Your Reward is You Get To Play With The Other Children

You’re on a school trip. It’s somewhere awesome–you decide where.

As you’re getting off the bus, the teacher gives everyone a backpack to carry. He tells you that you’re not allowed to carry anyone else’s pack, nor feel anyone else’s to see how heavy it is. Anyone who does will have to sit the rest of the trip out in the bus.

You and your classmates run off like shot from a blunderbust in the way young children are wont to do, eager to wring every last second out of the day until they’re exhausted, grizzly, sugar-crashed wrecks that their parents are going to seriously consider feeding Valium to when they get home. However, it quickly becomes apparent that not all the backpacks weigh the same. In fact, they seem to range from almost-empty to holding collapsed stellar matter.

As the backpacks all look the same, some of the children carrying the lighter ones refuse to believe anyone has a pack heavier than their’s. Some of those with lighter packs make out like they’re carrying heavier ones. Some of those with heavier packs carry them like their empty. And all the while, the teacher looks on with detached, sadistic interest as his little social experiment plays out because, despite coming from a family of teachers, my personal experience with teachers when I was at school was almost wholly negative and now I’m taking the chance to have a little bit of petty revenge.

General Melchett, the incompetent and sadistic general from Blackadder Goes Forth

My Year 6 teacher.  Because if you’re going to have a bit of petty revenge, might as well go all the way. BAAAH!

Yours is a heavy pack. It’s not collapsed-stellar-matter heavy, but it makes doing anything other than sitting on the ground a supreme effort. And it’s not fair. Why should you have an unreasonably heavy pack when other people don’t? God dammit, it’s not fair.

And what’s your reward for getting up, fiddling with your pack until it’s comfortable, and making the best of the day? A gold star? A special ‘thank you’? Help carrying it? Nope. No one is going to give you a damned thing. You’re not even going to get a reluctant ‘well done’ from anyone, least of all the teacher.

Nope. Your only reward is that you get to enjoy the school trip, just like the kids with the lighter packs.

The astute among you will have already worked out that this is a metaphor for life. See, everyone has times when life is a fucking struggle, when it seems that every time you turn around, the universe punches you in the face. It’s not right, it’s not fair, and what reward do you get for dusting picking yourself up, dusting yourself off and trying again? Sweet FA. No ‘well done’, no gold star, no ticker-tape parade. Even though, without a shadow of a doubt, you’ve bloody-well earned one.

No, your reward is that you get to start enjoying life again. Because the world is, quite frankly, a fucking awesome place full of breath-takingly awesome things and flat-out wonderful people. Turning on a tap and getting clean, running water is fucking awesome. Mountains–whether carved by long-departed glaciers or rippling tectonic plates or violent volcanic fissures–are fucking awesome. Rainbows are awesome. Rain is awesome. When you think of the statistical improbability of life on Earth, it’s all just… awesome. Bemoaning the lack of awesome in your life is like swimming in a lake of perfectly-crafted milk chocolate and bemoaning the lack of something sweet to eat.

Whole Cheese and Tomato thin crust pizza

Pizza? Fucking awesome

It’s so very easy to forget that. It’s so very easy to only feel how heavy your backpack is and how unfair it is that you are being made to carry one of the heavy ones.

Like, I think, everyone else in the world, I have good times and bad times. Maybe once a month I’ll be able to shoulder my pack and play with the other children. And the rest of the time, fuck me but I want a gold star for fighting on.

But my back isn’t nearly the heaviest. And once a month is a hell of a lot more than I had a few years ago. If I keep fighting, I may even get it once a week. That’s got to be worth fighting for.

Pizza photo from Photoshelter, and used with permission.

 

Free Speech Isn’t Free

Let’s start with a hypothetical question. There’s a fully-grown, fit and well adult man and his four-year-old son. For reasons that aren’t important to the question, the four-year-old clenches his fist and hits his father with all the force he can muster. Is the father than justified in screwing up his own fist, and hitting his son with all the force that he can muster?

A shot of Damien, the anti-Christ, from the 1976 horror movie The Omen.  Damien stands in a cemetary of white crosses, looking darkly at the camera.

I’m not saying that child abuse is ever, ever justified, just that once in a blue, black and purple moon the child can hit you pretty fucking hard… Ave! Ave Versus Christus! Ave Satani!

The more time I spend on the Internet, the more people I run into who hold free speech as some kind of sacred right that applies to anything that anyone wants to say. I have a lot of sympathy for this point of view: the ability to say what we want about who we want whenever we want to say it took centuries for our ancestors to win, and an awful lot of blood was spilt in the fight. It’s one of the founding principles of modern Western democracies and ensures we can freely criticize those who rule us, that we can have meaningful debates about issues that shape our society, that means we can educate our children to think for themselves. So don’t at any point in this post get me wrong: I understand the value of free speech.

However, it’s also a myth. We don’t have it in modern Western democracies. We have libel laws: if you say something which isn’t true about someone and that causes damage to their reputation, that person can take legal action against you. They’ll probably win. Should we discard libel laws in the name of free speech?

Libel laws act as a counter-balance. The weight of a national news organisation like the BBC or The Times calling a celebrity a paedophile is far, far greater than the weight of the individual denying it. That news organisation can reach millions of people and has the trust of a lot of them. The celebrity has the people they talk to every day and maybe a Twitter or blog. Sure, they have their own team of spin doctors but how are they going to get the message out? Through national and international news organisations. And sure, a rival may pick it up because it’s going to sell but then you’ve just got two huge organisations throwing allegations at each other. How are we, the uniformed public, going to pick a side? And what if the rival organisations decide there’s more profit to be had by jumping on the paedophile bandwagon? And what if the accused isn’t a celebrity with a team of spin doctors, but an unremarkable member of the public who has no team of spin doctors, no media contacts, no way of defending themselves?

Agree or disagree with them, libel laws are part of our legal system and are a limit on free speech. Already free speech isn’t a scared right but a legally limited concept. And, if you were ever the subject of unsubstantiated allegations by a major media outlet, you’d probably be very grateful for them.

Like the father and his son, multi-national media organisations have an awful lot more power than unremarkable and unknown individuals. If I screw up my tiny Internet fist and hit The Sun as hard as I can, there would be few who would argue for The Sun’s right to hit me back as hard as it could. At least… I hope there would. I mean seriously, what harm could I possible do to the biggest selling national UK newspaper that could justify it utterly destroying my life?

The power dynamics of our society means that free speech isn’t free. The Sun could exercise its right to free speech to call me a paedophile, print my name and address and place of work, follow me around with photographers and reporters 24/7… and not suffer a mote. Me? I’d pay for their right to free speech in spades. Probably with my life.

This is the part where I’m going to lose a lot of you, I think. This the part where I start talking about privilege.

See, there are groups in society that have more power than others. Educated, white, able-bodied and minded, cis-gendered, English-speaking men have more power than almost anyone else in our society. And they’re the people I always see arguing for the unrestricted right to free speech. Hm…  (Incidentally, these people also tend to be atheists.  Maybe, ‘If I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist’ is something profoundly embedded in their psyches.)

I’ve seen privileged males defend homophobia, slut-shaming, rape culture, racism and pretty much every other shameful act of speech. And, like me and The Sun, they don’t suffer a mote. Free speech isn’t free, it’s just that they’re not the ones paying. So it’s free for them and, what… Fuck everyone else?

Part of the problem is that they simply don’t see–and so don’t have to acknowledge–the consequences. That’s why it’s called invisible privilege.

Part of the problem is that an off-hand comment on Facebook by an unremarkable member of the public seems, well, pretty harmless. How much damage can it do?

A line of stone steps that have deep grooves worn in them from centuries of feet

The above stones were laid between 1780 and 1789. One person walking across them isn’t going to do much damage. But, well, over two-hundred-years of people walking across them…

See, all those apparently-harmless comments which reinforce attitudes that cause real-world harm to not-as-privileged-groups like women or people of colour or homosexuals are like those footsteps on the stones. Not hugely damaging by themselves, but when they’re part of the a larger pattern of discrimination, they ensure those patterns continue and continue to do real damage to people.

The uncomfortable truth is that rights come with responsibilities. If you have the right to say what you want, you have the responsibility not to use that right to hurt people. That doesn’t sound unreasonable, does it?

First picture from the 1976 film The Omen, and used without permission.  Child abuse isn’t funny.  Second picture taken by me!  Follow the link underneath for a couple of details.

House of Lords Reform Bill, 2012: About Fucking Time

The big news is that it passed its second reading on Tuesday 10th July, Ayes 462; Noes 124. However, 92 Conservative MPs rebelled and Cameron is pandering to them faster than an inexperienced uncle to a wailing toddler.

~*~

So, what happened on Tuesday? What’s a second reading and why is everyone so excited by it?

It’s complicated.

A draft bill is introduced to the House of Commons. It’s given its First Reading, where the title is read out and it’s sent to the printers.

An elevated shot of the debating chamber of the House of Commons, showing rows of green leather seats facing each other

The debating chamber of the House of Commons / ‘ouse ov Oiks / House of Jedi

On its Second Reading, the bill is debated. It’s an open house where you can debate the principles of the bill, individual clauses, what should or shouldn’t be in there, what’s not in there but should be, the colour of the paper its printed on–actually, I’m pretty sure you can’t debate that. MPs vote, and if successful, the bill is passed to the Committee Stage.

There are two types of committee: standing committees; and committees of the whole House. A standing committee is 16 to 50 MPs, appointed by the government and taking account of the current make up of the Commons. Whole House committees are only normally used when time is of the essence or the Bill is remarkably uncontroversial. In the committee, each clause of the bill is debated. Amendments can be made. The committees normally have a finite amount of time to debate the bill, decided in advance. The bill, plus amendments, is then Reported to the Commons.

At the report stage, all MPs in the Commons can debate the Bill-plus-amendments and propose their own amendments. It’s then given its Third Reading.

The Third Reading is a yes/no debate on the Bill. What’s on the paper, for or against. And if it passes the Commons, it goes to the House of Lords.

So, the Lords. I was going to skip this, but as the Bill is about reforming the Lords, it’s kind of important to know what the Lords actually does.

First Reading: the title’s read out, and the Bill is printed.

Second Reading: as above, basically.

Committee: as above, but normally it’s a whole House committee. And there’s no time limit on the debate.

Report Stage: as above, normally two weeks after the committee stage.

Third Reading: new amendments can be proposed, provided they’ve not been voted on or debated before. Normally used to clarify aspects of the Bill. Maybe we could call this the Grammar Nazi stage… Anyway, if it passes the yes/no vote, it goes back to the Commons.

The Commons debates the Lords’ amendments. If the Commons makes any amendments, it has to go back to the the Lords for them to debate and vote on the amendments. If the Lords makes any amendments, the Commons then has to debate and vote on them. Once both Houses agree, the monarch then signs the Bill into law.

A Bill can be introduced by the Commons, or the Lords. If it’s introduced by the Lords, then it goes through that chamber first, and is then passed onto the Commons. Same stages in both Houses.

Under some circumstances, the Commons can pass a Bill for royal assent even if the Lords won’t pass it. Because this is politics, this little and ill-defined footnote is the crux of the whole system.

The House of Lords is a ‘chamber of revision’. It’s there to keep the Commons in check, not to rival it. Kind of like a kindly parent, it’ll nudge the Commons back on course but will ultimately stand back and let it makes its own mistakes.

If a public Bill was introduced by the House of Commons, the Lords can’t block it unless it proposes to extend the maximum duration of Parliament for more than five years, or it’s confirming a Provisional Order (a Bill that authorises action by local authorities on behalf of Parliament).

The Lords can’t block a Bill if the Speaker of the Commons has designated it a ‘money bill’. A money bill deals exclusively with raising or spending taxes, or with public debt.

The Lords can delay a money Bill for up to a month, and any other Bill for up to a year.

If a Bill has passed through three separate sessions of the Commons, it can be presented for royal assent without being passed by the Lords. A parliamentary session normally lasts from mid-November until late July–it’s the parliamentary year. Every time there’s a state opening of parliament, it’s a new session.

There’s also a unwritten agreement called the Salisbury Convention that says the Lords won’t block a Bill based on a manifesto promise on its second or third reading.

Right, all sorted? I like to think I’m doing a service here. I mean, it’s taken me a good three hours to get all this info together. Not least because half the links on Parliament’s website return 404s. Deep breath, one more talking point before I rant about the Reform Bill.

So, who can sit in the Lords?

An elevated shot of the debating chamber of the House of Lords, with two rows of red leather seats facing each other.

The debating chamber of the House of Lords / House hof Toffes / House of Sith

First, there are the hereditary peers. There are about 700 hereditary peers with the right to sit in the Lords. 92 of them were elected to do so in 1999, when the number of hereditary peers in the Lords was reduced to 92, and one of the dies, the peers elect someone else. Hereditary Peers with the right to sit in the Lords consist of five ranks: Duke, Marquess, Earl, Viscount and Baron

Then, there are the life peers. These are titles the sitting government gives out that grants someone the right to sit in the Lords. There’s about 700 of them at the moment. Technically, they’re Barons.

These two groups are the Lords Temporal.

The next group is the Lords Spiritual: 26 Church of England bishops. The church appoints the bishops.

Lastly, there’s the Law Lords. Appointed by the sitting Prime Minister and rubber-stamped by the Queen, they need to have been a practising barrister for at least fifteen years and held a ‘high judicial office’ (like a judge) for two years. There’s 12 of them, and, as they’re supposed to be politically neutral, they don’t take part in debates.

~*~

Now! The Reform Bill! Juicy, juicy Reform Bill!

So, the case for reform. Well, shit. We have a second chamber full of people appointed by the government.

Here’s a table I stole from Wikipedia:

Prime Minister Party Tenure Peers Per year
Harold Macmillan Conservative 1957–1963

48

9.6*
Alec Douglas-Home Conservative 1963–1964

14

14.0
Harold Wilson Labour 1964–1970

123

20.5**
Edward Heath Conservative 1970–1974

56

14.0
Harold Wilson Labour 1974–1976

80

40.0**
James Callaghan Labour 1976–1979

57

19.0
Margaret Thatcher Conservative 1979–1990

200

18.2
John Major Conservative 1990–1997

141

20.1
Tony Blair Labour 1997–2007

357

35.7
Gordon Brown Labour 2007–2010

34

11.3
David Cameron Conservative 2010-

121[4]

60.5
Total

1,231

20.2
* Macmillan’s average calculated for the 5 years under the Act.
** Wilson’s combined average is 25.4 life peerages per year.Life peerages conferred on hereditary peers (from 1999 onwards) are not included in the numbers.

Cameron’s really going for it, isn’t he?

You know, if I was sitting Prime Minister and I wanted my Bills passed, I’d make sure to fill the chamber which is supposed to keep me in check with my supporters. Guess Cameron had the same idea. And Blair, and Thatcher, and Wilson….

The justification is that peers appointed by previous governments balance out those appointed by the current government. There’s some merit in that, but there’s far more stupidity.

And let’s not overlook the fact that the PM has the power to appoint the peers. The PM has the power to put, say, large party donors in there as a reward for funding their party. Or to put thrice-disgraced and ousted ministers in there and welcome them back into government. Or, fuck it, to put their cat in there. I’m not sure what Baron Tiddles’ views would be, but… actually, wait. If there’s one person guaranteed to be independent, it’s the PM’s cat. You can’t train a cat to do fucking anything.

The person in power is responsible for appointing the people who keep their power in check. It’s not a good system.

To be honest, I’d rather have hereditary peers than life peers. Hereditary peers don’t own their power to anyone, and have been breed for generations to sit in the Lords. It’s going to mean a few sofa-chewing inbred half-wits, but that’s just the blue bloods. We’ve always been ruled by sofa-chewing half-wits. Makes us feel like everything is right in the world. But Blair got rid of them because, well, independent peers who’ve been trained for decades to sit in the Lords–what could they possibly know? No, no. Far better to fill the second chamber with lackeys and sycophants, whose qualifications extend to being able to say, ‘you’re awesome!’, and having lots of money to give to the PM. A victory for democracy!

Speaking of democracy, the government’s justification for the Bill is:

“In a modern democracy it is important that those who make the laws of the land should be elected by those to whom those laws apply. The House of Lords performs its work well but lacks sufficient democratic authority”.

As well as the principle of Right to Rule (people born and bred to rule are the best people to do so), I have sympathy for an unelected second chamber. If the second chamber doesn’t have to worry about keeping their jobs, they don’t have to pander to whatever ignorant, reactionary bandwagon the Daily Mail have whipped up and can govern with some sense of long-term interest, instead of constantly governing for the next election.

~*~

So, this Bill. Have you ever read a government Bill? It’s like trying to eat a pillow. You can download your own copy here, if you like.

A pile of white pillows on a black leather sofa

Om-nom-nom-nom

First important point: reform of the Lords was a manifesto commitment by all three parties, and part of the coalition agreement. It would fall under the Salisbury Convention, which is good because as a rule, turkeys don’t vote for Christmas.

So, under the proposals, what will the new House of Lords look like?

There will be 300 members. 240 will be elected, 60 will be appointed, and there will be 12 Lords Spiritual. Astute readers will notice that adds up to 312. The Lords Spiritual would have the same sitting and voting rights as the other peers, but wouldn’t get paid or any tax breaks. The Bill describes them as ‘ex-facto’ members.

The elected members will sit for three election cycles (normally 15 years). They won’t be able to stand for re-election.

They will be elected by a proportional representation system. The UK will be divided up into districts, with each district electing between 5 and 7 peers. The districts will be weighted by population, so each district will have roughly the same number of voters.

Peers will be elected by the single transferable vote system–you rank individual candidates in preference.

If you can stand for election in the Commons, you can stand for election in the Lords. You don’t get a peerage if you’re elected to the Lords, though. Elections would be held at the same time as elections to the Commons.

Appointed peers would be selected by the Statutory Appointments Commission. The Commission would be made up of seven people appointed by the Queen and entirely independent of the government. Members of the Commons and government ministers would not be eligible, and each member would sit on the Commission for ten years. The Commission can decide for itself who it chooses to recommend, but they have to publish and be held accountable for their process.

The Archbishops of Canterbury and York, as well as the bishops of London, Durham and Winchester will keep their seats in the Lords. The other seven Lords Spiritual will be appointed from the bishops of the Church of England, by the C of E.

The powers and role of the Lords will not change.

Currently, members of the Lords aren’t paid. The members of the new Lords will be, and will get pensions. The Lords Spiritual won’t, though. All new peers will get tax-free expenses.

~*~

The one objection I have to an elected second chamber is the necessity of pandering to whatever populist, short-term bigotry is currently doing the rounds in order to keep your job. A 15 year term should guard against that, apart from in the couple of years before an election. That means we still get a good thirteen years, which is thirteen more than we get from the Commons.

The one objection I have to the proposed reforms is the Lords Spiritual. Frankly, its embarrassing that we’ve still got them at all. The one mercy is that they’re Church of England, so they’re only eighty or ninety years behind the times. If people want to elect religious leaders, then that’s cool. C of E, Catholic, Sikh, Hindu, Taoist, whatever they want. We shouldn’t give seats to religious leaders without question or comment, though. What right do they have to rule us? Fucking none. Five hundred years ago, yeah, but not now. If we’re still ‘a Christian country’, then I’m sure the bishops will be elected by the people of this country. If we’re not a Christian country, then they have no right ruling us. Come on, Lords Spiritual, what you afraid of?

~*~

But enough of my objections! What did those 124 MPs object to?

Well, someone on the opposition benches actually made a good point. It may even have been Ed ‘Marks & Spencer mannequin’ Milliband. Regardless of their own personal views, it is the duty of the opposition party to object to legislation put forwards by the government. Because otherwise, well, what about the members of the public who object to it? Who’s representing them?

The Labour Auton also demanded that the changes be put to a referendum.

But the big news is that back bench Tories rebelled. Why?  Well, as far as I can tell, two major reasons:

First, this isn’t the time for constitutional reform. We’re in the middle of one of the biggest worldwide economic crises of our generation and blah blah blah. There’s always going to be a reason why it’s the ‘wrong time’.

Second, the elected second chamber will get ideas above its station, challenge the Commons and prevent any and every Bill passing into law because it’s got an ego to feed. Well, the Reform Bill specifically states that the powers and purpose of the Lords won’t change. If the elected members start thumping their chests, it wouldn’t be hard to smack them back into place. And anyone stands for election in order to derail the Commons, then they haven’t read the job description.

Both reasons are just privileged dickheads waving their arms around and wailing, ‘but change is baaad!’

~*~

As is often the case, though, those privileged dickheads may get their way. Instead of the 80% elected chamber, Cameron is proposing a plan where the 92 hereditary peers are kicked out and replaced with elected peers by the next election. This in return for the Lib Dems supporting Tory policies redrawing election boundaries to benefit the Tories, and slashing the number of MPs in the Commons from 650 to 600.

Privileged dickheads throwing temper tantrums over any challenge to their unearned power. Once again, the reason why we can’t have nice things.

Fuck you, Tory rebels. Fuck you with a spanner.

Photos of the debating chambers from UK Parliament’s Flickr.  Contains Parliamentary information licensed under the Open Parliament Licence v1.0.  Pillows from Wikimedia Commons.

Every Superhero Is Held Aloft by Millions

There’s something about Superheroes that sticks in my craw.  It’s this attitude that one exceptional individual can stand above the rest.  That one individual, alone, can stand above all of us.  They need no one else.  The implication is that those who succeed, do so alone.  Every person who stands on top of the pile does so alone, because they’re so much better than the rest of us.

It turns out that, without that pile, everyone on top of it would fall on their arses pretty damned quick.  And I don’t mean Alfred or the Avengers who aren’t quite literally gods.

He’s working overtime, again. Poor sod.

This is Justin Clements.  He works for Wayne Tech., doing data entry.  To be honest, he really doesn’t like the fact he’s working for one of the biggest companies in the world, a company who’s portfolio includes arms manufacturing.  And he’s annoyed at being stuck in a data entry job.  But his degree is in Fine Art and, well, any job in this economy, right?  He also thinks Batman’s a self-righteous dick whose violent vigilantism is everything that’s wrong with the U.S. of A.  He spends his days sketching his co-workers on Post-It notes.

 

There’s the soul of a true artist under that suit.

Sylvia Lyn, accountant for Stark Industries.  Working for Iron Man’s company?  Boo-YAH!  It’s one hell of a pickup line.  And, every day when she goes into work, she is keeping peace in the world.  How many people can say that?  She has a sister she rarely talks to and parents that call her once a month because she’s their daughter and they have to.  And while numbers are nice and all–and she’s on track to a very well-paid job in the next ten years–she only feels alive when ballroom dancing.  There’s something about the movement of the body, the purity of the moment, that transcends the mundane world and creates something beyond human.

This isn’t metropolis. Obviously. It’s a suburb just outside.

The guy in the middle is John Ollerhead.  He’s been working to keep the streets of Metropolis in good nick for twenty years.  To be honest, it’s a pretty sweet gig.  The streets of Metropolis always need patching up.  He was born and raised in Metropolis, and will tell you it’s the best city in the world.  Five years ago, his wife convinced him to go to Europe on vacation.  They stayed in Limerick in Ireland for two weeks.  He didn’t like it.  Somewhere, he knows that without him, the shops of Metropolis wouldn’t be visited by supply trucks and would run out of food, the Daily Planet would run out of highlighters and Post-It notes, and people wouldn’t be able to get to work.  But, to be honest, he just gets a thrill out of a perfectly laid piece of tarmac.

Belle empties the bins on a Tuesday. Today’s Wednesday.

These are Peter Parker’s bins.  They’re emptied every week by a woman called Isabelle Ross.  Well, Isabelle is one of the people who empties them.  She’s is proud to be Italian-American.  She has a husband and three children.  She constantly worries about her kids getting into trouble at school and harangues them about doing their homework.  They’re smart, you know?  They deserve better than waking up every morning with shit under their fingernails.  Most of Isabelle’s money goes on electronics.  The woman knows more about hooking up and optimizing stereos and TVs than most professionals.  Not that she’d admit that.  She’s been told her whole life that she’s stupid, so she must be, right?  But her kids, her kids are smart.  They deserve better.

He actually has the superpower of being invisible. A lot of homeless people do.

This is Jeff.  He’s homeless.  He used to play the penny-whistle for change, but the penny-whistle was stolen so now he simple sits with his hat on the floor in-front of him.  He wasn’t born homeless.  His wife was shot and killed, he couldn’t make the rent payments and no one cared enough to worry where he went from there.  He dreams big dreams.  He dreams of being a mutant and fighting for his right to live.  As it is, all he feels he can do is shuffle through life and keep his head down.  The change he gets he spends buying the cheapest food and clothes he can.  He pays sales tax on everything he buys.  He never thinks about it, but without this sales tax money, Captain America would be just as cold and hungry as he is.

And it’s probably best we don’t talk about the Batcave.

Justin and Sylvia come from FreeDigitalPhotos.net.  John, Jeff and Peter’s bins come from rgbstock.com

Monarchy, Anarchy and the Jubilee

In 1977, the Sex Pistols released God Save the Queen at the same time as the queen’s Silver Jubilee. The BBC refused to play the song, as did Independent Broadcast Authority, who controlled all the television the BBC didn’t. A lot of radio stations refused to play it. It still reached number 2 in the official UK charts. It would have reached number one, but the chart rules were changed to stop it. It was ruled that singles sold in shops owned by the record company releasing the single would not count towards chart positions. As God Save the Queen was published by Virgin, any copies sold in Virgin shops weren’t counted towards its chart position.

Saturday 2nd June marks the 60th anniversary of Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation (although the ‘official’ Jubilee day is Tuesday 5th). Number one in the UK charts today is We Are You, by Fun featuring Janelle Monae, number two is Chasing the Sun, by Wanted, and number three is Call Me Maybe, by Carly Rae Jepsen. What the hell happened, Britain?

(No, I’m not quoting the Pistols. They were to Punk what Ikea are to the Arts and Crafts movement. Have some Stiff Little Fingers instead.)

This is the perfect time for some deep and serious soul-searching about the monarchy, and I find it depressing that there isn’t any. Should Britain, the self-styled Mother of Democracy, even have a monarchy in the twenty-first century? A referendum would be the perfect way to celebrate the Jubilee.

A picture showing five crowns of the UK monarchy, two swords and a couple of other gold bits.  Everything glimmers and shines, covered in gold, silver or jewels.

As a citizen of the UK, these are mine. Cash4Gold won't know what hit them. Fuck 1,000 years of history, I want that Complete Twilight Zone boxset!

Of course, it would deliver the monarchy a mandate to stay on their throne because the British hate change and are easily whipped up into a reactionary frenzy whenever someone mentions the possibility that the status quo may possibly be a bit shit and in need of change. However, we need to break the first barrier and ask the question, so next time it won’t come as quite such a shock.

You’ve probably worked out by now which way I’d vote.

My Republicanism is only a recent thing, though. I believed in preserving the culture and heritage of our country, I believed that someone raised their whole lives to rule is better than some slimy oik who’s climbed the greased pole of politics, and I believed that we need a head of state who doesn’t need to desperately court and pander to public opinion to keep their jobs.

Allegra’s been an anarchist for a few years now with a strong belief in self-organisation and the deconstruction of centralised authority. Thanks to her, when Virginia Woolf sat me down and said, ‘how much of this country do you actually own? Right, so what is it you’re defending, exactly?’ I was listening.

A still from the scene in The Wizard of Oz, when the curtain is pulled back and the 'wizard' revealed

What's that? A well-educated, able-bodied white man? I'm shocked, truly shocked.

The answer to Woolf’s question, of course, is precisely bugger all. I rent, so I don’t even own the house I live in let alone the ground it’s built on. And what I’m supporting is a system of hereditary power which places disproportionate emphasis on the circumstances of someone’s birth–from their parents and the social circles they inhabit, to the colour of their skin, to their gender, to their mental and physical health. Let’s have none of this ‘social mobility’ propaganda. There are more politicians called David sitting in the House of Parliament than there are women. Feel free to look up their educational backgrounds and ethnicity. Like all propaganda, it’s sweet-tasting bullshit we’re supposed to willingly swallow so we don’t look behind the curtain.

Wikipedia has a pretty good list of arguments for and against Republicanism in the UK. To be honest, I consider most of them largely irrelevant. We’re talking about the largest social change in the UK since Henry II became the first monarch to use the title ‘King of England’. Things like how much money we main gain or lose seem decidedly… short term.

There’s an Alchemical saying, ‘as above, so below’. Our system of monarchy embodies everything that is exclusionary about our society. The cogs and gears which make it live are everything which put people down, convinces them they’re worthless, destroys them from the inside out. They’re everything which justifies beating peaceful protestors, framing innocent civilians, taking away our civil liberties. They’re the head on the body which imposes its will on the world through slaughter, plunders and steals without regard to the land or the future, and demands the rest of the world changes to accommodate them. It’s the face of the mouth which says, ‘shut the fuck up, I’m right‘.

Surely it’s time for the Mother of Democracy to learn from her children and enter the nineteenth century.

The alternative? Well, the US system is no exemplar before you say anything. Between the electoral college system, the lack of real choice and the vast donations by big business, it’s frankly the greatest pony show on Earth. The upcoming election should prove my point. However, we can learn from them–and all the other republics out there–and create a system which values compassion and intelligence instead of birth and sycophancy.

Queen Victoria sits in her regalia.  In the background, there is a painting of the anarchist 'A' symbol, and in her hands she has a burning molotov cocktail.  The image is captioned, 'Up The Punx'

She was a huge fan of The Clash's 'London Telegraphing' album

Picture of the Crown Jewels from here.  The wizard came from here.  ‘Up the Punx’ made by me from various sources, here, here and here.

Women in Fantasy: Dulle Griet

My very good friend Jo has been doing a series of posts about women’s role in psuedo-Medieval Anglo-centric fantasy (here after refered to as heroic fantasy… it’s kind of lazy, but it’s Friday afternoon and I’m feeling kind of lazy). Women in these stories seem to fall into three basic moulds: virginal damsel in distress; mother; or vagina-weilding, Lady McBeth-esque harpy. The normal excuse given is that those were the only things women could be in the times of castles and princesses. Jo’s quite conclusively showing that’s horsecrap.

So, in that vein, here’s Dulle Griet:

It was painted by Flemish painter Pieter Bruegel the Elder, and dated to 1562. Details of the legend which inspired the painting mostly seem to be in Dutch, and I don’t speak Dutch. However, here’s what I’ve got:

The painting isn’t a flattering one. Dulle Griet is a woman usurping the man’s position as fearless warrior–she’s wearing a man’s breastplate and helmet. She’s storming the gates of Hell because her greed knows no bounds–her apron is already over-flowing with gold cups and she’s going into Satan’s kingdom to get more. Behind her, her followers loot a house and beat back the male warriors. Griet is aggressive, foul-mouthed and brings bloodshed where ever she goes.  (The archetype lives on with Flemish folklore singer Wannes Van de  Velde using it in his anti-war song Dulle Griet.  Google did a readable translation for me.)

So, what’s this got to do with psuedo-Mediv– heroic fantasy?

Well, firstly, you’ve got someone storming into Hell itself to loot the fuck out of the place. If that doesn’t kick arse you and I are on very, very different wavelengths.

But what’s interesting is that it’s a woman, leading an army of women.

Let’s remember, first of all, that looting was the normal way armies funded themselves at the time the painting was finished. So, those women looting in the background? Not nearly as bad as it looks at first. An army’s got to eat, right?

And let’s also remember that every characterture starts with a truth. In 1562, women were sitting on the thrones of England (Elizabeth I), Scotland (Mary I), the Netherlands (Margaret, Duchess of Parma) and France (Catherine de’ Medici, acting as Regent for Charles IX). This painting is no mild assassination of the feminine. It’s not a curt reminder of a woman’s place. It’s a call to arms, a battlecry to rouse men to fight the impossible fight. Men, if we don’t fight, there will be no place for us.

Would such a cry need to have been made if women had no power? If they were consigned to the kitchen, the nursery or the shadows? Of course not.

And if you’re looking for inspiration, Dante was guided through Hell, Lucifer was cast into it, Orpheus snuck in… Griet picked up her sword and stormed in there to kick the shit out of it.

Fuck you Dante! I've got a chainsaw!