RosieBell

Ultraviolence

Slavoj Zizek seems to have a thing about violence.

"There is not a single "violence" but three, argues Slavoj Žižek. As well as physical violence, there exist a "symbolic violence" of language, and a "systemic violence" entailed by "the smooth functioning of our economic and political systems".

"Symbolic violence" seems to mean something like propaganda or misrepresentation.

"Systemic violence" seems to mean something like injustice or exploitation.

What else has Slavoj Zizek have to say on violence?

Let me briefly address sexual harassment for a moment. Of course I am opposed to it, but let's be frank. Say I am passionately attached, in love, or whatever, to another human being and I declare my love, my passion for him or her. There is always something shocking, violent in it. This may sound like a joke, but it isn't - you cannot do the game of erotic seduction in politically correct terms. There is a moment of violence, when you say: 'I love you, I want you.' In no way can you bypass this violent aspect. So I even think that the fear of sexual harassment in a way includes this aspect, a fear of a too violent, too open encounter with another human being.

Violence in the above means "passion" or "strong emotion" as in Yeats.

You that Mitchel's prayer have heard,
'Send war in our time, O Lord!'
Know that when all words are said
And a man is fighting mad,
Something drops from eyes long blind,
He completes his partial mind,
For an instant stands at ease,
Laughs aloud, his heart at peace.
Even the wisest man grows tense
With some sort of violence
Before he can accomplish fate,
Know his work or choose his mate.

Even Jane Austen's characters were allowed their violent passions.

I have a vague memory of Neil Kinnock taking Margaret Thatcher to task because she had denounced violence from - miners' pickets? IRA?  What about the violence of poverty and deprivation and unemployment and despair, said Kinnock.  A reasonable point, and using the rhetoric of taking what she had meant literally (violence of throwing bricks) and then equating it with the metaphorical (unemployment).  Neil Kinnock meant that poverty and unemployment are great evils as is violence.  And I don't know if Zizek means anything more than that - that misused language (symbolic violence) and social and economic injustice (systemic violence) are all bad things, like what we commonly call "violence" (people kicking each other).  I assume his book is about their interaction.

However finding out if he meant more than that means reading his book and I can't see myself doing that. 

(No printed matter was hurt in the writing of the above post.)

Swimmingly

They have been having a debate over at Harry's Place about whether council run swimming pools are within their rights to offer women only slots for those women who prefer, or who are culturally and/or religious required to, swim outwith the company of men.  This "gender segregation" outrages some, as a mistaken idea of cultural sensitivity making the first step down a slippery slope to a theocracy and gender apartheid, and why should their taxes help to subsidise that?  Others, like me, think an hour or two a week is nothing to get agitated about and that religious practices here intersect with common ideas of females preferring not to have men around sometimes, e.g. in toilets and hospital wards.

Anyway in the interests of research I went along to Dalry Swimming Baths on Tuesday morning between 11am and 12pm, which is billed as "Females only".  I normally swim straight after the work, in the Slow lane, get my lengths done, and go.

The guy at the desk had said it was one of their busiest sessions, and the pool was well dotted with figures, single and in pairs, some swimming, some standing in the water at the edges of the pool gossiping.  Most of them were elderly as you would expect at that time of day.  All were white, so I would guess that they were not there at that time for religious reasons.

Though the pool was not divided into lanes, I did my lengths as best as I could dodging two young women who were doing breaststroke.  New Zealanders are taught overarm, (or "crawl"), and I regard breaststroke as highly genteel swimming, not to mention the strain it must put on your neck and shoulders, holding your head up like that.  It's a stroke for socialising - those two young women gossiped down one length and up the other and were as stately as manatees.

Kill the Pig!

A man described as a "fanatic" has pleaded guilty to plotting to kidnap and kill a British Muslim soldier.

Parviz Khan, 37, an unemployed charity worker from Birmingham, intended to seize and behead the serviceman "like a pig", Leicester Crown Court was told.

Really, what is wrong with these people.  You don't behead pigs, you cut their  throats and catch the blood to make black puddings.  Afterwards you might cut them into pieces, though of course you can roast them whole (especially suckling pig).

Get it right, can't you?

Three other men, Basiru Gassama, 30, Mohammed Irfan, 31, and Hamid Elasmar, 44, have admitted other offences connected with Khan's plot.

And what's all this pleading guilty?  Ideologue terrorists or would-be terrorists are supposed to refuse to acknowledge the authority of the court.  These guys could protest against being tried under man-made laws, saying they are only subject to the laws of Allah.  Or they could spin out the proceedings and make speeches from the dock about the Islamist flag one day waving from Buckingham Palace.  But no, they plead guilty, like drunk drivers.

We have a bunch of hyper-urban terrorists with no sense of drama.  The IRA - now, they had style.  They smeared shit on the walls and wore blankets unless they were treated as prisoners of war.  They went on hunger strike. And they probably knew how to kill pigs as well.

Improving Inter-racial relations

[This is a reposting of one of my first posts, back in January 2007.  The Celebrity Big Brother was the one which caused a storm because Jade Goody was being rude to Shilpa Shetty.]

I have stayed haughtily aloof from Celebrity Big Brother, on the grounds that those who:-

• make;
• watch;
• sponsor;
• comment on; and/or
• draw cultural conclusions from

such programmes are knaves, dupes and/or fools.  But having been informed often enough that putting together people of different races in a house together and seeing how they react tells us something significant about British culture, I hereby volunteer to stay a week in the same room as Lenny Henry.  Lenny Henry has:-

• a great talent for comedy;
• a good singing voice;
• appealing looks; and
• a pleasant way with him.

I promise to treat Mr Henry with all the adoring deference that might undo the damage caused by the last unfortunate inter-racial mixing.

A Year of Blogging

I've been blogging for just over a year now.  I do blog when I should be doing other, more profitable things, but worst of all I go on blog crawls, slouching round the internet looking at the same eight blogs or so seeing if they have been updated.  Or has there been an addition to a comments thread?

Blogging is a terrible habit for the easily - what was that? - ah yes - just make a cup of tea - see if Butterflies and Wheels has another post - what was I saying? - for the easily distracted.

Blogging has been an outlet for thoughts inspired by a passing comment, a snippet on the radio, a paragraph in a book.  Or for an idea that has been at the back of my head for a long time.  Then, when I pull it on to the front burner, and start stirring and seasoning, realise it's going to come out as quite a different dish from the one I had a mental taste of.

On their anniversaries bloggers say they have enjoyed getting in touch with the like-minded who have commented on or linked to their blog and vice-versa.  "Queer, the affection you can feel for a stranger," Orwell says in the opening pages of Homage of Catalonia.  Queer too the liking you get for some of the bloggers you have exchanged some words with on the net.  Through the thoughtfulness, the cleverly turned phrases, the wit, the satire, the lucidity of some you feel a presence of warmth and honesty and good will in the bloggers I most admire. 

"I never bother with people I hate" so I don't visit blogs run by them but in threads on blogs you run across folk of unbelievable pig-headed obtuseness and those who think playground insults are funny.  There are the gleeful and gloating because so many more thousands have been killed, which "proves" a political point.  There are those who have no intellectual honesty at all - don't even know what that is - and those who see an explained world through dreary doctrinal lenses.  There are those who are sour, mean-minded and full of ill will.  There are also the self-preening and the smug.  Human vanity is large and you get it in concentrated dollops on the net - naturally enough.  Shy and modest people, who dilute the noisily self-expressive in real life, don't go on the net.

I think the net is a wonder, blogging a chance to find like-minded souls in a way which would be difficult in real life outside very specific interests like playing music or sport, and I can see the danger of it when the shared interest is islamist terrorism or paedophilia.  It has changed our world - the biggest change of that kind since the invention of printing - and I'm a still a little bit thrilled to be part of it. 

Burns Night

Today is Burns Night and the nearby Sainsburys has been celebrating by handing out oatcakes, shortbread and tiny tots of whisky (Old Poultney, distilled in Wick, and very good).

Back in November a couple of Scottish bloggers that I visit were giving a good kicking to St Andrews Day, which the Edinburgh Council for one was trying to ramp up into yet another tartan turn for the tourists.  There is no let up on it, from Hogmany through to the International Festival, and back to Hogmanay and each month will have some kind of celebration or other.  Sometimes it makes me long for the dour Presbyterianism that would give us three sermons on a Sunday and a Taliban idea of how people should spend their leisure time. 

I love Burns Night though because it is celebrated in ordinary homes as well as being part of the round of corporate entertainment and the tourist board's propaganda.  All the ingredients of the evening are first rate.

The traditional food - haggis, mashed swede (neeps) and mashed potato (tatties) - is a great classic dish - a mixture of spiciness, sweetness and blandness.  Also it's mushy comfort food that you can eat with a fork and it's easy to prepare.

You read out fine poetry, hear or perform, if you can, fine traditional music and of course drink one of the world's great liquors.  Maybe dance a few Strip the Willows.  Some of it's done self-consciously - can anyone address a haggis without feeling like a pratt? - but a lot of it can be enjoyed full-heartedly.

I suppose one day Scotland will be an independent nation.  I think we are heading that way and I don't want it - simply from instinct.  I'm a naturalised British citizen, which makes sense to me but naturalised Scottish?  Too narrow, too specific.  Britain is political, Scotland cultural.  (I know I have to expand on that especially in my own mind, but can't at the moment.  Being British is easy - you get your national insurance number, obey the laws, moan about public transport and treat your fellow citizens civilly.  Being Scottish - naw, canna dae it).

Anyway if that happens that miserable dirge, Flower of Scotland, will be adopted as the national anthem.  The song comemmorates a rare defeat of the English by the Scottish about 700 years ago and asks that we be a nation again.  That is, it sets up Scotland's identity in opposition to its bigger neighbour.  Yes, small nations with big neighbours often have huge difficulties and have to assert themselves.  But this song is about the past and is so inward looking.   When you sing it you feel nationalistic and hard done by.  When it's sung near you and you have an English sounding accent you keep your gob shut.

O flower of Scotland
When will we see
Your like again
That fought and died for
Your wee bit hill and glen
And stood against him
Proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward
Tae think again

I would far rather they took the last verse of the Burns's A Man's a Man for A' That, an expansive song of human brotherhood and made that the anthem - a song that looks outward to uplifting future possibilities.

Then let us pray that come it may
As come it will and a' that
That sense and worth o'er a' the earth
Shall bear the gree and a' that
For a' that and a' that
It's coming yet for a' that
That man to man the warld o'er
Shall brothers be for a' that
For a' that and a' that
It's coming yet for a' that
That man to man the warld o'er
Shall brothers be for a' that

There is no chance of that happening. Flower of Scotland is sung everywhere, at football matches and in pubs.  And you wouldn't be able to get away with Burns's men and the brothers in these times.  And I know that sense and worth will never rule the earth and if men are brothers often it's like Cain and Abel or, to update it, like Noel and Liam Gallagher.  Still I like the song's universality, "the anthem for humanity" as it has been described.  Sing it, and you might donate a few quid to Oxfam.

And both songs are better than the appalling God Save the Queen.  If there was a decent British national anthem it would set back the cause of independence 20 years.  When the nations split the English can simply walk into a splendid anthem, Jerusalem, which asks us to brandish the warriors' instrumet - chariots, arrows - without celebrating a particular war but which are used as metaphors for building a better country. Sing that, and you might start clearing up plastic bags blowing along the embankment and into the woods. 

Update:- some drunken arseholes singing Oh floo-er of Scawtland, Whan wull we see/Yi likes again have just given my window such a heavy thump that the whole house shook.  Crappy song, crappy Scottish nationalism, I hope they drown in the rain.

Further update:-  the programme on BBC2 on Friday, Robert Burns' World Tour of Scotland, was a total embarrassment.  Karen Dunbar, who is normally entertaining in stand up and sketches, made me cringe with her nudge nudge wink wink remarks about Burns's womanising.  Couldn't they tell an interesting story straight, with some learned talking head giving a bit of information, instead of this stupid vulgarisation?

Don't look for yourself on the Web

Further to my last two posts about Mary Beard, and on further discussions with her, I have now put in verse why it is not a good idea to google yourself on the internet.  It's like eavesdropping.  You might hear something to your disadvantage.

Round Midnight - a Bloggerel

It's round about midnight,
And on your fourth dram,
You're surfing the net,
Does it know who I am?
So head off to Google,
And type in your name
And what you read next
Will set you aflame.
You find that a blogger,
The searches select
Treats you and your doings
With less than respect,
They think you have failings,
They aren't too impressed,
You do something stupid
You make a protest.

In you go rolling,
In mode Panzer tank,
"I'm not a tosser,
I'm not a WANK,"
You comment in fury,
Italics and loud,
Oh don't you know bloggers,
Unscrupulous crowd,
Don't try opposing
At an unsober hour
Protest to a blogger,
And you're in their power,
All they will give you
Is pure ridicule
'Cos bloggers are bastards
And bloggers are cruel
And bloggers will kick you
And kick what you say
Like a prisoner holed up in
Guantanamo Bay
Bloggers love insults,
Vitriolic abuse,
And you taking issue
Fills them with juice
And bloggers will track you
And find to your shame
You're on the net searching
For who posts your name,
And this fact will damn you,
It means you admit
To being insecure,
A sensitive git,
The type who on sighting
A huddle of two
Assumes the discussion
Is all about you.

So round about midnight
When drinking your grog
Don't search for yourself
On somebody's blog.
And if finding yourself,
Don't lose your head,
Defending yourself
Throughout the thread.

Don't add to the scribbles,
That blackly deface,
The great toilet wall
That is cyberspace.

More Wicked Subversion

Further to my post about the wickedly subversive (as she would be the first not to deny) Mary Beard, I thought I would try and do the Professor of Classics a bit more justice and actually listen to her on Any Questions, that showcase of opinion on Radio 4.

After all, my reaction to what appears to be ludicrous bragging is a result of my upbringing. "Skite, skite, your pants are white," we would shout in the playground at anything that looked like showing off.  So when Muhammad Ali appeared on television declaiming, "Ah am the greatest," we would be half shocked and half laughing.  But after all the man was the greatest, as well as being abnormally handsome and eloquent.  So Mary Beard may in fact be genuinely wickedly subversive.

So what did Professor Beard have to say about:-

Expanding runways at Heathrow in light of recent accident

Accident a wake up call of dangers of air travel.  Rail  travel is better but expensive compared to budget air.  Brings in her classics background by saying that a Roman would read Gordon Brown's presence at the airport as an omen.

Situation in Kenya

Don't stop aid.  Remember Kenya is a tourist destination.  Don't start a spiral downwards for its economy.

Effective deterrence of kids after death of Gary Newlove - yobbish behaviour

These crimes are not common.  Also streets no safer in Edwardian times.  (Questioned about this.   There have been more attacks in Birkenhead in one year recently than in the whole nation 50 years ago).  Slogans of new labour tough on crime, on tough on causes of crime disappointing.  We were not looking into causes of crime.

Funding issue of Conservatives - should Gordon Brown sack Peter Hain?

Hain looks feeble.  I always thought I would like a politician to say sorry, fair cop gov.  But it doesn't look so good after all.

Explanation of - they are all a load of crooks no
The rules are too complex for them to follow.

Organ donation - opt out or not

Should be opt out.  Other countries manage and save 1000s lives.  Some squeamishness about government owning body but other civil liberties more important.   Should change word "harvested" -people's parts should not be treated as crops and it could be off putting.  (Good point, I thought.)

Well nothing there that you couldn't find in The Guardian's Comment is Free.  But nothing that wickedly subversive either.  I should also add that David Steel came across as intelligent, thoughtful and humane - shame he never became prime minister.

Mary Beard is no worse or better than your average contributor to Any Questions, which is Comment is Free for the radio - i.e. where people with no great knowledge of subjects are invited to opine upon them. 

She has just had published what sounds a fascinating book on a subject she does know a lot about, Roman triumphs.  I'm interested in Roman history and if she was giving a lecture on that subject somewhere in a venue near me I might actually go across town and listen to her with full attention and respect.

But Comment is Free or Any Questions are to information and thought as alcopops are to Laphroaig.

Anyway, it's bad policy to be labelled as something like "wickedly subversive."  It sets up expectations.  Off-duty comedians are asked by strangers "to say something funny." Julie Burchill was known as a controversial journalist.  She writes somewhere that people used to approach her in the Groucho club with the words, "Why don't you say something controversial then?" so she would shrink behind her husband.  What she should have said is, "Here's an uncontroversial, in fact boringly conventional remark you make to rude pests.  F*** off!."

Bub, bub, bub

Mary Beard describes herself as "wickedly subversive in her views about ancient and modern society".

"Subversive" for an academic means "agrees quite a lot with Terry Eagleton".  No-one should describe themselves fondly as "wickedly" anything.

Nor describe your views as "maverick".  Just say what your views are and let us, the admiring public, call them "maverick".

If someone told me, "I'm wickedly subversive, you know," I would want to tap my lower lip with a finger making "bub bub bub" noises.

I would do the same for Carla Bruni, the President of France's girlfriend, who says, "I'm a cat, a tamer of men, an Italian."  (By the way, what's the point of being a gorgeous youngish babe if you shag ugly sods like Sarkozy, Eric Clapton, Mick Jagger and Donald Trump.  I thought you would take the chance to get off with the young and lovely).

These two are recent offenders. What has stayed with me for years glimpsed in some crap telly programme once was Mel Scarey Spice saying, "I'm a Northern nutter."

No-one should say "I'm" unless it's followed by something of neutral description eg "I'm late for a bus" or "I'm five foot, eight inches tall" or "I'm from Birmingham".  Don't say "I'm" followed by adoration of your own wild or quirky ways.

Bub, bub, bub.

Update:-  Mary Beard has commented on this post:- "No actually -- I didnt describe myself as that...I was described as that on the pr for the blog I write...!! A subtle distinction maybe , but important for me. There would be something self defeating wouldnt there about describing YOURSELF as "wickedly subversive"...mb".

The point of my post in fact. 

I had heard this damning self-description on Jonathan Dimbleby's trailer for Any Questions on Radio 4's Today programme, Friday 18th January around 7:30am.

"Speaking of master minds Mary Beard Professor of Classics at Cambridge University and describes herself as a wickedly subversive commentator on both the modern and ancient world so a wicked panel for what should be a wicked programme hope you can join us."

In the interests of fairness I refrained from tuning out of Any Questions, which is Radio 4's piece of low-life along with its no-good offspring, Any Answers.

Jonathan Dimbleby introduced Mary Beard as, among other things, "telling readers of her blog, that she is, I quote, a  wickedly subversive commentator on the ancient and modern world" and she made no protest, nor groaned aloud.  That description is still under her photo on the blog.   She has not opted out of words of wankiness.  Her guilt is glaring.

Now when are Carla Bruni and Scarey Spice going to turn up and complain of injustice?

No Ordinary Sun

This poem will be repeated on many New Zealand blogs.  It is one of Hone Tuwhare's.  I read it when I was a teenager and when I heard the news of his death this morning the general rhythm and some of the lines returned:- "Tree let your arms fall" and "No ordinary sun."

No Ordinary Sun

Tree let your arms fall:
raise them not sharply in supplication
to the bright enhaloed cloud.
Let your arms lack toughness and
resilience for this is no mere axe
to blunt nor fire to smother.

Your sap shall not rise again
to the moon's pull.
No more incline a deferential head
to the wind's talk, or stir
to the tickle of coursing rain.

Your former shagginess shall not be
wreathed with the delightful flight
of birds nor shield
nor cool the ardour of unheeding
lovers from the monstrous sun.

Tree let your naked arms fall
nor extend vain entreaties to the radiant ball.
This is no gallant monsoon's flash,
no dashing trade wind's blast.
The fading green of your magic
emanations shall not make pure again
these polluted skies . . . for this
is no ordinary sun.

O tree
in the shadowless mountains
the white plains and
the drab sea floor
your end at last is written.

Hone Tuwhare was the first Maori who wrote in English to have a book of his poems published.  In 1964!