NO TAXATION WITHOUT REPRESENTATION
A phrase which first gained prominence during the American revolution which led to the creation of the USA and remains extremely relevant today. It is one of the fundamental principles of representative democracy, and any attempt to undermine it should be resisted as undemocratic.
If a citizen is required to pay tax to the state then the state must return the compliment by giving that citizen a vote to choose their representative in the legislative process. And that representative must have the right to comment and vote upon all measures which determine how the citizen's money will be spent. Simple enough, eh?
Which is why the Westminster government's proposals for English Votes for English Laws, aka EVEL, is fundamentally undemocratic.
It's not as if I have any objection to votes on strictly England-related matters being restricted to English representatives. That seems fair, sensible, and points the way towards a fully federalised UK. Or it should do, but that's not what EVEL proposes.
And it's interesting to see that while there is much in the mainstream media about the 'disgraceful' behaviour of the SNP in deciding to vote against the repeal of fox hunting in England, now postponed by a Tory government lacking the courage to risk an embarrassing defeat, there is no comparable anguish expressed when English MPs vote down SNP proposals for greater powers to be added to the Scotland Bill. Even though the SNP, with 50% of the national vote at the General Election, has a much stronger democratic mandate that the Tories and their 35%....
EVEL proponents like to compare the proposals with the situation in the Scottish parliament. English MPs are unable to vote at Holyrood, but Scottish MPs can vote at Westminster. At a simplistic level this sounds a vaguely convincing argument, ignoring the fact that this isn't just a comparison between apples and pears, more like matching a fruit against a JCB. And therein lies the problem.
English MPs do have a say on which laws can be passed in Scotland. They are part of the process that decided what powers, and budget, Holyrood is able to exercise. But once that decision has been made those powers and that money are devolved to the control of Holyrood. It is a comparable process to the central government block grant handed to local authorities. And nobody is saying that Westminster representatives should have a say in the running of a county council or London Borough, are they?
For EVEL to become properly democratic it requires a similar arrangement. An allocated sum of money, and the relevant powers, devolved to a body responsible for administering them. In other words, an English Parliament. Failure to do so means that, even where the legislation concerned only has direct impact on England, it is UK taxpayers money that is being spent. And if that's the case then my opening statement, that fundamental democratic principle, is being trampled over. Scottish, Welsh and Northern Irish MPs MUST have the right to vote on these matters if the monies involved come from their constituents taxes.
Whether or not this fact is owned up to, it's likely that the current EVEL idea will collapse through it's own incompetence. Westminster legislation is a jumble of laws which apply not just to different countries within the union, but different combinations of countries as well. Good luck sorting that lot out in a hurry....
There are only workable two answers to the West Lothian Question. A fully federal UK. Or a break up of the UK. If the Tory government prefer the latter, but aren't prepared to admit it, then EVEL might well be the best way to achieve it.
The proposals are unfair to Scotland. They're unfair to England. And, worst of all, they are wholly undemocratic. The coming months are a challenge to some of the most basic principles of how we seek to run our society.
Wednesday, 15 July 2015
Wednesday, 17 June 2015
Upsetting the Witnesses
SORRY MICKY, BUT I CAN'T JOIN YOU IN BEING A BELIEVER
We've all had them on the front step. You have to admire their persistence, despite so many doors slammed in faces. The Jehovah's Witnesses just keep on turning up, or hanging around street corners, hoping to find someone desperate/vulnerable enough to take on board their strange beliefs. My usual response is "sorry, but I try not to be superstitious at all", and see what happens from there. The superstition bit sometimes throws them, so it can get quite interesting. They haven't converted me yet. Sadly, I haven't managed to convert one of them either, but that's no reason to give up....
I was brought up 'in' the Church of Scotland, but on a very low gas. I'm not sure if my father believed in anything at all, and probably just went along with it to placate my mother. She 'believed' because that's what you were supposed to do, and the greatest possible sin in her eyes was the flouting of social conventions. I can vaguely recall attending Sunday School at the local church, and there was the usual half-hearted attempts at religious indoctrination in school. Did I ever believe any of this stuff? Maybe as a small child, but by my early teens I was pretty certain it was all nonsense.
In my twenties I called myself an agnostic, because I thought it would be fairer to acknowledge the existence of doubt. As I got older that seemed too lukewarm so I took to saying I was an atheist. And now, older and (possibly) wiser, I can no longer see the point in these labels. Why should I have to define myself by my non-belief in something that seems clearly made up in the first place?
A view I should perhaps justify, so here's what I discussed with one of those tenacious door knockers.
How many religions are there in the world? I doubt anyone knows the real number, but I did see a figure of around 4,500 quoted once, and that sounds entirely believable. As far as I'm aware every human society developed some form of supernatural belief system as part of their development. Deeply held tenets, often codified, that made some effort to understand the world around them and, often, provide guidance on how to behave in life. And ascribing an ability to influence human affairs to some form of supernatural power. The latter might be embodied in the sun, or the moon, a wide river or high mountain, a volcano or forest, perhaps the local major carnivorous predator. Some thing which could be worshipped, prayed to, act as a focal point for the belief system.
Greater sophistication brought greater imagination, and the powers were attributed to imaginary beings. Sometimes in human form, sometimes animal, even curious hybrids between the two. Eventually one religion came up with the notion of there being a single being, a god, which was omnipotent, and this would go on to spawn two descendants, Christianity and Islam, which have become amongst the most successful in spreading around the world.
Why did these emergent feel the need to develop such beliefs? Given how universal they are, and how varied, I can see two possible broad conclusions which might be drawn. The most likely explanation is the desire to know how you fit into the universe. The need to have an explanation for why you are here and what purpose is there to your existence. The answer to what has come to be know as The Human Condition.
And in world without science, where the physical world was vast, confusing and often unintelligible, there was a need to seek out explanations for the inexplicable. If you can't see any rational reason for your life, then an irrational one will do instead.
Or. Possibly there is some form of supernatural power out there, but thus far beyond the understanding of human knowledge, and religions are the efforts we have made to attempt to fill in that gap. Although, if that were really the case, wouldn't there be a greater convergence of thinking?
One fact strikes me as critical to this line of thought. There has never been (do correct me if I'm wrong) an occasion where two societies came into contact for the first time and, on finding out more about one another's culture, suddenly went "heh, that's what we believe too!". You might have expected, if one of these belief systems had actually got it 'right', something similar might have developed at some other point on the globe as well....
Not that there has tended to be much discussion when two societies meet, with brutal subjugation being the norm. It's notable that the two biggies I mentioned above, Christianity and Islam, have been spread around as much by military conquest as any form of persuasive art.
All of which means that, unlike Micky Dolenz of The Monkees, there's no chance of me ever becoming a believer.
We've all had them on the front step. You have to admire their persistence, despite so many doors slammed in faces. The Jehovah's Witnesses just keep on turning up, or hanging around street corners, hoping to find someone desperate/vulnerable enough to take on board their strange beliefs. My usual response is "sorry, but I try not to be superstitious at all", and see what happens from there. The superstition bit sometimes throws them, so it can get quite interesting. They haven't converted me yet. Sadly, I haven't managed to convert one of them either, but that's no reason to give up....
I was brought up 'in' the Church of Scotland, but on a very low gas. I'm not sure if my father believed in anything at all, and probably just went along with it to placate my mother. She 'believed' because that's what you were supposed to do, and the greatest possible sin in her eyes was the flouting of social conventions. I can vaguely recall attending Sunday School at the local church, and there was the usual half-hearted attempts at religious indoctrination in school. Did I ever believe any of this stuff? Maybe as a small child, but by my early teens I was pretty certain it was all nonsense.
In my twenties I called myself an agnostic, because I thought it would be fairer to acknowledge the existence of doubt. As I got older that seemed too lukewarm so I took to saying I was an atheist. And now, older and (possibly) wiser, I can no longer see the point in these labels. Why should I have to define myself by my non-belief in something that seems clearly made up in the first place?
A view I should perhaps justify, so here's what I discussed with one of those tenacious door knockers.
How many religions are there in the world? I doubt anyone knows the real number, but I did see a figure of around 4,500 quoted once, and that sounds entirely believable. As far as I'm aware every human society developed some form of supernatural belief system as part of their development. Deeply held tenets, often codified, that made some effort to understand the world around them and, often, provide guidance on how to behave in life. And ascribing an ability to influence human affairs to some form of supernatural power. The latter might be embodied in the sun, or the moon, a wide river or high mountain, a volcano or forest, perhaps the local major carnivorous predator. Some thing which could be worshipped, prayed to, act as a focal point for the belief system.
Greater sophistication brought greater imagination, and the powers were attributed to imaginary beings. Sometimes in human form, sometimes animal, even curious hybrids between the two. Eventually one religion came up with the notion of there being a single being, a god, which was omnipotent, and this would go on to spawn two descendants, Christianity and Islam, which have become amongst the most successful in spreading around the world.
Why did these emergent feel the need to develop such beliefs? Given how universal they are, and how varied, I can see two possible broad conclusions which might be drawn. The most likely explanation is the desire to know how you fit into the universe. The need to have an explanation for why you are here and what purpose is there to your existence. The answer to what has come to be know as The Human Condition.
And in world without science, where the physical world was vast, confusing and often unintelligible, there was a need to seek out explanations for the inexplicable. If you can't see any rational reason for your life, then an irrational one will do instead.
Or. Possibly there is some form of supernatural power out there, but thus far beyond the understanding of human knowledge, and religions are the efforts we have made to attempt to fill in that gap. Although, if that were really the case, wouldn't there be a greater convergence of thinking?
One fact strikes me as critical to this line of thought. There has never been (do correct me if I'm wrong) an occasion where two societies came into contact for the first time and, on finding out more about one another's culture, suddenly went "heh, that's what we believe too!". You might have expected, if one of these belief systems had actually got it 'right', something similar might have developed at some other point on the globe as well....
Not that there has tended to be much discussion when two societies meet, with brutal subjugation being the norm. It's notable that the two biggies I mentioned above, Christianity and Islam, have been spread around as much by military conquest as any form of persuasive art.
All of which means that, unlike Micky Dolenz of The Monkees, there's no chance of me ever becoming a believer.
Tuesday, 16 June 2015
When Scotland is better than England....
THERE ARE TIMES WHEN I HAVE TO LOVE SCOTLAND
Regular readers will know that I voted Yes in the Independence Referendum last September. Not that I'm a nationalist, but it seemed like the only route open to the possibility of a more socially just society, an aspiration that Westminster seems a million miles away from. I'd be perfectly happy to change my mind and stay with the UK if something significantly changed for the better. Were Labour to come to their senses, return to their roots and choose Jeremy Corbyn as the next leader then there might be some hope. But how likely is that?
Which is a long winded way of saying that I have no truck with the Scottish good/English bad mantras of the more extreme elements of the SNP. My argument is with the UK political establishment, not the English. But there are some moments when it's hard not to conclude that we not only do things a bit differently up here, but sometimes a bit better as well. And yesterday morning on Twitter was definitely one of those moments.
Katie McGarvey tweeted :
Thinking of finally joining a party in run up to Scottish elections to help campaign properly. Heart says Green, head says SNP. 😩 #help
It's hard to imagine what happened next taking place in England.
Within minutes she had a response from our First Minister saying "I accept I might be a bit biased...but I hope I can persuade you to make it @theSNP". Somewhat bemused by this, Katie decided to be cheeky and see if the Greens' Patrick Harvie could make her a better offer. Free chocolate maybe? (Fair Trade, of course!). Patrick swiftly replied that he'd been known to turn up at branch meetings with a cake and maybe that would do?
That precipitated an exchange that ended up with yet another Holyrood party leader joining in the cake debate, and Nicola complaining that her well known lack of kitchen skills were being mocked. You can see the tweets in this article in the Herald, and The Scotsman joined in the fun as well.
OK, it would be naive not to recognise that high profile politicians have staff handling their social media accounts for them, so it may not have all been the actual leaders themselves. Ms Sturgeon is a busy individual. All the same they will at least be responsible for setting the tone of their communications.
But can you imagine any of the Westminster party leaders (and I include Angus Robertson in this) doing something similar? Can you imagine their image makers allowing such a thing to happen? I can't.
It's perhaps no coincidence tha,t of our five main party leaders, only one is of the traditional white, straight male variety. And he, the LibDem leader, is probably the least likely to be seen behaving in the above manner. Even the leader of the Scottish Tories, much as I disagree with her policies, is often likeable and funny. And, perhaps bizarrely, the Scottish leader of ukip is gay, albeit a total moron....
The referendum shook up the whole country and created a much more politically conscious nation. We had a General Election result that was a shock, even for the winners. And Nicola was the only party leader to emerge from the TV debates with positive approval ratings, with many in England wishing they could vote for her and her party. Politics is different in Scotland. And sometimes a lot more human than anything we see coming from London.
Monday, 15 June 2015
A new me?
GOING BACK
We moved into our new flat just before last Xmas and we're still in love with it. Sometimes it's hard to believe that we found it. Not only does it meet all the criteria we'd set before we began our search, but there are a few extras we never expected to find. I mean, how many flats in Edinburgh come with their own garage, and even a bit an area behind it that just about qualifies as a shed? We are also, as residents of the complex, entitled to make use of the small on site gym.
We used to go to a gym regularly. For about seven years, beginning in 2000, we were part of the hardy sect who frequently turned up by 7am and put in an hour before going home, breakfasting and getting into work. For the first time in my life I added a bit of muscle to my spindly frame, and I felt fitter than I had since my twenties. But, for a variety of reasons, the motivation began to fail and attendance trailed off into nothingness. By the time we'd retired our gym days looked to be behind us.
In the past eighteen months I've had a few minor health worries. There were problems with my knees, and the gout attacks I've blogged about in the past. Signs of the inevitable decline in physical ability that we all have to face up to eventually. It feels like half my life is now occupied with stretches and exercises and pills and diet aimed at putting off collapse for as long as possible....
The major factor in fending off future gout attacks is maintaining a high hydration level, but it's also recommended to keep physically fit. Exercise, but try not to sweat too much! I do try to use the stairs up to the flat every day (we're on the fifth floor), but that's not much of a regime. About time I tried using that wee gym.
As I'm on my own for a couple of weeks this seemed like a good time to give it a go. So I planned to go there by around ten this morning (no point in overdoing things, is there...). Well, that was the plan. But a part of my brain decided to sow a few doubts. If my body has been guilty of letting me down recently, why would I think it was up to doing something energetic? Wasn't I setting myself up for failure? Wasn't there a risk that I might incur more damage than benefit? Why take the risk?
This internal dialogue, combined with my legendary ability to procrastinate, let the hours slip by, and by, until I could finally convince myself to stop being stupid and just go for it. And so it became early afternoon (oh, alright, mid....) when I finally made my way along to the gym building. Discovered I'd brought the wrong key fob with me, went back for it, returned, let myself in.
Guess what? It was (almost) fun. I didn't do much (and I'm not going to embarrass myself by saying just how little), paced myself carefully, but did work up a sweat. What was I worrying about? I think I'll enjoy being back and seeing if I can reclaim some of that long lost muscle. And maybe I can get up to the fifth floor without calling for oxygen.
As I sit here typing I have muscles aching like they haven't ached in a very long time.
But I'm aching smugly.
We moved into our new flat just before last Xmas and we're still in love with it. Sometimes it's hard to believe that we found it. Not only does it meet all the criteria we'd set before we began our search, but there are a few extras we never expected to find. I mean, how many flats in Edinburgh come with their own garage, and even a bit an area behind it that just about qualifies as a shed? We are also, as residents of the complex, entitled to make use of the small on site gym.
We used to go to a gym regularly. For about seven years, beginning in 2000, we were part of the hardy sect who frequently turned up by 7am and put in an hour before going home, breakfasting and getting into work. For the first time in my life I added a bit of muscle to my spindly frame, and I felt fitter than I had since my twenties. But, for a variety of reasons, the motivation began to fail and attendance trailed off into nothingness. By the time we'd retired our gym days looked to be behind us.
In the past eighteen months I've had a few minor health worries. There were problems with my knees, and the gout attacks I've blogged about in the past. Signs of the inevitable decline in physical ability that we all have to face up to eventually. It feels like half my life is now occupied with stretches and exercises and pills and diet aimed at putting off collapse for as long as possible....
The major factor in fending off future gout attacks is maintaining a high hydration level, but it's also recommended to keep physically fit. Exercise, but try not to sweat too much! I do try to use the stairs up to the flat every day (we're on the fifth floor), but that's not much of a regime. About time I tried using that wee gym.
As I'm on my own for a couple of weeks this seemed like a good time to give it a go. So I planned to go there by around ten this morning (no point in overdoing things, is there...). Well, that was the plan. But a part of my brain decided to sow a few doubts. If my body has been guilty of letting me down recently, why would I think it was up to doing something energetic? Wasn't I setting myself up for failure? Wasn't there a risk that I might incur more damage than benefit? Why take the risk?
This internal dialogue, combined with my legendary ability to procrastinate, let the hours slip by, and by, until I could finally convince myself to stop being stupid and just go for it. And so it became early afternoon (oh, alright, mid....) when I finally made my way along to the gym building. Discovered I'd brought the wrong key fob with me, went back for it, returned, let myself in.
Guess what? It was (almost) fun. I didn't do much (and I'm not going to embarrass myself by saying just how little), paced myself carefully, but did work up a sweat. What was I worrying about? I think I'll enjoy being back and seeing if I can reclaim some of that long lost muscle. And maybe I can get up to the fifth floor without calling for oxygen.
As I sit here typing I have muscles aching like they haven't ached in a very long time.
But I'm aching smugly.
Tuesday, 26 May 2015
What makes some people so bigoted?
THEIR MOTHERS MUST BE SO PROUD....
Yes, that's a Twitter conversation between two ukip fanatics, the sort who would block you rather than try to engage in any intelligent conversation because they know how quickly their lies would be exposed. There is no point in challenging their nonsense because no truth or logic is allowed into their bubble.
What makes some people so devoid of empathy, or unable to recognise the consequences of their own actions? Are they wholly unable to realise that the horrendous bigotry they display is directly responsible for upholding the social attitudes that result in tragedies like this one, and this one? That they are, effectively, complicit in unwarranted deaths?
It's frequently the case that the worst homophobes are those who have always battled with their own sexuality. Perhaps that's the case here and these creatures deserve some modicum of pity. But it's hard to feel any sympathy for someone who is happy to cause suffering in others.
So I wonder what their mothers make of them? Can they really take any pride in having reared such extreme, damaged and damaging individuals? Could even a mother love them?
Yes, that's a Twitter conversation between two ukip fanatics, the sort who would block you rather than try to engage in any intelligent conversation because they know how quickly their lies would be exposed. There is no point in challenging their nonsense because no truth or logic is allowed into their bubble.
What makes some people so devoid of empathy, or unable to recognise the consequences of their own actions? Are they wholly unable to realise that the horrendous bigotry they display is directly responsible for upholding the social attitudes that result in tragedies like this one, and this one? That they are, effectively, complicit in unwarranted deaths?
It's frequently the case that the worst homophobes are those who have always battled with their own sexuality. Perhaps that's the case here and these creatures deserve some modicum of pity. But it's hard to feel any sympathy for someone who is happy to cause suffering in others.
So I wonder what their mothers make of them? Can they really take any pride in having reared such extreme, damaged and damaging individuals? Could even a mother love them?
Sunday, 24 May 2015
How do you solve a problem like Carmichael?
THE MOUND OF TRU FIC(tion)
Or maybe a pile of doo-doo? There was certainly something very shitty about the #Frenchgate memo was leaked in April, alleging that our First Minister had told the French Ambassador that she would prefer to see David Cameron win the forthcoming general election and did not consider Ed Milliband to be Prime Ministerial material. Which the gullible Torygraph duly printed as the truth, and was then picked up by several politicians wishing to use it against the SNP.
Swift and total denials from both Ms Sturgeon and the French officials who she'd met with soon followed, and an enquiry was launched into the affair. It quickly became clear that the memo had come out of the Scotland Office where the responsible ministers were Alistair Carmichael and David Mundell. The former denied he'd had any knowledge of the memo and said that 'these things happen' in an election campaign. Quite.
Several weeks, £1.4million and an election later the enquiry got to at least some of the truth, and Carmichael now admits to having known about the fraudulent communication and authorised its release. By which time he had managed to hold on to his seat as an MP, the only Lib Dem in Scotland to do so and that with a greatly reduced majority of under a thousand. Oh, and one Mr Mundell clung on too, leaving the new Tory government with only one choice to replace Carmichael as Secretary of State for Scotland.
Carmichael lied to his electorate, costing the taxpayer a small fortune, yet refuses to resign his seat. And the Liberal Democrat party, that bastion of integrity, does not think Alistair has done anything so wrong that it merits any action on their part. So the fingernails are digging in, clinging to the figment of credibility that remains, whilst petitions are demanding he resign and his constituents are starting to raise their voices. What's it going to take to get him to sing So Long, Farewell and go off to be a Lonely Goatherd.
Compare and contrast, compare and contrast. Carmichael lies, profits from the lie, all at the cost of ourselves, yet thinks he continue in his privileged position. Meanwhile William McNeilly, the Trident whistleblower, tells the truth (at least, as he sees it) in the public interest, with no benefit to himself, and is now detained on a military camp awaiting a decision on his future. Which one deserves our thanks and which our approbation? I think the answer to that is as simple as do-re-mi.
Oh, and will we ever know what a certain David Mundell knew about the infamous memo? Anyone posting that question on his Facebook page finds their query is swiftly deleted....
Or maybe a pile of doo-doo? There was certainly something very shitty about the #Frenchgate memo was leaked in April, alleging that our First Minister had told the French Ambassador that she would prefer to see David Cameron win the forthcoming general election and did not consider Ed Milliband to be Prime Ministerial material. Which the gullible Torygraph duly printed as the truth, and was then picked up by several politicians wishing to use it against the SNP.
Swift and total denials from both Ms Sturgeon and the French officials who she'd met with soon followed, and an enquiry was launched into the affair. It quickly became clear that the memo had come out of the Scotland Office where the responsible ministers were Alistair Carmichael and David Mundell. The former denied he'd had any knowledge of the memo and said that 'these things happen' in an election campaign. Quite.
Several weeks, £1.4million and an election later the enquiry got to at least some of the truth, and Carmichael now admits to having known about the fraudulent communication and authorised its release. By which time he had managed to hold on to his seat as an MP, the only Lib Dem in Scotland to do so and that with a greatly reduced majority of under a thousand. Oh, and one Mr Mundell clung on too, leaving the new Tory government with only one choice to replace Carmichael as Secretary of State for Scotland.
Carmichael lied to his electorate, costing the taxpayer a small fortune, yet refuses to resign his seat. And the Liberal Democrat party, that bastion of integrity, does not think Alistair has done anything so wrong that it merits any action on their part. So the fingernails are digging in, clinging to the figment of credibility that remains, whilst petitions are demanding he resign and his constituents are starting to raise their voices. What's it going to take to get him to sing So Long, Farewell and go off to be a Lonely Goatherd.
Compare and contrast, compare and contrast. Carmichael lies, profits from the lie, all at the cost of ourselves, yet thinks he continue in his privileged position. Meanwhile William McNeilly, the Trident whistleblower, tells the truth (at least, as he sees it) in the public interest, with no benefit to himself, and is now detained on a military camp awaiting a decision on his future. Which one deserves our thanks and which our approbation? I think the answer to that is as simple as do-re-mi.
Oh, and will we ever know what a certain David Mundell knew about the infamous memo? Anyone posting that question on his Facebook page finds their query is swiftly deleted....
A just war?
GIVING THE CONCHIES THEIR DUE
Being away from home for a couple of days meant we missed out on having a grandstand view of the ceremony which took place in the cemetery below us yesterday. It was commemorating the one hundredth anniversary of the UK's biggest ever rail disaster which happened at Quintinshill, near Gretna, and where more than two hundred people died. The majority of these were soldiers from a battalion recruited from this area of what is now north Edinburgh, in Leith, Portobello, and Musselburgh. They were on their way to Liverpool where they would have been shipped off to fight in the disastrous Gallipoli campaign.
Their train, carrying almost five hundred of these men, crashed into a stationary local train. Within minutes an express from Glasgow had ploughed straight into the carnage, compressing the troop train into a space little more than a third of its original length. Wooden carriages and gas lighting ensured there was an instant conflagration and many suffered horribly slow deaths in the fire. When the surviving troops were finally assembled barely more than sixty were still alive and without any serious injuries.
Set in the context of the slaughter that was taking place on the European mainland the actual numbers dying must have appeared trivial, which may explain why the incident is so little known today. But at the time it had a massive impact on the Leith community, with few families untouched in some way. The subsequent enquiry was rapid, cursory, and resulted in two signalmen being convicted. They didn't serve their full sentences and were later re-employed by the railway company. There remain strong suspicions that The Establishment, under the cloak of wartime expediency, closed ranks and ensured that the real problems underlying the accident were never investigated. There was much that smelled rotten about the affair.
So although the memorial service was marking an event of tragic significance, it did so without critical examination. And that fits in neatly with the prevailing culture that what happens in war is 'glorious' and not to be questioned too closely. A culture which seems to be frequently picked up, uncritically, by the those who claim to be 'patriots', and will often be against anything which involves the UK in European institutions. How often have I seen some Neanderthal on Twitter claiming that the two world wars were fought to keep Britain out of Europe? As if having a common German enemy in each made them identical.
Yet the two wars could hardly have been more different in moral quality. Whilst the 1939-45 conflict had some clear elements of good versus evil (or at least better versus worse), I'd find it impossible to say that about 1914-18. The Nazi regime was truly appalling and could not be allowed to survive. And so it's simple, and simplistic, to put that good v evil label on Allies against Axis. Yet the country which did most to win the war, and whose people suffered the most in it, was Stalin's Russia, a tyranny that was litle better, morally, than Hitler's. And a government who had, when the war began, been an ally of the German state. Simple answers rarely tell us much. And that applies even more for the First World War.
You might remember the TV advert that was running last Xmas which showed British and German troops playing football in no-mans land on 25 December 1914 (was it a supermarket ad?). That annoyed me (OK, many ads do....) because it placed an important event outside the historical context which made it so meaningful. The real world football had to take place in 1914 because the following Xmas the army commands on both sides took steps to prevent a repeat, including officers threatening to shoot any men who attempted to establish friendly contact with 'the enemy'. So who was the real enemy here?
It's arguable that ordinary private soldiers, British, French, German and all, had much more in common with each other than they did with their own officers or governments. The Europe of the period was far more divided along class lines than national boundaries. The Establishment fear of that football match came from the dread that their own troops might see the truth and turn against them. This was a war of imperialism, the established empires seeking to maintain their monopoly in the exploitation of Africa and Asia, one (Austro-Hungary) hoping to hold back it's steady demise, and the new kid on the block, Germany, looking to break through and join the big boys. In qualitative morality there was little to choose between them. Never was the phrase "Workers of the world, Unite" more necessary.
Most people would have had no access to this line of thought, bombarded as they were with jingoistic propaganda and force fed the line the regime wanted them to hear. So it's all the more credit to those few who saw through the fiction and took the brave decision to become conscientious objectors, not just on religious grounds, but because they recognised the essential falsity underlying the war and the usage to which ordinary people were being subjected. There have been recent moves to belatedly make some attempt to remember these men properly in the UK. Maybe the time will come when society realises that they were the true heroes of 1914-18.
Being away from home for a couple of days meant we missed out on having a grandstand view of the ceremony which took place in the cemetery below us yesterday. It was commemorating the one hundredth anniversary of the UK's biggest ever rail disaster which happened at Quintinshill, near Gretna, and where more than two hundred people died. The majority of these were soldiers from a battalion recruited from this area of what is now north Edinburgh, in Leith, Portobello, and Musselburgh. They were on their way to Liverpool where they would have been shipped off to fight in the disastrous Gallipoli campaign.
Their train, carrying almost five hundred of these men, crashed into a stationary local train. Within minutes an express from Glasgow had ploughed straight into the carnage, compressing the troop train into a space little more than a third of its original length. Wooden carriages and gas lighting ensured there was an instant conflagration and many suffered horribly slow deaths in the fire. When the surviving troops were finally assembled barely more than sixty were still alive and without any serious injuries.
Set in the context of the slaughter that was taking place on the European mainland the actual numbers dying must have appeared trivial, which may explain why the incident is so little known today. But at the time it had a massive impact on the Leith community, with few families untouched in some way. The subsequent enquiry was rapid, cursory, and resulted in two signalmen being convicted. They didn't serve their full sentences and were later re-employed by the railway company. There remain strong suspicions that The Establishment, under the cloak of wartime expediency, closed ranks and ensured that the real problems underlying the accident were never investigated. There was much that smelled rotten about the affair.
So although the memorial service was marking an event of tragic significance, it did so without critical examination. And that fits in neatly with the prevailing culture that what happens in war is 'glorious' and not to be questioned too closely. A culture which seems to be frequently picked up, uncritically, by the those who claim to be 'patriots', and will often be against anything which involves the UK in European institutions. How often have I seen some Neanderthal on Twitter claiming that the two world wars were fought to keep Britain out of Europe? As if having a common German enemy in each made them identical.
Yet the two wars could hardly have been more different in moral quality. Whilst the 1939-45 conflict had some clear elements of good versus evil (or at least better versus worse), I'd find it impossible to say that about 1914-18. The Nazi regime was truly appalling and could not be allowed to survive. And so it's simple, and simplistic, to put that good v evil label on Allies against Axis. Yet the country which did most to win the war, and whose people suffered the most in it, was Stalin's Russia, a tyranny that was litle better, morally, than Hitler's. And a government who had, when the war began, been an ally of the German state. Simple answers rarely tell us much. And that applies even more for the First World War.
You might remember the TV advert that was running last Xmas which showed British and German troops playing football in no-mans land on 25 December 1914 (was it a supermarket ad?). That annoyed me (OK, many ads do....) because it placed an important event outside the historical context which made it so meaningful. The real world football had to take place in 1914 because the following Xmas the army commands on both sides took steps to prevent a repeat, including officers threatening to shoot any men who attempted to establish friendly contact with 'the enemy'. So who was the real enemy here?
It's arguable that ordinary private soldiers, British, French, German and all, had much more in common with each other than they did with their own officers or governments. The Europe of the period was far more divided along class lines than national boundaries. The Establishment fear of that football match came from the dread that their own troops might see the truth and turn against them. This was a war of imperialism, the established empires seeking to maintain their monopoly in the exploitation of Africa and Asia, one (Austro-Hungary) hoping to hold back it's steady demise, and the new kid on the block, Germany, looking to break through and join the big boys. In qualitative morality there was little to choose between them. Never was the phrase "Workers of the world, Unite" more necessary.
Most people would have had no access to this line of thought, bombarded as they were with jingoistic propaganda and force fed the line the regime wanted them to hear. So it's all the more credit to those few who saw through the fiction and took the brave decision to become conscientious objectors, not just on religious grounds, but because they recognised the essential falsity underlying the war and the usage to which ordinary people were being subjected. There have been recent moves to belatedly make some attempt to remember these men properly in the UK. Maybe the time will come when society realises that they were the true heroes of 1914-18.
Thursday, 21 May 2015
We're off to see the wizards....
ALL LAU-ED UP AND READY TO ROLL
In less than three hours from now we'll be on a train to that there London and on our way to our first Lau gig of the year (there's another booked for November). I've written before of my passion for this band and that hasn't changed.
The new album, The Bell That Never Rang, arrived a few weeks ago and was even more exciting, challenging, strange, enthralling than Race The Loser had been. There were tracks of great immediacy, which swept you up on first listen, simple melodies that 'caught' straight away, but often with lyrics that wanted to be heard again for understanding to seep through.
And there were pieces that felt almost alien to the ears on first hearing, but repayed over many replays, giving up their complexity and structure and depth. The seventeen minute title track in particular.
And now to see how those studio sounds will translate on to the live stage, how the trio will create these complicated soundscapes. A process sure to involve a considerable amount of electronic layering. And, maybe, the presence of the Elysian Quartet.
Whatever the means, I'm excited to see how it's done, hear the result, be swept along with the force of nature that is Lau. It helps that the gig is in one of our all time favourite venues, the amazing Union Chapel in Islington. Roll on 8pm....
In less than three hours from now we'll be on a train to that there London and on our way to our first Lau gig of the year (there's another booked for November). I've written before of my passion for this band and that hasn't changed.
The new album, The Bell That Never Rang, arrived a few weeks ago and was even more exciting, challenging, strange, enthralling than Race The Loser had been. There were tracks of great immediacy, which swept you up on first listen, simple melodies that 'caught' straight away, but often with lyrics that wanted to be heard again for understanding to seep through.
And there were pieces that felt almost alien to the ears on first hearing, but repayed over many replays, giving up their complexity and structure and depth. The seventeen minute title track in particular.
And now to see how those studio sounds will translate on to the live stage, how the trio will create these complicated soundscapes. A process sure to involve a considerable amount of electronic layering. And, maybe, the presence of the Elysian Quartet.
Whatever the means, I'm excited to see how it's done, hear the result, be swept along with the force of nature that is Lau. It helps that the gig is in one of our all time favourite venues, the amazing Union Chapel in Islington. Roll on 8pm....
Monday, 11 May 2015
Little Nigel has a laugh
Little Nigel was trying to get himself elected to the school council. Again.
But this time he knew he would do it. He knew it, he knew, he knew it, because Nanny had said he would. So he made up lots of promises, and wrote them down on a big purple card, and told the Little Nigel Fan Club to tell everyone in the school about it. And the Fan Club did as they were told, for hadn't Nigel given them all toffees? OK, so the Fan Club were actually Class 1D, but they were his. They were, they were, they were, because Nanny said they were.
And Little Nigel said to the Fan Club that if he didn't win this time then he'd leave the school and never be seen again. But he knew he wouldn't have to. Because Nanny said so.
So the elections to the school council were held and the results were all added up and got shouted around the school hall and... And, and, and..... This couldn't be. Little Nigel had lost. For the seventh time in a row. And Nigel realised that Nanny's promises were just like his own. All made up.
So he wrote to the crestfallen Fan Club and told them he was going to leave the school, because that's what the big boys who'd lost were doing (apart from Smudger Murphy, but nobody could stop laughing at him), and he so, so, so wanted to be one of them. And 1D became even sadder. But then one of them noticed something. At the end of the note Little Nigel had scribbled something. It read "Because I'm a man of my word". So this boy, who was just a tad brighter than the others (he could even tie his own shoelaces) told the others what was written, and when it slowly, ever so slowly, dawned on them what Little Nigel was telling them, well, they all smiled, and then they laughed. They laughed, they laughed, they laughed.
So the 'clever' boy (who could run because his shoelaces were tied up tight) was sent to bring Nigel before the Fan Club and they told him, because they knew it was what he wanted to hear, that they would never let him leave the school and he had to stay and none of them could do what he did or ever be one of the big boys and if he left who'd stand up for all the school dunces? Eh? Tell us that Nigel.
And Little Nigel drew himself up to his full height of four feet eight and half and he said "No, I must not stay, for I am going to be a man of my word like the big boys".
And the Fan Club looked at Nigel. And Nigel looked at the Fan Club. And then they all laughed. They laughed and laughed and laughed.
But this time he knew he would do it. He knew it, he knew, he knew it, because Nanny had said he would. So he made up lots of promises, and wrote them down on a big purple card, and told the Little Nigel Fan Club to tell everyone in the school about it. And the Fan Club did as they were told, for hadn't Nigel given them all toffees? OK, so the Fan Club were actually Class 1D, but they were his. They were, they were, they were, because Nanny said they were.
And Little Nigel said to the Fan Club that if he didn't win this time then he'd leave the school and never be seen again. But he knew he wouldn't have to. Because Nanny said so.
So the elections to the school council were held and the results were all added up and got shouted around the school hall and... And, and, and..... This couldn't be. Little Nigel had lost. For the seventh time in a row. And Nigel realised that Nanny's promises were just like his own. All made up.
So he wrote to the crestfallen Fan Club and told them he was going to leave the school, because that's what the big boys who'd lost were doing (apart from Smudger Murphy, but nobody could stop laughing at him), and he so, so, so wanted to be one of them. And 1D became even sadder. But then one of them noticed something. At the end of the note Little Nigel had scribbled something. It read "Because I'm a man of my word". So this boy, who was just a tad brighter than the others (he could even tie his own shoelaces) told the others what was written, and when it slowly, ever so slowly, dawned on them what Little Nigel was telling them, well, they all smiled, and then they laughed. They laughed, they laughed, they laughed.
So the 'clever' boy (who could run because his shoelaces were tied up tight) was sent to bring Nigel before the Fan Club and they told him, because they knew it was what he wanted to hear, that they would never let him leave the school and he had to stay and none of them could do what he did or ever be one of the big boys and if he left who'd stand up for all the school dunces? Eh? Tell us that Nigel.
And Little Nigel drew himself up to his full height of four feet eight and half and he said "No, I must not stay, for I am going to be a man of my word like the big boys".
And the Fan Club looked at Nigel. And Nigel looked at the Fan Club. And then they all laughed. They laughed and laughed and laughed.
Friday, 8 May 2015
Don't go blaming us
ED DOESN'T GET IT, DOES HE?
In the aftermath of the election results, the euphoria of events in Scotland and despair at events UK wide, there are a lot of people indulging in the blame game. Especially Labour politicians and supporters. And one common thread seems to be to lay some of the blame for their poor performance on the people of Scotland, where Labour dropped from forty one seats to just one.
I think this is usually referred to as 'denial'. Some simple arithmetic shows that, even if Labour had won every single seat north of the border, they would still be well short of the Tory total. And Scotland elected a huge tranche of MPs who would have been happy to support a left leaning Westminster government. We did our bit. Even Ed Miliband doesn't appear to want to acknowledge this, when it's clear that if there is fault it lies with him, the Labour party, and the susceptibility of the English electorate to give in to the messages of fear that the right wing media pumps out.
Ed thinks 'nationalism' was responsible for his losses up here. How delusional can you be? A simple look at voter turnout figures and the size of the majorities achieved shows that many thousands of Indyref No voters must have put an X against their SNP candidate. And they haven't all suddenly become converts to Scottish independence. That was never what this was about.
What people here do want is a change in the way politics is being conducted; an end to the ideological bullshit of austerity and the immense damage it is doing to individual lives; greater devolution of powers to Holyrood, as promised during Indyref; a hope for greater social justice and a reduction in the vast inequalities that distort our society. Progressive politics. That's what we voted for here, whilst in England there was .... only the wonderful Caroline Lucas (would Brighton consider becoming a Scottish enclave?). Leading economists have stated that Nicola Sturgeon's plans for increased spending and growth are far more likely to succeed in the long term than the austerity agenda, and will be better for the majority of people in the immediate period. We voted for hope and common sense.
Meanwhile England has voted for more of the same - greed, ideological attacks on the welfare state and an increase in inequality. Fear has been allowed to triumph over hope. Why else would anyone possibly vote for a party that included such vile incompetents as Osborne, Hunt, Pickles, Gove and Shiny Dave himself?
If you have any doubts that there is now a vast cultural and political difference between the two countries then consider this. If the votes cast on Thursday had been allocated seats on a proportional basis then ukip would comfortably be the third largest party in parliament, with the SNP back in fifth. A party that, as far as I'm aware, couldn't muster enough votes to retain a single deposit in this country. The far right have no place in Scotland.
There was a 'threat', made up by the Tories, that 'Scotland' could somehow be dominating England (it was never explained exactly how that would work....) the right wing media acted horrified. But England dominating Scotland, despite having no mandate to do so, is just seen as business as usual. Funny that.
In the aftermath of the election results, the euphoria of events in Scotland and despair at events UK wide, there are a lot of people indulging in the blame game. Especially Labour politicians and supporters. And one common thread seems to be to lay some of the blame for their poor performance on the people of Scotland, where Labour dropped from forty one seats to just one.
I think this is usually referred to as 'denial'. Some simple arithmetic shows that, even if Labour had won every single seat north of the border, they would still be well short of the Tory total. And Scotland elected a huge tranche of MPs who would have been happy to support a left leaning Westminster government. We did our bit. Even Ed Miliband doesn't appear to want to acknowledge this, when it's clear that if there is fault it lies with him, the Labour party, and the susceptibility of the English electorate to give in to the messages of fear that the right wing media pumps out.
Ed thinks 'nationalism' was responsible for his losses up here. How delusional can you be? A simple look at voter turnout figures and the size of the majorities achieved shows that many thousands of Indyref No voters must have put an X against their SNP candidate. And they haven't all suddenly become converts to Scottish independence. That was never what this was about.
What people here do want is a change in the way politics is being conducted; an end to the ideological bullshit of austerity and the immense damage it is doing to individual lives; greater devolution of powers to Holyrood, as promised during Indyref; a hope for greater social justice and a reduction in the vast inequalities that distort our society. Progressive politics. That's what we voted for here, whilst in England there was .... only the wonderful Caroline Lucas (would Brighton consider becoming a Scottish enclave?). Leading economists have stated that Nicola Sturgeon's plans for increased spending and growth are far more likely to succeed in the long term than the austerity agenda, and will be better for the majority of people in the immediate period. We voted for hope and common sense.
Meanwhile England has voted for more of the same - greed, ideological attacks on the welfare state and an increase in inequality. Fear has been allowed to triumph over hope. Why else would anyone possibly vote for a party that included such vile incompetents as Osborne, Hunt, Pickles, Gove and Shiny Dave himself?
If you have any doubts that there is now a vast cultural and political difference between the two countries then consider this. If the votes cast on Thursday had been allocated seats on a proportional basis then ukip would comfortably be the third largest party in parliament, with the SNP back in fifth. A party that, as far as I'm aware, couldn't muster enough votes to retain a single deposit in this country. The far right have no place in Scotland.
There was a 'threat', made up by the Tories, that 'Scotland' could somehow be dominating England (it was never explained exactly how that would work....) the right wing media acted horrified. But England dominating Scotland, despite having no mandate to do so, is just seen as business as usual. Funny that.
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