Showing posts with label Politics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Politics. Show all posts

Thursday, 25 November 2021

Holiday


I wrote this poem many years ago in response to the Syrian refugee crisis and after reading Home by Warsan Shire.

you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat,
unless the water is safer than the land


My poem is not going to rock the poetry world but I remembered it this week because of what is happening to those poor people trying to cross the Channel to get to the UK. 


HOLIDAY

We’re going on holiday
Mum, Dad and I.
On a sailing boat, across the sea
To an island, nearby.

We’ve a backpack each,
I’ve packed my Teddy
Why’s Mum crying?
Everything’s ready.

Dad says we’re leaving late at night
Cause that is much more fun.
It’s so cold, look – the stars are out
Why are they starting to run?

There’s many other people here,
are they all coming too?
No-one looks that happy,
I really need the loo.

That’s not a sailing boat at all,
but a rubber blow-up thing.
It looks like the toy I have in my bath
where I splash and play and sing.

The sea is dark, it looks so big
The waves are very high.
Mum and Dad are quiet.
I’m scared. I don’t know why.

Strange men shouting
Children crying
In the boat, now!
Someone is lying.


I need the toilet, Mum says wait
I want my bed and toys
I shouldn’t be up this late, I think
I’m just a little boy.

Men shoving
Ocean, heaving.
Boat is full.
Boat is leaving.

Wee runs straight down my leg.
Tears fill my eyes.
It’s raining now, I’m so cold
Inside, it’s warm and dry.

Mum wades in the water,
her trousers are now all wet.
‘Mum! Mum! I shout
I'm not having much fun yet.

Dad grabs me.
Screaming, I kick and shout.
My backpack falls off,
Ted falls out.

The boat’s now full, we’re in the dark
Silence fills the air.
Is this a holiday we’re on?
I want my teddy bear.

Boat is leaking
Mum is screaming
Ted is gone
Am I dreaming?

RIP

Wednesday, 8 April 2020

Oh No. Bojo has the Covo.

CoVo world moves at a rate of knots. Things change with a blink.

A few days ago, the UK Prime Minister, Boris Johnson was hospitalised in St Thomas' Hospital with 'persistent' symptoms of coronavirus. He's spent the last two nights in ICU and apparently is in 'good spirits.

Bojo's a no go. He's in Tommo's laid low with the CoVo. So now, we've got Dommo leading the Toro's.*

I'm no fan of Bojo but I wish him a full recovery. In this unheralded time, we need stability, even if it does come in the form of Boris Johnson. The irony of him receiving the very best of NHS care; care that his party has systematically stripped away from many others less fortunate is glaringly apparent under the world spotlight.

What isn't changing swiftly is the Husband's recovery from suspected CoVo. It's been 18 days since he fell ill and he is 6kg thinner and too weak to walk out the front door and do a socially distant stroll to the end of our road. Although he is improving slowly, I have never, in the 25 years I've known him, ever seen him this debilitated.

And he is one of the lucky ones, to have had a 'mild' case of CoVo, if that is indeed what he had.

I hope that it was.

Because going through it once was enough.

*I have been watching a lot of Kath and Kim







Friday, 27 January 2017

Women's March London 2017

About a week before Trump’s inauguration I started acting like a cat does before a storm arrives. Hair on end. Pacing around the room. Eyes darting nervously, looking at something invisible that no-one else can see.

Cat before a storm. This was me.

'What is wrong with you?' asked the Husband as I stalked from room to room.

'I don’t know,' I screeched. 'I feel possessed!'

The Husband after watching me pace concluded:

'I think you’re tapped into the zeitgeist,' he muttered. 'Business as usual.'

He was right. I had managed to block out the reality of Trump’s presidency all throughout Christmas and New Year. Our family’s return to work and school had kept me preoccupied for the first few weeks of January.

But around mid- month, media attention surrounding the inauguration meant I could keep my head in the sand no longer. It was about to happen and I was pissed off and on edge. A storm was brewing. In the form of a radioactive orange Oompa Loompa with a mean little mouth and unnecessary hand gestures.

Change the wig to yellow and there he is

In November, I’d registered to attend the Women’s March in London. This march originated as an invite from a Hawaiian grandmother to forty of her Facebook friends to march on Washington, as a reaction to Trump’s election victory.  When she woke up the next day, the event had gone viral. Soon thereafter, sister marches were being arranged in cities all around the world as an act of support and solidarity to the Washington march. I wanted to attend the London march for it was a means to act in accordance with my beliefs rather than do nothing and despair at the erosion of civil liberties.

The last time I felt compelled to march was post Brexit last July. The time before that was twenty years ago when I was an environmental campaigner. Those years as a campaigner showed me the power of well organised and persistent grassroots action. It showed me that a small group of determined people working together can change things.

Women's March Global Logo


Logo from Women's March London

My intent was to attend the march alone. But to my delight, several other women I knew from Dragon’s school were also attending. Soon a small gang of us arranged to attend the event together.

The day of the march dawned bright and beautiful. The clear blue skies served as a welcome omen that our march was a force towards positive action. A tangible sense of excitement and electricity fizzed in the air as we assembled in Grosvenor Square opposite the US Embassy.  We knew that there were 600+ sister marches scheduled to happen all around the world and that we were there to represent the UK. The night before, I’d watched Trump’s inauguration which only heightened my determination to march for human rights, amongst other infringements which Trump represents. By this time, I considered it a civic duty.

A beautiful day for a march

There is a lot I can say about the march but in summary, the gang I marched with found it an overwhelmingly positive experience. The mood of the event was friendly, inclusive, peaceful and determined. We marched alongside a diverse demographic; old, young, men, women. I got the sense that like me, people felt moved to act because it was vital to take a stand against what was happening in the world. Brexit shook our foundations and Trump tipped us over the edge. The march was a vessel through which to funnel our charged emotions and say, No way. It's not OK to the powers that be.  The other big bonus of the event was the emergence of witty, creative protest placards such as these below:










Afterwards we found out we had helped make history. The final numbers have yet to be confirmed but the approximation is that over five million people participated in the global marches. From Antarctica to Sydney to Chennai to Antigua, people stood up to protect core values of respect, equality and individual freedoms. It purportedly was the largest turnout for a global march led by women in history. Ever.   

We Made History!

 And it’s only the beginning.

It’s a week after the march, and myself and the group I attended with are still on a high. We’ve bonded over this shared experience. People who said to us, 'What can a march change?''* underestimate the power of taking action. We feel energised. We feel hopeful. We feel a part of the movement working towards tipping the balance back to a just and open society.  For several of us, there is a dawning realisation that the march was just the beginning of our involvement in what is being referred to as the Resistance. Like Dorothy on her journey along the Yellow Brick Road, we’re not quite sure where this path will take us. Somewhere for the common good is my hope.

A quote by Gloria Steinem sums it up:

Sometimes we need to put our bodies where our beliefs are. 

Sometimes it is not enough to press send.


*Ever heard of Gandhi?  And if you are a woman, how do you think you got the vote?

Thursday, 10 November 2016

Donald Trump: President of the United States of America

What, the fuck?

Only time will reveal the consequences of this choice, not only for America but the world at large.

Some people I have spoken to are hopeful that it won't be that bad

Others are more despairing. The first American I encountered post result was masquerading as Canadian. Given the fact that the Canadian immigration website has crashed, it seems that it is the Mounties that need a big wall built to keep out the flood of US emigrants.

Hope is a good thing. Denial is not. There's a fine line between the two.

I sat with Dragon and we watched Trump's acceptance speech together.  I cried and she asked me why. I explained that I did not like him. I listed the reasons. Maybe I should not have explained sexism and racism to a young child who has had little exposure to these realities. Let her stay in her bubble for a little while longer.

It was not a normal morning though. And I have always tried to answer Dragon honestly, if appropriately, when she asks any question.

Later on that evening, we watched Hilary Clinton's concession speech together. I cried again. And then Dragon turned to me and said:

I wish I was white. That I had white skin.

There are moments in life when time stands still. This was one of them. The emotion I felt was cataclysmic.

Why?

Because Donald Trump is unkind to people who are not white.

Despair, regret, pain, fear, compassion, fortitude, anger, sadness. I cannot articulate how that moment felt.

The Western first world has changed and it will be Dragon's generation that bears the legacy of the decisions being made. I do not want her to grow up burdened. I do not want her to grow up unprepared.

I do not have the answers but I have no choice but to unravel my way through this maze we now face.

Courage. We will need it.












Thursday, 14 July 2016

Can I Have a Biscuit?

After weeks of post referendum uncertainty, Theresa May has by default, become the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

I remember Ms May from her time as Home Secretary. I remember the headlines she made with her stance on immigration (anti people), her push for the UK to leave the European Convention on Human Rights (anti people)  and her position on legalising adoption for gay couples (anti people). Apart from that, I don't really know that much about her.

Yesterday was a critical moment in UK history. The youngest ever UK Prime Minister to take pension spoke his last speech outside Downing Street flanked by his wife and kids. Afterwards, the second only woman to hold office as Prime Minister spoke her first speech under the gaze of her husband, and the world.

The BBC were broadcasting May's drive to Downing Street when Dragon and I got home yesterday. We were both tired, bedraggled from being caught in the rain on our way back. Dragon wanted her dinner but it would have to wait. History was being made as we shrugged out of our raincoats and switched on the TV.

Look, I told her as we watched Cameron approach the lectern. That's the old Prime Minister. He's leaving.

We listened as Cameron listed all the amazing things he claimed to have done; most remarkably his belief that Britain was now stronger than ever before. After that I saw his mouth move on the screen but only heard:

BlahBlahBlahBlahBlahBlahBlahMeMeMeMeMeMeMe.

Which was probably what five year old Dragon heard too, for all the sense it made.

Then it was May's turn.

Is that the new one? asked Dragon

Yes. Let's listen to what she has to say.


Theresa May launches herself on the world at large

Maybe the media buzz of her being the second Thatcher had affected me for when May spoke, I had expected a graver, more imperious tone. May's pitch was warbly and thin. Not that that stopped her getting her message across. The speech she gave was strong and centrist. Her speech reached out through the media and slapped the world in the face.

Wake up, she seemed to say. I am here and here I am. 

I was left in no doubt that here was a person determined to make her mark as PM. She seemed a force to be reckoned with,. She seemed like a leader.

It was only a speech though and May's real reckoning is yet to come. I have my fingers crossed.

What did you think? I asked Dragon who had been riveted to the broadcast.

Good, was her conclusion, Can  I have a biscuit?

Which seemed as apt a summary as any.





Saturday, 2 July 2016

March for Europe

Today London marches to protest the results of the Brexit referendum.  Over the past week, the world has watched our union unravel at the seams. Not only the union with our European neighbours but the union within our country, the United Kingdom. The Conservative and Labour parties are both in disarray. We have no real leader and whilst people cling to hope, despair is not far from the surface either.

I am at a writers retreat this weekend hosted by the Arvon Foundation. It is a sanctuary; tranquil and beautiful amidst the lush Shropshire countryside. I am sifting through old and new work trying to unravel and and tease out new stories and words. I found this old writing exercise from many years ago. A villanelle based around the election race between Obama and Hilary Clinton.  Somehow it seems fitting for the spirit of the pro EU march today so I will share it here:

Villanelle  #1

‘What a historic moment,’ the broadcaster said
She cried as she watched the election unfold.
‘Obama’s the man. He’s got the street cred.’

Thirty years ago, she’d gone to buy bread,
then walked back out into the cold.
'All blacks should be shot,' the baker had said.

And now naught for nothing had her ancestors bled.
She heard the echoes of voices of old.
‘Obama’s the man. He’s got the street cred.’

It was a moment for hope, but instead
she couldn’t forget the time she’d been told
‘All blacks should be shot,’ the baker had said.

The next morning she opened the paper and read
that to vote, people had queued for hours in the cold.
‘Obama’s the man. He’s got the street cred.’

What good is the hope that fills you with dread?
A movement for peace with their flag soaked in red
‘All blacks should be shot,’ the baker had said.
‘Obama’s the man. He’s got the street cred.’


In solidarity. Good luck and here's to a peaceful protest

Friday, 24 June 2016

Goodbye To All That

Since the results of Brexit have come through with 51.9% of the UK voting to leave the EU, I feel that the terra firm upon which I stood so recently is rapidly disintegrating beneath me. I am on unstable territory.

My frame of reference. The place I call home. The axis against which I based my choices on where in the world to live has irrevocably tipped over. For good. And I know I am not the only one to feel this way.

In the months leading up to the Brexit referendum, the sensationalist scare tactics used by both the Remain and Leave parties left me cold. However I was in no doubt that I would vote in. To leave the EU, an alliance which I regard as having immeasurably more benefits than disadvantages for the world at large, seemed to be sheer stupidity.

When the polls called it a neck and neck race, I think most did not really believe we would ever leave the EU. Or maybe that was just me. With my head in the sand. In a state of denial.

After all, why would a UK citizen vote for insularity over cosmopolitanism. Competition over alliance. Borders up rather than bridges built. Why would someone think it is stronger to stand alone rather than together?

Why?

Nationalism is a dangerous tool to wield in a world which needs to work together. Our generation is a global one and the technological access we have cuts down borders of geography, distance and time. None of us are isolated from one another if we choose not to be and if we have the access to technology. It is political artifice to create a golden vision of insularity and sell it as strength.

It is a lie.

Which is common enough in politics but this lie is one that British citizens will be suffering the consequences of for generations to come.

And me. All the reasons I love living in London are to be tested. The feeling of being a part of the world at large. The freedom of access. The inclusivity, diversity, dynamism and integration are all under threat. It may not be all doom and gloom but at a visceral level, this just feels wrong.

As John Donne wrote in fricken 1624:


No man [sic] is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee

Will we ever learn?




Friday, 19 November 2010

The He(Art) of Society

At uni the other day, I looked up from cram reading in the library for the last four hours and reflected on how lucky I am.  The reams of notes in front of me looked hieroglyphic to my tired eyes and I knew I had another two hours at least to go.

But to be immersed in ideas, thoughts, creativity and abstraction is such a luxury. Especially when I have spent year upon year looking at spreadsheets, production schedules, budgets, funding reports and other crap I had no real investment in.

It takes awhile for the brain to gain legs once you have set it free to roam again. Mine's screaming Bloody Murder as it's un-used to all this space to think and dream and create.

Conservative political and economic thought (such as the policies that are running rife through this country right now) believe that arts and the humanities are novel pre-occupations and not in the same category as medicine or engineering or science or accountancy.

So if you agree, do this. Turn off your tv and smash it. Break all your DVDs. Never go the cinema or theater again. Burn all your books and magazines. Take down any paintings from your wall and chuck them. Same goes for any sculpture, figurines or textiles. Destroy all your music. Have someone else choose all your clothes and decorations and furnishings in your house as aesthetics won't matter to you.

Stop thinking. We don't need you anymore. Bad Rodin. Bad artist.


Humans can no more exist without the arts as we can without food and water. We need it to nourish our idea of ourselves as well as to understand one another. We need it to develop as a society.

Otherwise what is there?

Saturday, 16 October 2010

Not All Chinese Are Gutless

My dad is a professional hobbyist. This aspect of his personality benefitted me hugely growing up as I got to participate in whatever had captured his fancy. Fishing, building construction, tennis, stamp collecting (I passed on that one), table tennis, dancing and so on. But for as long as I've known him, his love for the written word, politics and history has remained constant.

Dad contributes regularly to an online Chinese poetry site based in Macau. Recently he posted a poem in tribute to ths year's Nobel peace prize winner Liu Xiabo who is currently imprisoned in China for his non-violent struggle for human rights. Dad called today to tell me that he had been criticised and accused online as being an anti-revolutionary for what he wrote in his poem.

Liu Xiabo
I warned him to be careful on his trip to China at the end of the year. I said maybe his phone was bugged as we spoke. After all, he was a counter-revolutionary now!

Here is the poem below. It loses a lot in English translation, rather like comparing an ice sculpture with a lego house but you'll get the gist:

In Praise of the Liu Xiabo - Nobel Peace Prize laureate

Praise, for you have gone to prison with courage.
Not all Chinese are gutless.
You refused to go into exile
although now you are in such a fatal enterprise.
Heaven and earth tremble beneath your dignity
while the termites put on their show.
In the chill of the morning,
I behold your withering statue
as the rising current, rages on.


Personally I think he shoud re-title it - Not All Chinese are Termites

Wednesday, 12 May 2010

Just Breathe

What do you do when you’re alive during a moment of history that pains you?

Britain has a Tory government. There are worse things I know, like 80’s hair and burnt coffee, but my disappointment is acute. My husband is tiring of my rants, claiming that I need to learn detachment. He is right.

Perhaps I’ll detach myself from him.

When I fly to Cuba.

To communism.

He has a point. Life can be easier sometimes if you are more measured and pragmatic. Less idealistic and crazed. Not so black and white. More grey. Or beige.

By coincidence, I visited the Zen Habits website today where this article, Letting Go of Attachment seemed to have READ THIS LAVENDAR sprayed all over it in neon pink.

This is just what I need to help me come to terms with Fascism I thought. I read through the list, processing my overly attached election feelings as I went:

Letting Go of Attachment to Feelings

Understand that pain is unavoidable.
Not true. Alcohol does wonders.

Write it down.
I did. I wrote to all my friends who voted Tory and now they are not speaking to me

Vocalize your feelings.
To who? I’ve got no friends left

Yield to peace.
How about yielding to something a little stronger. Morphine anyone?

Xie Xie. It means thank you in Chinese. Fully embrace your happy moments.
Oh please.

Zen your now.
What does this mean? Who wrote this crap?

After reading I was still angry. And the government was still Tory.

Oh boy.

Sunday, 2 May 2010

Good Luck Gordon

He's been flogged to death by the media for the past year. He inherited the reins from the guy who took Britain to war. He had the unpopular job of steering the economy from the cliff edge. He had a very (public) bad day at the office and he was crucified. I cannot even begin to perceive the amount of pressure he has sustained and yet he's still standing, determined to fight to the end.

For all their on camera sparkle, I do not think that Cameron or Clegg have the sheer guts that Brown does.


It's hard to find nice Brown stories in the press. The closer the election gets, the harder it is. It's refreshing when something nice leaks through:

Author Nicola Barker in the Observer:

Clegg and Cameron remind me of two interchangeable models from the Next catalogue. Bland, bland, bland. Gordon's different. He's dark, flawed and chaotic and the more people rail against him, the more craggy and heroic he appears in my eyes. Gordon's a true Brit. If he didn't exist, I'd be duty-bound to make him up.

I don't think Brown or Labour are political nirvana. But I think Cameron's Big Society waffle is using community responsibility as camouflage for public spending cuts. In a different economic climate, I might've taken a punt on the Lib Dems even if their policies are a bit thin. But not right now.

The need for a change seems to be the key leverage being used against Labour by the other parties. But a lot has changed in the 13 years that Labour has been in. I don't know about the rest of the UK, but London is certainly a much better place to live than it was in 1996.

Good luck GB. Hang in there.

Wednesday, 14 April 2010

Step Outside, Posh Boy!

In the lead up to the 2008 US elections, I was glued to footage of the Democratic nominations and the final sprint between Obama and McCain. The excitement and on-the-edge of your seat anticipation generated by the American election process was unlike none other. The world seemed to wait with bated breath to find out who was going to replace the man who trashed America, a.k.a, Bush.

It’s the Brits’ turn now and even though I am a Brit, I am nowhere near as excited as I was then. Partly because I live in dread of the Tories getting in and also because the UK election lead up is boring. B-O-R-I-N-G. There is no excitement in the air. The general feeling seems to be that a change is needed but whether that comes in the form of Brown or Cameron is much of a muchness for voters. The pundits are predicting a close call and perhaps this is reflective that the public is voting for the lesser of two evils rather than the party/leader that moves and inspires them. Because in all truth, there ain’t one.

It hasn’t been all doom and gloom though. There have been the rare moments in the lead up in which British wit and irreverence have shown their faces. Two of my personal favourites are below:





May 6th. Who's it gonna be?

Saturday, 10 October 2009

A Different S(Tory)?

Friends of mine are members of the National Trust, a brilliant UK charity which works to preserve and protect historic properties and surrounding natural areas such as forests, beaches, farmland; the list goes on. Being members means they can escape London periodically and go to lots of lovely places in the UK which are steeped in history and natural beauty.

Last weekend, we joined them on one of these outings to Hughenden Manor in Buckinghamshire which is where Benjamin Disraeli, ex-prime minister of Great Britain in the 1800’s used to live when he wasn’t frequenting the halls of Westminster or based in London.


It was a lovely day out. We perused the grounds in leisurely fashion, taking in the walled garden with all its rampant vegetable growth and abundant apples trees. We embarked on a nature walk which took in (so I’m told – I was too busy talking) a German Forest and a monument to Disraeli himself (although I thought the best monuments were the wonderful woods he planted). We lunched in the old stables complex,then snooped inside Disraeli’s old country pad where he dwelled in connubial bliss with his wife Mary Anne. Finally we rested our butts on the back steps of the property which overlooked the prettily, pruned gardens. Sitting in the backyard of an ex-Conservative British prime minister turned my thoughts towards politics.

So do you think the Tories will get in next term?, I asked.

The response was a unanimous Yes.

I can’t believe it, I moaned. I’ll have to leave.

Everyone laughed including my husband whose laugh had a hopeful quality about it.

I’m serious, I continued, ignoring him. One of the reasons I left Australia was because of Howard.

I lived in Australia under the Howard government from 1996 to 2007. In the eleven years he was in power, Howard gave Australia relative economic stability and prosperity and you can’t knock that. But he also took Australia back to a 1950’s social conservatism and utterly horrified me as a citizen with his foreign policy and immigration stance. By the time I left Oz, I felt completely stultified by the stuffiness.

Jimmy who calls himself a right-wing marxist was more hopeful than I, remaining optimistic about the impending power switch.

Cameron will be the most liberal Tory to take the seat, he said, And it’s important for both parties to balance each other out. It’s not good for one party to be in power for too long.

I agree with the latter point but the current media saturation of Cameron’s face makes me feel like the walls are closing in. I lived in the UK between 1996-1998 where I experienced the dying ebbs of Thatcherism just before Blair and Labour took the reins. I remember the slight grimness in the air that lingered on from Tory rule and in the faces of the generation that lived through it. I remember paying to get into all the galleries. I remember a lot less cultural activity. Social class seemed a much bigger deal back then.

When I returned to live in London in 2005, it had changed. It was cleaner for one and far more dynamic and diverse. People seemed to have woken up from a long sleep. I’m fearful that this will change under a Tory government. I’m fearful that the whole idea of social responsibility that Cameron is so big on, actually will translate to a pay or get out of the way approach to social services, not to speak of free access to cultural activities.

In his recent conference speech, Cameron said:

So no, we are not going to solve our problems with bigger government. We are going to solve our problems with a stronger society. Stronger families. Stronger communities. A stronger country. All by rebuilding responsibility.

The idea that all the ills of society can be fixed if we are more responsible bothers me. I look around me and I don’t see many people who are irresponsible. I see people who are trying to make it through the day; keeping their heads up through the daily grind. I find it reprehensible that a government who intends to wield massive cuts within the public sector can turn around and say that it will all improve if we sort ourselves out. What does that mean? Should we doctor ourselves? Get rid of refuse by burning it in piles on the street?

In the self same speech, he proclaims:

We've got to stop treating children like adults and adults like children, which seems a bit rich since he’s been lecturing us about responsibility. But then, how can we take his sweeping statements at all seriously when he goes on to say:

It’s your character, your temperament and your judgement that in the end count so much more than the policies in your manifesto.

Did my ears deceive me? Ever heard of the word accountability David? It has the same number of syllables as responsibility.

I also hope that George Osborne’s plan to implement a wage freeze that will affect 4 million public sector workers who earn more than £18K, also includes him and his cabinet. Osborne’s slash and burn mentality will hit our society where it hurts. Being a nurse, teacher, prison officer or a social worker are tough enough jobs as it is. I much prefer Labour’s intention of pay freezing the wages of 40,000 of the top public service tier and only 750,000 of the mid wage earning sector (or a 1% increase). The cherry on Osborne’s cake is that he wants us to work for longer to help pay for each other’s pensions and old-age benefits. Maybe if the Tories are lucky, we’ll all start dying earlier from exhaustion and not even claim our bloody pensions.

Maybe my outlook is unwarranted but in addition to Howard, I have come of an age in a time where I witnessed how a modern government can completely undermine and shred the social fabric of a country so that it is brought to its knees. Two words.

George Bush


Remember him?

Saturday, 25 April 2009

Nail the Bastards!

My mate Jerome is having a hard time with his employers. They are diddling him around a treat and after a long and ranty phone conversation, we decided that he would launch a one man campaign against them. We decided to call this the Nail the Bastards! campaign.

You might want to know who these employers are who have elicited such eloquent ferocity? Well I can't say specifically but what I can say is that Jerome works as a public servant. I am very biased when it comes to the public sector. I don't have a high opinion of it having toiled for a local council for two years. I have a strong opinion and that opinion is that it is bad. My opinion is that if you must work within the public sector- get in, get skilled up, get out.

So although I was sorry to hear of Jerome's troubles, I was not at all surprised that he was having them given who his employers are. Still, I was livid for him and determined that he didn't take it lying down:

You gotta be focused and get what you want, I lectured. Don't take no for an answer. This is a battle and you have to be prepared to fight. Listen to me - are you prepared to fight. You can't let them get away with this. You are a one-man campaign you understand? This is a war that you are going to win. Are you listening? This is WAR.

By this time Jerome had been listening to my ranting for well over an hour but still he complied:

I'm going to nail the bastards.

And hence, the revolution is on.

Friday, 24 April 2009

Yes Prime Minister

Last week I went to the Houses of Parliament for a work launch. I'd never been inside the actual buildings before and so approached the expedition with a touristic avaracity. Everything seemed so interesting, right down to the thorough security screen at the entrance and all the pollies rushing past me looking intense and harassed. I was in heaven. My West Wing fantasy come to life in a Yes Prime Minister kind of way.

My boss who was with me sauntered around the place as if she was born to be there. I half expected her to start waving to people, calling out things like:

Hey Bob, where's that policy paper we went over yesterday? I want it on my desk in an hour!

Instead she casually mentioned:

This is where we might be doing a show next year. It's your project.

Parliamentary copyright images are reproduced with the permission of Parliament

Gulp.

I looked at the space we were in. The walls of Westminster Hall were erected in 1097. When you walk through this grave and stately building, you can feel the air particles resonate with the combined history of every single one of those years.

A show. Here?

How on earth can we do this building justice?

Time to get working.

Bob - where's my paper?

Tuesday, 31 March 2009

G20 - Do I Stay or Do I Go?

The G20 summit kicks off in London tomorrow and I have been debating with myself as to whether I should go. Speaking to friends and colleagues, I have had a range of opinions from:

Oh no - you should stay out of there. It's dangerous. Riot police and troublemakers. People who are not after a solution but who just want a fight


to:

Yes! Let's go! It'll be interesting and it's important to be involved. To participate.

The media have been having their usual field day with their reports anticipating violence and trouble and vandalism. I just don't know what or who to believe. Which makes me think I need to go and see for myself.

The truth is - I really want to go. I am so curious. I have never been to a protest on this scale before. Years and years ago, I was an environmental activist campaigning against logging of old growth forest in Western Australia with the Wilderness Society. It was a heady two years. Through the intensive process of learning how best to manufacture dissent, I picked up skills which I still use to this day. Lobbying, mobilising large groups of people, consensual decision making, efficient meeting structure, facilitation. I also developed values which I still hold like the application of non violent direct action. It was invaluable training and I have experienced little like it since.

I suspect that my avid desire to participate tomorrow is partially a desire to relive the glory days of old. But my problem is this. Everything I have read or seen to date about the protests leaves me cold. These groups that are mobilising to end the war or to stop climate change seem to only be protesting for the sake of it. What are their real solutions or alternatives? It's all very easy to say something sucks but not so easy when you are responsible for fixing the suckiness.

Change is change is change. It's a phrase that is easy to chant when you are walking down the street with thousands of others. But at the end of the day - you can't be pissed off if you pass responsibility for that change onto some unknown figurehead because you just want to shout and scream but have no solutions. Lobbying is important and it is our responsibility as citzens within a democratic society to monitor our governments. But I do not see how "Bashing bankers" and causing civil unrest is of any benefit to our society as a whole. That is not lobbying. It's juvenile.

Where are the thinkers and the real problem solvers? Where can I find them in the summit tommorrow? Or have they stayed at home, pissed off that the event has been taken over again by the media and a bunch of hooligans.

We'll see...