Friday, November 24, 2006

Giving thanks...

My friend lay back on her bed with her headphones in and Mac out. With a huge sparkle of a smile, she clicked into Skype and said hi to her family. It was a beautiful moment and I sat quietly in the corner feeling strangely privileged… It has been said many times that airport terminals see people greet each other with arms that are wider and warmer than usual. Distance, absence, makes us see clearer what, who is important to us. This was not just the usual call home. My friend is a Californian and this was Thanksgiving. The distance…the absence…was being felt that much more. As they talked Americanisms and familial shorthand meant any attempt to follow the conversation would be doomed to failure. I wouldn’t have wanted to try. The beauty wasn’t in what was being said.

I sat, curled into my friend’s chair, reading the book I always pick up when I find myself in her room, occasionally looking up to smile at her when something humorous and decipherable was said. Philip Gourevitch’s, “We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families: Stories from Rwanda”. It is as cheery as it sounds. The juxtaposition of the palpable, glowing love to my right and the bloody hate in my hands was stark…but we’re used to it by now surely?

Earlier that evening we had been enjoying Thanksgiving dinner with a group of friends from University. Before eating we went round the table and shared things we were thankful for. Friends. Family. Life. These were emotional moments. Glimpses of grace. But the stories from Rwanda show the machete side of life…not that we have to go so far from home to find it. A side that isn’t going to go away no matter how much academia studies or activists seek revolution. I believe strongly that a difference can be made. That redemption is indeed possible. But the poor will always be with us…

A fascinating little debate has been raging over the last week amongst our class about the place of emotion in academic discourse. There is that fear of statistics. Of making people numbers. Of losing touch with the reality of what we are studying. But there is also the realization that emotion can cloud argument. It can seep in and distract. An interesting and important question is posed. As I walked home this evening I returned to some well worn ground…How do we live in this world? How do we function when surrounded by such injustice? The question can be read in two ways…how should we seek to function, what should we cling to, how is it done AND/OR how is it that we do function, since it seems that for the most part we do. When I worked at Christian Solidarity Worldwide this was a conversation I had a few times with other interns. How can you spend all day, every day working for a human rights charity like CSW, reading and writing and analyzing and disseminating stories of brutality, pain and horror…and then go home and…well…function? I had a conversation with my friend Travis one night about how people who are interested in areas of humanitarian assistance spend their whole lives searching for horror…searching for the people with the most crushing stories…chasing after pain.

I have been interested by the reaction to the movie, Borat. I need to immediately qualify my comments by saying that I haven’t seen it. My understanding is that some of the ‘best’ humour is derived from Baron Cohen giving xenophobic Americans enough rope to hang themselves with. But is the existence of people with such horrific views funny? Should we laugh at such people? Or should we weep? Feel ill? My immediate reaction to this question when it was first put to me was to think of the Screwtape Letters. It may be a dreadfully out of place comparison. But it was my first thought. The existence of xenophobia in the world should be mourned. But my tentative suggestion is that those who ascribe to such views should also be scorned, mocked…laughed at? (I just changed that sentence. It originally suggested that xenophobia itself should be mocked and laughed at…I changed it, making the people the focus of the suggested scorn. I think I perhaps had it right the first time…) Laughter perhaps has the power sometimes ascribed to it…Lewis held that the thing that hurts a proud Satan most is laughter in his direction. Comedians talk of the powerless-ness of ‘power’ in the face of laughter.

Some excerpts were printed in The Independent from blogs written by people in the Middle East when Israel and Hezbollah were attacking each other and smashing Lebanon in the process. I was moved and humbled by these, the thoughts of ordinary people trapped in a war. One blogger talked of how, ‘They’ve scraped the honey off the moon’. The words have stayed with me…fitting in their own off-beat way. I guess days like today give me hope…hope is maybe the wrong word…days like today help. There is room at the table. For beauty. For laughter. For love…and I want to believe for redemption…

In the words of Banksy..."Sometimes I feel so sick at the state of the world I can't even finish my second apple pie"...

First a word from Banksy...



"We don't need any more heroes, we just need someone to take out the recycling"

"Bomb Middle England.
People who get up early in the morning cause war, death and famine."


Thursday, November 16, 2006

Never give up...

The Presbyterian Chaplaincy at Queens is currently putting together a photo exhibition for World Aids Day which they are calling "Never give up". The name comes from a song sang by the members of JL Zwani Church in Guguletu, Cape Town, every Sunday during the part of their weekly worship which focuses on HIV/AIDS. It is a statement of courage and faith and the memory of hearing it always moves me...

This week as part of my course I have been reading about genocide and came across this awesome and brutal reminder. It is from the epilogue of Bertold Brecht's, 'The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui’:

If we could learn to look instead of gawking,
We’d see the horror in the heart of farce,
If we could only act instead of talking,
We wouldn’t always end up on our arse.
This was the thing that had us mastered;
Don’t yet rejoice in his defeat, you men!
Although the world stood up and stopped the bastard,
The bitch that bore him is in heat again.

Monday, November 06, 2006

Bloody Aussies...

Yesterday I went to Croke Park to watch the Irish take on the Aussies in a chaotic little sport the creation of which must have involved some fascinating - and if the way it is played is anything to go by - heated negotiations: International Rules.

The Irish got a second half whipping despite 82,000 spectators cheering and singing them on (Ok well I guess some of those were Aussie types...damn them and their sporting prowess...), when they seemed to lose the ability to do even the basics of the sport...ya know: pass, tackle, score, run, jump...that kinda craic...

However, what got the headlines today, and what I will remember the event for, was not the weird little march the Garda band led the two teams on round the pitch pre-anthems, not the half time show's, albeit awesome, Fields of Athenry sing along led by a leather jacketed joker with a microphone (His performance consisted of not just sing-along leading but also wonderful "Who's in from Offaly?" shout outs) NOR EVEN the humiliation felt at being crushed like bugs in the one sport we are supposed to excell at (And the one we use to explain why we don't excell at all the others... "Why aren't we better at soccer/rugby/athletics/water polo? Well, it's cus all our best atheletes are playing GAA...")

No, the reason this match will be remembered, and why you could have heard me laughing hysterically during much of the first quarter of the game, was the absurd levels of violence that were on display. There were tough tackles. Sure. One guy got knocked unconscious and taken to A&E. But plenty of sports see touch tackling and the resulting injuries. What I have NEVER seen before are full scale brawls take place with so little action taken by the referee BEFORE THE GAME HAD EVEN STARTED!!!

Mental.

At one point a big ruck started after an Irish guy had committed GBH on an Aussie with a tackle...fists were flying, people were being pulled to the ground and one Irish player leaped through the air, hurdling another of his team, to attack an Aussie who had looked at him funny... We watched, amazed (and to be honest we bayed for a little blood) but then we realised that although probably three quarters of the men on the pitch were embroilled in some sort of violent activity, the other quarter were still playing...

The Irish goalkeeper looked up to see three men from down under running at him, ball in hand. Unfortunately his defense had their hands full to his right, trying to strangle some ignorant Aussies. The Australians scored. And...summing up the bizarre nature of this sporting occassion...despite the fact that surely none of the officials were watching, too busy as they were trying to keeping the maiming to a minimum...The goal stood.




It was a cultural experience for all concerned and much credit must go to my Aussie friend Samara for not lording it over the rest of us too much for the rest of the day...



...The more I think about it the more I wish Chris Tapp could have been there with us...I think introducing him to this particular sport would have been hilarious...

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

So I wandered into a protest in Trafalgar Sq…calling for a ceasefire in the Middle East…and I stayed for the chanting…

“Free, Free Lebanon!”

“Free, Free Palestine!”

It always amuses me how everyone comes out of the woodwork for these protests…there’s always someone there trying to flog the Socialist News…

I also don’t think people at these things do their cause any favours by leaping to the extremes…rhetoric about sending Blair to The Hague (Followed by as big a cheer as there was…) makes it too easy for the rest of their message to be ignored…

I was interested in how many Hezbollah flags were being flown…I wondered what the majority consensus on their activities was…

I was glad I was there to lend my voice to the ceasefire calls but I don’t think we were exactly making a lot of difference. Having said that, my feelings on the matter are that just because a group of people in central London listening to speeches, poems and songs won’t really make much of an impact on the grand scheme of things doesn’t mean that you don’t have your say…I think it’s important to stand in solidarity and point out injustice even if no-one listens…

Tony Blair has consistently disappointed me. I thought there was some hope for Britain this time around…when Kim Howells visited the Middle East and talked about how disproportionate the Israeli response had been I thought maybe the Government would start saying the things that I felt were desperately needing said by someone that had a credible voice (Sorry Kofi but sometimes I think that you may as well be at a protest at the foot of Nelson’s Column yourself for all any of the big players listen to you…). BUT that wasn’t to be and Blair has said little, that I have heard at least, that wavers from the American line…eventually, once they have given Israel a good bit of time and space to hammer Hezbollah (And we’re really sorry Lebanon but you have to understand…you are in the way…what’s a guy to do!?!) they will call for a ceasefire and they will get one…eventually…

Bush and Blair reckon they have a way forward that might be lasting. I can’t help but doubt it…I guess I don’t feel like their administrations have at any point shown the imagination, the nuance or the statesmanship to come up with something that promising…

I watched a show on Channel 4 two evenings ago called Judah & Mohammed…it was a look at the lives of one Israeli teenager and one Palestinian guy…man it was depressing viewing…so much hatred…so few obvious answers…

I always feel like I am playing catch up as far as the story of Israel and Palestine goes…and the more I learn the more complex and disturbing a problem it becomes.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Where's Drenners...?


A picture from the meeting about next years bicentenary that I was at (Check out 'Afritude' post below...)

Kudos will be given if you can find me in the lil throng...

I promise you that I am visible!!

Thursday, July 27, 2006

'yappo yappo'

After reading about the Dogon people in Mali... They have low ceilings in their meeting places, the theory being that you can't get angry if you're sitting down...

I always write far too quickly...this was a creative lunch break!?

A poem...a thought...some words...

Yappo yappo

Lower the roof
Keep bends in our knees
The rising, rasping voice
Stopped in its rut
Its black bowler bent out of shape
Like an egg tapped
With the smallest of spoons

It sits back down
Licking the spit from its lips
Laying the hat on its lap
(Having popped the curve back)
Face not so flushed
Less blood

Lower the roof

Keep bends in our knees

Sunday, July 23, 2006

CARE-less


The day before yesterday was my first CARE-less Friday and although I did feel a hole where my Jelly should have been I had a wonderful day featuring African dance, deep theological/philosophical/stoner conversation and my dear friend Travis.

Thursday night had seen the last Thursday Date with Travis, Chris and I hanging out in a London pub till closing and then at Chris’s flat until the wee hours. The conversation meandered as all the best conversations do and I left thinking about how much I would miss those times. The reason I start to talk about the day before yesterday by mentioning the day before the day before yesterday is because over the course of the evening Travis suggested that I join him on a visit to his favourite place in London, Borough Market. We had a great morning there, drinking coffee and wandering around the stalls, sitting in the sun by the Cathedral and having a little lunch. I was to join him later for his little London farewell so we said a ‘see you later’ and he headed home for some much needed packing and I headed off for a wander around.

Round the corner from the market there sat a working replica of Sir Francis Drake’s ship, The Golden Hind and I sat and marvelled at it for a moment…a vessel which was, at one fleeting time in history, the height of technology… Then I headed to have a wander amongst the crowds at the Tower of London and then across Tower Bridge to The Scoop by the Mayor’s Office. This would be the destination for the first part of Trav’s farewell, a mini amphitheatre of a venue beside the river. There was an African dance group strutting their stuff so I sat and enjoyed that and then continued my wander down the South Bank, something I love to do, enjoying the street performers and the sun and the surroundings. Later that evening I was back Scoop way where I joined some of Travis’ friends from church and work and his house and listened to a DJ and some sax and trumpet players for what was a warm evening, eating nibbles and drinking wine …it was really nice.

The night went from nice to great as we headed to a bar round the corner and I had a really interesting chat with Trav’s screenwriting housemate and then started chatting to one of the guy’s from Trav’s church. This was one of those conversations about music and politics which keep digging deeper until you reach theology and faith and the unquestionables of religion are suddenly not just being questioned but interrogated… Danny pitched in an idea or two when he wasn’t fighting it out about fox hunting at the other end of the table…and the guy I was talking to, Joe, summed it all up well when he commented to one of the others, “We’ve basically done a degree over here…”

Quality.

Travis will be missed. I admire a great deal about the man. He is someone of real warmth and talent who loves to engage with the questions of politics and faith and culture which so fascinate me…and the guy is banter. The most striking thing about him for me is his real enthusiasm for life…it’s infectious. We’ll be seeing him again certainly…

He has a blog if you wanna check him out…

http://travisrandall.blogspot.com/

Calm down ladies…

“We were all children once…or have you forgotten?”

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Afritude

I was at a meeting recently of different organizations who are seeking to either commemorate next year's bicentenary of the abolition of the slave trade and/or use the events of next year to highlight both the legacy of that evil and the modern forms of slavery that people currently face…

There are more slaves today than there ever were in the past…check out stopthetraffik.org for more details…

What I was shown that day, in no uncertain terms, was that the scars of the transatlantic slave trade run deeper than I ever imagined. I studied the trade with Martin Lynn (The man, the legend) during my degree and it was so interesting to hear about the legacy…and of course very sad too…

It was a bizarre meeting with people almost randomly shouting out things like ‘institutional racism’ and ‘reparations’…

The Church of England recently apologized for its role in the slave trade. Christians have such a strange relationship to these things…Christians (I don’t know whether I should use inverted commas or not…I think probably not actually…) have played such active roles in both justifying and carrying out slavery, apartheid, the troubles in Northern Ireland…BUT, and often at exactly the same time, Christians have been instrumental in helping to heal these wounds and put an end to these injustices and evils.

I read this quote in the newsletter of a Hindu extremist organization. There was some other crazy things in there (Jesus was a Buddhist who died and is buried in India…that kinda thing…) and some stuff that really got my blood a-boiling but this struck me as an interesting lil quote. The context it was used in…being applied to India…was a bit up the left, but taken on its own I fear that it is tragic in its accuracy…for both sides I should say…

Jomo Kenyatta, African leader – When the Europeans came, they had the Bible and we had the land. They said this is the book of God and asked us to meditate. When we opened our eyes they had the land and we had the Bible.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

I fought the law and the law won...


Well...I didn't really fight...

Spent a very nice afternoon with friends in Regents Park sunning ourselves and enjoying one anothers company...

I joined one of them for church at All Souls and then decided to wander home. I dandered around Oxford Circus, Regent Street, Piccadilly Circus, Leicester Square, Trafalgar Square...and then took a right thinking I'd walk in behind Horse Guards and back through to Whitehall where I'd get a bus home. This is the kind of sauntering about that I hope to do a lot more of this summer...

At the top of the Mall there is a memorial to commemorate police officers who have died over the years so I had a look at the list and was unsurprised to see the words "Royal Ulster Constabulary" aplenty... Suddenly a load of police appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and a van pulled up next to me. A police officer came over to me and said hello in that loaded way that can only come from a uniformed mouth... There'd been a report of a man with a weapon in the area into which I had wandered. Its such a funny thing to think that as far as these guys knew I was as likely to be...ahem...packing heat...as the next guy... The word 'suspect' was even used as they frisked me... The funniest part was when the police officer said to me, "I don't think you're who we're looking for". He didn't seem to realise that I was already well aware of that...

So that was all very bizarre and amusing.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

12th...

It is the 12th of July...and I didn't even notice until lunch time...how strange to be in England on this most Protestant of days...

Good to see that the Ardoyne was 'relatively' calm...only one woman got nutted with a golf ball...our definitions of success, although I would not be critical of them, amuse me none the less... I tip my hat to you Jack...

It has been most interesting being in England this year and spending time with interns who are involved in politics so different from the single issue version we have at home...

Then at CSW where my opinions of our politicians are challenged... I find that those who I would generally have less time for due to their seemingly grace-less attitudes and the way they mix their protestant brand of christianity with a crass and arrogant triumphalism are those who are also interested in the human rights issues which christians face all over the world... (Not talkin bout aul Reg specifically you understand...)




Orange and purple balloons...one for every year since 1690...my gosh we are a tragic race...




And of course, we are treated to the finest totty in the NI...decked out in all their fav colours...



I will never quite work out my feelings about the 12th...part of me wants to see it as, at its heart, the fun day out that I remember sharing with my Grandfather as a child...part of me sees it as an innately divisive and sectarian animal that continues to leave orange scars in its wake...one for every year since 1690...

Goin' to the chapel and he's gonna get ma-a-a-rried



One of my best friends from school just got married…

One of my best friends from Uni just got engaged…

A couple from my church just got married…

Two of my friends from my time at DV just got engaged…

One of my American friends is expecting a baby…

I just watched the wedding video of one of my work colleagues…

In about two weeks the guy I work most closely with is getting married…

Is it just me or did the world just go mad and grow up…Neverland just lost its wings…and all the while I keep insisting on being in different countries from my girlfriend…



"All you need is faith and trust... and a little bit of pixie dust!"

Where Is God?

A poem...a thought...some words...

Blood trickles from an open wound
Soon soaked up by sand
A tear trembles on a lash
Sweatshop child sews silk by hand
I cannot feel your breath
Darkness hides your face
Fear refuses vision
Pain second guesses grace
I’ve buried you in my Bible
Now and then unearthed
Overlooked the glaring truth
From the page, love light was birthed
Momentary illuminations
And lasting blasts of bright
Scream real redemption
Offer hope to fight
Though my faith flounders
My eyes don’t always see
You are in the midst of us
You are in the mist of me

It's a movement...

MAKECOVENTRYHISTORY

Today, the gap between the places in the world that are exciting and beautiful locations in which to live and those which are…well…a bit rubbish, is wider than ever. Injustices exist such as a total lack of entertainment facilities, grey-er buildings than you thought were possible, weather that you are positive is colder than weather should be and a tragic lack of options when there is a desire to dine outside the home.

Despite the promises of world leaders, at our present sluggish rate of progress the world will fail dismally to reach internationally agreed targets to halve Coventry by 2015. This is simply not good enough. Coventry is sustained not by chance or nature, but by a combination of factors, each of which are exacerbated by inappropriate economic policies imposed by rich and beautiful cities.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. These factors are determined by human decisions.

2005 offered an exceptional series of opportunities for the UK to take a lead internationally, to start turning things around. By freeing just two young men from their grey Coventry surroundings you did more than just give them a life that could for the first time accommodate art, nightlife, beauty and staying awake all day at Care on a Friday…you sent a message.

Mr. Tony Blair stated recently, “The millions of people who support Make Coventry History should feel very proud of what they have achieved. I know we need to do more, particularly in the areas of intern housing and sustainable job creation, but I believe 2005 will be seen as a turning point in the fight against Coventry, and Make Coventry History will be seen as a decisive force for change. I hope we can work together in 2006 to turn the promises into action."

A sea change is needed. People need to be given hope. People like Joanna, who can’t even imagine a future that doesn’t involve a Coventry council estate and a hatful of children. Let’s bring colour into the lives of thousands…Let’s show Jo that there is more to life…let’s MAKECOVENTRYHISTORY.


MAKECOVENTRYHISTORY, the brainchild of a great man named Bene, is a unique UK alliance of charities, trade unions, campaigning groups and celebrities who are mobilising to drive forward the struggle against Coventry.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Nature Corner


When we see a hot woman why do we call her a fox?

Who decided that foxes were pretty enough to merit such an association?

I think wolves are as pretty as foxes but we don’t see a nice bit of crumpet on the street and think to ourselves, “Hmmm…what a wolf!”

But we do wolf whistle….if we’re a builder…so what’s that about?

The only other thing that we seem to associate with foxes is slyness…

Could there be a connection…ya know…that we think fit chicks are liars?


Next week...Ugly blades are badgers? Why?

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Maybe I've lost it but...

When you go to work today why will you not talk to the person who sits beside you on the bus?

There are social norms that prevent us from doing such things...weird rules which govern what is appropriate and when...who merits a hello or who is worth one. Our slavish acceptance of these ideas means that we go through our lives in these little bubbles, ignoring most of the people who cross our paths... It's all about context though...so in one situation it would be rude to ignore someone and in another it is perfectly acceptable, in one place we are allowed to talk to someone and in another they would be a little taken aback and on edge if we did...

It's an excuse more than anything though...and I guess a neccesary one in some cases. If the rules were different and they stated that I had to talk to everyone I met if I didn't wish to appear rude I guess maybe I'd struggle to get anywhere in a hurry, get less time to think, spend time in my own head and maybe quite simply get tired of people. But its an excuse that lets us off the hook too...

The same girl makes my sandwich almost every day. I don't know her name. I don't know anything about her. Leaning over the counter and saying, "So...tell me...what's your name?" may come across wrong because I'm a guy and she's a girl...but what gets me is that I am allowed to just give my order, take my food, give my money, walk away.

What is called for is a little boldness and the desire to actually be bothered to reach out. And I struggle to come up with the goods. We need to be brave and step out of our bubbles and dare to encroach on those of others... I can't shake the belief that life would be so much more exciting if we did...

Sometimes I just really want to tell people things but feel like these 'rules' don't let me...or more importantly that people would find such words from a total stranger a little off-putting, maybe even a bit freaky. I often have this idea when on public transport. I would really love to have a little bunch of cards that I could bring with me everywhere. When I saw someone doing something really nice or funny or cute, or when I saw someone who I thought was really beautiful or funky or whatever...I could whip out a card, write what I wanted to say it and give it to the person just before I very quickly and without looking back, jumped off the bus or the tube or whatever...

Stupid I know...but I think it'd be awesome at the same time...

I guess I just get tired of walking past so many lives...sitting next to them...talking to them but never talking to them and certainly never listening...

There are moments when people truly amaze me... The world is an amazing place and we are never going to know everyone in it...of course not...nor should we want to. And anonymity can be a really good thing sometimes too. What I hate however is how little we reach out to each other during the day to day.

One day maybe I'll be bold enough...

Thursday, June 22, 2006

In from watching Australia reach the second round of the World Cup after a 2-2 draw with Croatia in a totally bizarre game of football. The bar I was in seemed to be boasting every Aussie in London and the two Irishmen in the corner were cheering them (almost) as hard as any of them...

An email from South Africa winged its way to me this evening...Bizarre to look at photos of Cape Town and know that Rhodes and others are in amongst that landscape right about now...they seem to be having a special time...great to hear. I am of course really sorry not to be there and missing Rhodes a great deal...

I will have to console myself with happy memories of old...





Blogging blogging blogging



My brother created a blog...I liked it...so I jumped on the bandwagon without the slightest hint of shame appearing on my face...

Every now and then I'm gonna wander on here and type till my fingers get bored and my brain starts to try to stab itself with a metaphorical pencil to stay awake...and I'm gonna share whatever I feel like sharing at that particular moment...

It's gonna be exciting for us all...

Well...okay...when I said 'exciting' I meant less boring than watching uninterestingly coloured paint dry (If the paint is a nice bright colour...or one of those ones with an interesting adjective before its name...like hot pink...or moroccan red...then the whole thing gets thrown open to debate), and when I said 'us all' I meant me and...well...okay me...

So watch this space...the adventure is about to begin...

(Yeah so when i said adventure...)

Test

JUST A TEST...body moving body body moving to the disco disco grooving...
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