A Gentleman's Domain

And as the sun slowly sinks in the West...

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I tore a label off the other day.   Everyone in the USA will know what I mean – anything made with fabric of any kind other than clothing (upholstery, cushions etc.) comes with a label headed “Do not remove, under penalty of law”  and even though that does not apply to the end user, many people still leave them attached.  I unfolded a portable patio chair a few days ago, to relax in the evening sun with a book and a Pepsi, and with a certain devil-may-care I tore off the label.  Even so, in spite of what my rational senses told me, I did feel a frisson of guilt, and for a moment I was expecting a sudden visit from the police label squad.  “We know you’re in there.  Throw out the patio chair and come out with your hands up!”

There was a second label, and I tore that off too.  I was going to use it as a bookmark but then I read what it said and the implications shook me to the core!  Look what it says.  In effect, the government of the state of California is warning that this chair is not non-flammable enough for them to feel easy that its citizens are sitting in it, and it warns them against doing things in the chair that might cause them to burst into flame.  Well, a pat on the back for Arnie and his state’s government. But I live in Florida.  Where is the warning from Governor Crist or one of his minions in Tallahassee?  Don’t they care?  Are they so unworried at the possibility of my sudden immolation that they can’t even be bothered to warn me?  They need to model their technique on that of Sacramento and be a bit more Californian about it. I don’t actually smoke, or wave naked flames about anywhere near this chair, so the prospect of my seated combustion is remote, but even so, this callous indifference has left me shaken.  I’m not angry, but I’m rather disappointed.

Vets can be so blasé cant they!  Our vet provided us with a bottle of liquid medicine and a syringe (sans needle) and told us to give Sam, one of our cats,  2cc of the liquid every day.  The recommended method was to use the syringe to squirt a measured amount of red liquid into his mouth, once a day.  Ha!  Have you ever tried to give medicine to a cat?   I have never forgotten, from my childhood, when we had to give pills to our Siamese cat, Nokomis.   Normally she was the sweetest, most affectionate cat you could ever meet.  But when we tried to give her pills, she transformed into a snarling, hissing, razor wielding wildcat!  It took all four of us (parents, sister, myself) to do it.  We had to wrap Nokomis in a towel and, wearing gardening gloves, to open her mouth and insert the pill.  And then make her swallow it.  Half the time she fooled us into thinking she had done so, only for us to find it on the carpet a little later on.  So it was with not a little world-weary cynicism that I listened to the vet airily telling me to squirt a small measured amount of red liquid from a bottle into Sam’s mouth.  It takes both my wife and me to do it, and we have had to resort to wrapping him in a bedspread and holding him by the scruff of the neck.  Sometimes we are successful.  I suppose we should use reverse psychology and try to convince him that this liquid is something that he absolutely must not drink.  Not allowed!  Then he’d regard it the way he regards most food that we eat and would spare no effort or deception to get at it and polish it off.

If you are looking for a book to read and you want something more challenging than a nag-and-shag  or a formula thriller, please permit me to suggest The Unbreakable Child by Kim Michele Richardson.  This, I should warn you, is not a fluffy, cuddly read.  It is a harrowing account of how the author was sent to an orphanage run by nuns and for seven years she and her fellow inmates were beaten, abused and degraded by these foul Brides of Christ.  The violence was so unceasing and, it seems, administered for both good and bad behaviour, that it almost beggars belief.  You couldn’t get away with a story like this in fiction  – no one would believe it.  You have to be somewhat dysfunctional anyway to be a nun, but that is no excuse for, to take one example, punching an eight-year-old girl in the stomach and making her eat her own vomit. And of course, these women lied to the girls with terrifying stories about burning in hell.  All this, mind you, did not take place in some Third World country, but here in the USA.  And not way back in the twenties or in the Depression, but in the Sixties.  This was the decade of flower power, free love, The Beatles, Woodstock, the Apollo space program.  And while all that was happening in an increasingly enlightened world, nuns were beating up young girls.  The author does have her own happy ending, I’m glad to say. She is now a happy wife and mother, and was able to bring a successful lawsuit against the Catholic Church.  Read her story!

Still on books,  I have for the last couple of months been a member PaperBack Swap, an online club whose members can swap paperback books (hardbacks and audio books too) with each other.  It’s all very simple (which is probably why I can understand it):  after you join (it’s free) you list the books you are making available  and whenever anyone wants one you get a message, with that person’s name and address.  You send the book off by media mail, and you get one point.  Every point you get entitles you to choose a book from the 3.5 million books that have been posted by members.  The only cost to you is the postage for the books you send out, so you end up with a lot of books more or less at half price, and you know that your unwanted books have gone to good homes.  Check it out here.

Back home in the UK, there were local government and European Parliament elections last week, and as usual these were greeted with a barrage of indifference by most people.  However, about 45% of the electorate did turn out to vote. I won’t bother you with the results, some of which were very heartening and a few of which were downright disturbing.  I will briefly mention one thing, that always makes me feel that there still is some fun in British politics.  I refer, of course, to the existence of the Official Monster Raving Loony Party, which was inspired by the Silly Party  in a Monty Python sketch.  The Raving Loonies contest local and parliamentary elections, have never won a seat, in all probability never will, but they  do brighten up election coverage as a cheerful alternative to mainstream politicians blethering on about what they will do and how everyone else is rubbish.  So far no one has tried to stop them, though you do once in a while hear some old stick-in-the-mud complaining that the Raving Loonies are cheapening politics.  But no one seems to mind.  How could anyone really object to a political party that fields a candidate who legally changed his name to Tarquin Fin-tim-lin-bin-whin-bim-lim-bus-stop-F'tang-F'tang-Olé-Biscuitbarrel just before the ballot papers were printed?

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Time To Let Go

The Great Train Robbery took place way back in 1963, when just over £2½ million was stolen from a train.  This was regarded by many as almost a victimless crime, because the money consisted of old banknotes that were on their way to a government incinerator.  These robbers almost became folk heroes, had it not been for the fact that in the course of the robbery the train driver, Frank Mills, was badly beaten, and never made a full recovery.  It has never been established which robber actually wielded the cosh, but if Mr. Mills had died as a result of his injuries within a year and a day of the robbery, then his death would have been murder, and every single robber who took part, regardless of his individual role, would, under the law of common purpose, have been guilty of murder and would have been liable to the death  penalty, which then had not yet been abolished. 

Even so, in spite of this one act of violence, many people, if they didn’t actually side with the robbers, at least found it hard to generate much indignation about the actual theft.  It was government money after all, and they were going to burn it to ashes anyway, so what was the harm?  Well, the forces of the Establishment saw lots of harm, and the robbers (who may have been audacious but apparently weren’t very bright) were almost all rounded up in a relatively short while, tried and sentenced to very long terms of imprisonment – many of them thirty years or more.  This led to many protests that the law regarded offences against property as more serious than offences against the person.  Most of the sentences were not reduced, though in fact none of the robbers served his full time – all were released early due to remission, time off and a number of other reasons.

One who only served fifteen months was Ronnie Biggs, a not very bright petty criminal who was one of the lower echelon robbers.  He managed to escape from prison and after going to France and then Australia, fetched up in Brazil, which had no extradition treaty with Great Britain.  Throughout the seventies, eighties and nineties we were treated to images of Ronnie Biggs in floral shirts and Bermuda shorts, seemingly enjoying himself in the Brazilian sunshine. He managed to father a son with his Brazilian girlfriend and as the father of a Brazilian citizen he made himself doubly extradition-proof.  Visiting Brit tourists and celebrities used to have themselves photographed with him, in exchange for a bit of cash.  Several attempts were made to extradite him but they all failed.  Then, in 2001, Biggs returned voluntarily to England.  He was old and frail and was weary of living in poverty in Brazil – he was allowed to live there but not to work.

When he arrived back in England he went straight back to prison to complete his sentence.  He can have expected nothing less.  It was inconceivable that society would call it quits then and there. However I suspect that he thought that he would only have to serve a token sentence before being let out to enjoy, or at least experience, his last remaining years.  Six years later, he is still inside and according to latest reports, in very poor health, and pressure is being brought to bear to secure his early release.  Now, he has served a total of seven and a half years, which with fifty percent remission is the equivalent of a fifteen year sentence.  The British justice system is based on preserving the safety of the public and the rehabilitation of the offender.  Retribution and revenge have no place in it.  The finest Englishman who ever lived put it far better than I ever could, way back in 1910:  “The mood and temper of the public in regard to the treatment of crime and criminals is one of the most unfailing tests of civilization in any country. A calm and dispassionate recognition of the rights of the accused against the state, and even of convicted criminals … and an unfaltering faith that there is a treasure, if you can only find it, in the heart of every man – these are the things which… mark and measure the stored-up strength of a nation.”  (You can read the full quote here).

Ronnie Biggs clearly presents absolutely no threat to the public.  He took part in a robbery and he escaped from prison – there is no argument about that – but when one sees people drawing far shorter sentences these days for offences more serious than his, then one is led to the ineluctable conclusion that he should be released.  Gordon Brown’s new government can make this  gesture without (if that is what they are worried about) losing a single vote at the polls next time there is an election. There is far more dignity in an act of compassion than in  an act of spite, and there is nothing to be gained by upholding the vindictive sentences imposed by judges from a bygone era.  There is no need for a Royal pardon. Just release this sad old creature without fanfare and let him enjoy whatever months he has left in obscurity, before his next stroke or heart attack finishes him off.

Quote To Ponder

I have posted a short piece in another place which some of you may care to have a look at. 

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Chaste Out Of Court

Full marks to the High Court in London for throwing out 16-year-old Miss Lydia Playfoot’s suit against her school, Millais School in Horsham, West Sussex.   She, or rather her parents, wanted the court to overrule the school’s ban on her “chastity ring” which they maintained was a religious symbol.  At the risk of seeming less than an impartial observer…. bollocks!   These rings are a recent abomination, part of a trend that has drifted across the Atlantic from the USA. Teenagers are encouraged  by Christian fundamentalist parents to wear them to tell the world that they don’t intend to have sex until they are married.  If that’s what they want,  well ok, jolly good, and I hope the weather stays fine for them. 

However, wearing jewellery to show that you believe in chastity, or  that you have been told you have to believe in chastity, does not mean that you are wearing a Christian symbol.  No more than if a fundamentalist decided to wear a necklace to show announce his or her belief that all who work on the sabbath should be put to death or an earring to announce that he or she firmly believed that  women who do not scream loudly enough when they are raped should be executed, as set down in the Good Book.  Such a necklace or earring, like this girl’s ring, would simply be jewellery worn for a purpose, but they wouldn’t be Christian symbols.  The true Christian symbol is the cross, and as I understand it, the school had no problem with crosses – likewise Stars of David for Jewish pupils or headscarves for Moslems.  However, the school did have a strict rule: aside from religious symbols, no jewellery.  That is the rule that this girl and her silly ring contravened.

British law says that a person, on reaching 16 years of age, may bonk with others of 16 years or more who give their consent.  If people choose not to exercise this legal right, that’s up to them. However, to proclaim their abstinence publicly is holier-than-thou self indulgence, not to mention rather obnoxious; in exactly the same way that someone who took the opposite view might wear an I’m-gonna-fuck-anything-in-pants ring, supposing that such things existed, would simply be grandstanding, not evidencing a deeply held belief. Nowhere in the  bible does it tell true Christians to wear these rings.  They are a 21st century affectation.  And, surprise surprise,  Miss Playfoot’s dad is involved with the company that holds the UK franchise to distribute them.  Of course, I  would be the last person to suggest that this court action was brought about to get free publicity for their product. Actually, not free at all.  Their court costs after losing this stupid case were £13,000 (about $26,000 at today’s rates).  The court has decided that so-called chastity rings are not religious symbols, and are not exempt from the school’s no-jewellery rule.

Even so, the rings’ profile is higher than before.  No doubt interested parents will be making enquiries as to how they can get hold of them for their daughters, upon whom they have imprinted their own beliefs.  I hope we don’t see in Britain those rather creepy ceremonies that have taken place in North America where fathers get down on one knee and place chastity rings upon their daughters’ fingers. There’s something almost unbearably unclean about that – as though the fathers secretly desire their own daughters and resent the idea of any other men wanting them.

The world, meanwhile, will be divided into two halves. Those who embrace the joy of shagging before they get married, with all its pleasures and hazards (about which teenagers need to be thoroughly educated), and those who stay chaste till they get married, and stay with just one person till they get divorced (approximately 50%) or have affairs, or just stick at it.  As for those who never get married, I suppose the theory is that they never have sex  -- well, fuck that! An interesting fact is that these rings, in the long run, make little difference.  Ring wearers are just as likely to indulge in pre-marital pleasures of the flesh as their non-ringed contemporaries.  This chastity craze is a bandwagon many teens are being told to jump on,  but it’s a wagon many are glad to fall off.

Little Man, You've Had Some Busy Days

So goodbye to Tony Blair.  The man who became Prime Minister in May 1997 after defeating by a landslide the most incompetent government Britain has had since the war, and whom some saw as a bright hope for the future -- assuming he represented the kind of future you wanted -- has announced that he will be stepping down at  the end of next month. And few will be sorry to see him go.  Whatever else he may have achieved, and there are some who would say that that is a not inconsiderable body of work, he will be forever tainted by and reviled for his biggest mistake, which was to get Britain involved in the disastrous and completely unnecessary war in Iraq. 

He has been accused of lying to Parliament in order to justify the invasion.  I am not convinced.  He is more a man for spin than subterfuge and deep down I think he wants to do what he thinks is right. He’ll bend a few rules but he has his limits.  I am fairly sure that he was more lied to than lying.  At the time, I think he really did believe that Saddam had weapons of mass destruction which were a threat to the west, that could be deployed and used at 45 minutes notice.  He was given doctored and falsified intelligence.  So in we went.

The same intel, I’m sure, was shown to President Bush, to justify a war against a country that had had nothing to do with  9/11 and had no WMD.  I suspect that he needed little persuasion to get rid of Saddam and he genuinely wanted to give the Iraqis a better life. Such was the man’s very limited knowledge of anything outside the USA, or indeed outside his own experience, that he probably did believe that the invaders would be greeted as liberators and that what the Iraqis wanted above all was the creation of Main Street, Baghdad, complete with Wal-Mart, McDonalds and everything else that Americans like him think the whole world wants.  And quite a lot of the world does, but not, as we have seen, Iraq.

As we know from observation, the military campaign against the Iraqi army was short and decisive.  But in its place we see the coalition armies bogged down in an unending struggle against terrorism.  Not just Al-Qaida, though they are undoubtedly involved, but Shi-ites killing Sunnis, Sunnis killing Shi-ites, and Iraqis of all persuasions killing members of the armies of occupation, who may have rid the country of Saddam’s regime but also have destroyed its infrastructure, plundered it, killed tens of thousands of civilians, most of whom have never raised a hand against the coalition.  Terrorism is like the hydra of mythology: a many-headed monster, and every time you cut off one of its heads, two more grow in its place.  It just goes on and on; on the day that Alec Baldwyn’s rant against his daughter was headline news, 174 Iraqis were killed by a bomb detonated inside a mosque. That hardly rated a mention here – but they were just Ay-rabs after all.

In fact Iraqis have been dying at a far greater rate since 2003 than they did when Saddam was in power.  The nation’s infrastructure has been destroyed and  400,000 of its citizens displaced.  Their one real asset, their oil reserves, will have to be used to pay western companies to rebuild and repair the damage that the west caused in the first place.

So what I want to know, what I genuinely would like someone to explain to me, is what the victory in Iraq is that the right goes on about: if you support the troops, then you will want victory in Iraq, the keep saying.  I do support the troops -- and I want them brought home before another 3000 of them are killed.  But can someone define victory for me, please?  Will it be when every last Iraqi man, woman and child is dead?  Does anyone imagine that there will be a sort of terrorist Appomatox when a treaty will be signed and it will all be over?  That won’t happen. There will be no grand surrender ceremony on a battleship, with speeches and handshakes.  What on earth will constitute victory?  If one terrorist faction does decide to cease operations, it will have no influence at all on any of the others.

The situation in Iraq has the potential to drag on and on for decades. It has contributed to President Bush’s popularity rating being at an all-time low and it has ensured that Tony Blair will leave office an unpopular failure.  In Britain, the premiership usually ends badly – since the Second World War only Winston Churchill and Harold Wilson were able to leave office at times of their own choosing, undefeated and with dignity.  When he addressed both hoses of Congress in 2003, Tony Blair said the freedom and democracy were not jus American values, or western values, but the universal values of the free human spirit.  He might have added that another universal value is the desire not to be invaded, occupied and destroyed -- by anyone, no matter how well meaning.  That he didn’t understand this means that his ten years in power will be forever stained by this squalid, hugely unpopular war, and while he goes off to do whatever it is the ex-Prime Ministers do, he will chiefly be remembered from dragging Britain into it.  Off you go, Tony.  Quick as you like.