget that the established church is headed by the Queen herself. It doesn't take an Archbishop to work out the problems that causes...)
So. We have this situation, where 20% of the British people are unable to express their concerns about the monarchy in the elected House of Commons. OK, so. Where next? Yeah, the media.
In part two of this angry rant, we consider the role of the newspapers and telly in this national shitpile. Until then, keep warm, keep happy and keep well.
Wednesday, 9 March 2011
Why do thoughts evaporate when you're trying to write a blog?
This is a ridiculous thing that keeps happening. I have so many witty, urbane, observational thoughts in my head during the day but whenever I get down to writing here they all disappear.
I could write something fascinating about sociology or politics, which are my main foci (oh don't be ridiculous with your vocabulary, you utter blancmange) but the most I could muster would be some feeble done-to-death tirade about Tory cuts or some attempt to pretend I understand the complexities of Middle Eastern geopolitics by talking about Gaddafi or some such rubbish.
Sollte ich vielleicht Deutsch sprechen, weil das eine andere Interesse ist? Nein, glaube ich. Kann nichts interessant sagen. Schade, weil diese wunderbare Sprache so schön ist, dass mein Blog viel besser aussieht.
I could go to bed. It is, after all, midnight. The witching hour. Maybe if I don't, though, a Big Friendly Giant will whisk me off to save the Queen. But then again that would offend my republicanism, so maybe I should sleep.
But beforehand, I'll leave a list of things I could write about in the future. Like a totally uninteresting version of a time capsule.
Racists
The Daily Mail
Tory cuts
Royalty
Americans
British people
Music
Grapefruit
Blancmanges
Pointless lists
Self-conscious entries in lists which illuminate the artifice of the construction in a postmodern way
Bananas
I remain your good and faithful servant,
antmoorfield.
I could write something fascinating about sociology or politics, which are my main foci (oh don't be ridiculous with your vocabulary, you utter blancmange) but the most I could muster would be some feeble done-to-death tirade about Tory cuts or some attempt to pretend I understand the complexities of Middle Eastern geopolitics by talking about Gaddafi or some such rubbish.
Sollte ich vielleicht Deutsch sprechen, weil das eine andere Interesse ist? Nein, glaube ich. Kann nichts interessant sagen. Schade, weil diese wunderbare Sprache so schön ist, dass mein Blog viel besser aussieht.
I could go to bed. It is, after all, midnight. The witching hour. Maybe if I don't, though, a Big Friendly Giant will whisk me off to save the Queen. But then again that would offend my republicanism, so maybe I should sleep.
But beforehand, I'll leave a list of things I could write about in the future. Like a totally uninteresting version of a time capsule.
Racists
The Daily Mail
Tory cuts
Royalty
Americans
British people
Music
Grapefruit
Blancmanges
Pointless lists
Self-conscious entries in lists which illuminate the artifice of the construction in a postmodern way
Bananas
I remain your good and faithful servant,
antmoorfield.
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