The Disenfranchisement Game

One of the first things I came across online this morning was a clip of a Newsnight interview with Reform Chairman Zia Yusuf. It was, of course, the usual hodgepodge of gaslighting and deliberately misleading half truths, but one of the things which caught my interest was that he kept appealing to young, white, working class men. His argument was that they had become disenfranchised: that all the equalities legislation we now have is designed to help members of so many other minorities, it has now placed white working class men at a disadvantage. Such legislation thus now needs to be revised or done away with completely.

This contention caught my attention enough to have me thinking about it all morning. Whether it is true or not, it’s obvious that Yusuf was trying to play a weird kind of disenfranchisement game. Straight white able-bodied men are usually among the least persecuted people in society; but by telling them such legislation has put them at a disadvantage, Yusuf was obviously trying to tap into the growing sense of anger many young men now seem to feel. Many such young men didn’t do well at school or go to university, and now feel overlooked; they now see members of so many other minorities getting degrees and flourishing, and feel frustrated. Nevermind the fact that this might be down to countless other factors, to be told that it was down to equalities legislation and the needs of other people being put before yours, will be very alluring.

The problem is, it pits one group of people against another in an extremely toxic, dangerous way. The reason why such legislation was necessary in the first place was to rebalance the anachronistic inequalities of the past, when people could be refused employment or housing based on their gender, skin colour, sexuality or whatever. That was an era when white, able-bodied men were at an inherent advantage – the very demographic Reform are so desperate to appeal to. Without such equalities legislation, I would never have been able to go to university, use public transport or get my own flat; but while Yusuf tried to claim that there would bee aspects of such acts they would keep, it was obviously that they wanted to return the country to an era when one group of people ruled over all others, and are doing so by pandering to their sense of disenfranchisement.

I hope everyone realises how dangerous this is: by telling them they have become disadvantaged, the scumbags of Reform are trying to mobilise straight, white working class men and pit them against all other demographics, stoking up an intense social rivalry. They are trying to effectively weaponise the sense many working class men now have that they have been left behind by the modern world, as well as their (probably unconscious) feeling of reduced or diminished social standing. The sickening irony is, Reform intend to do away with services which the vast majority of working class people rely on, such as the NHS. More to the point, it gives such people something to blame for their perceived lack of social standing and rank which is baseless, allowing them to feel jealous of the help they see members of other minorities receiving. By telling them they have been left behind by equal rights legislation, it both allows white, working class men to feel disenfranchised and othered, and also lets them blame their victimhood on those they see as ‘other’. In short it is a dangerous pitting of one group against another by appealing to their sense of lost social status, and in doing so seeks to restore social divisions and hierarchies we should have outgrown long ago.

Jesse Jackson

Probably the best thing I can do today is direct everyone here. Civil rights great Jesse Jackson has died aged 84. For all it’s current turmoil, he leaves behind a world which is far more equal and tolerant than the one he was born into. I’m sure he will be sorely missed.

My New Accent

My accent really irritates me sometimes – I sound so American. I’ve recently been playing around with making more videos and increasing my output as a filmmaker. One of my ideas was to take some of my old blog entries, turn the text to speech, add footage and make short films out of them. They could then act as vlogs too. I’ve done it a couple of times so far, and I’m quite happy with the results. To do it though, I needed an app which would allow me to input the text I wanted, for it to then turn into an mp3 for me to use in my filmmaking. Luckily I found a free one a couple of weeks ago and it worked fine; the problem was, the voice it uses has a very American accent. In the films I’ve so far made I sound like I’m from Alabama or Texas or somewhere. Not that there’s anything wrong with it – it’s very rich and deep, and reminds me of someone like Denzel Washington. I just wish I could sound a bit more British.

Why New Star Trek Feels Different

If you’re interested in just how articulate and insightful online analysis is becoming, as well as why contemporary Star Trek sucks, I certainly think this is worth watching. Essentially a Trek Culture video essay on the differences between modern Trek and what went before, it goes into a fairly surprising level of detail about shooting styles and narrative structure, concluding that, whereas the Star Trek of the 80s and 90s was about telling coherent stories, these days it’s all about drawing viewers in and keeping their attention. As the guy points out, a good example is the advent of the ‘spore drive’, which got rid of the need for any sense of scale, distance or time between narrative events. Viewers are just bombarded with one plot point after another, with no time to breathe. I must say I thoroughly agree with the conclusions he draws, and think it’s a very good summation of why Trek no longer feels like the intriguing, cerebral science fiction show it once was. It’s also great to see just how advanced this kind of online video analysis is becoming, as it covers all kinds of complex structuralist details which I wouldn’t have expected to come across on Youtube not that long ago.

InterestingTunnels

People will make videos about anything these days – not that that’s necessarily a bad thing. I’ve used the Greenwich Foot Tunnel quite a few times over the years on my trundles around the metropolis, but have never given it much thought. The problem is, one of the two lifts is nearly always broken, so it’s often easier to scoot round to the DLR station if I want to cross the river up to Canary Wharf. However, I just came across this intriguing video about the tunnel’s history: it’s more fascinating (and spooky) than you might expect, growing out of the need of Victorian dock workers to get from South London to the Isle of Dogs. It was thus an essential means of combatting the crippling poverty of that era by helping people get to work. The irony is, these days it’s little more than a novelty and tourist attraction which locals tend to avoid. After all, can you see a top business executive heading to his Canary Wharf office through that dark, damp tunnel? Either way, it is through such snippets of history that I find London so intriguing.

I do wish they would fix those lifts though.

Rip Rowling From the Shelves

Would it be justifiable to organise a campaign to get people to unilaterally rip the books of a certain author from the book shelves given their repugnant views? I have been mulling this question over for a while. Obviously all art should be respected, whoever it is by; but JK Rowling is now such a transphobic bigot that the thought of anyone buying her fourth rate crap, let alone reading it, is too much for me to tolerate. Her views are now so repugnant that she does not deserve anyone’s money, much less our respect. She should never have been published in the first place, but if you ask me anyone who cares about the rights of transpeople and civil rights in general, has a duty to go into any book shop they can and rip the Potter books from the shelves. That at least would show our distaste for the hatred and bigotry Rowling has been spewing. It may cause trouble or look unseemly, but surely we must show our objection to what she has been spouting.

How Do You Know You’re Stupid?

I may still have issues with John Cleese and his positioning as a figurehead for reactionary, anti-woke zealotry, but it appears he can still be spot on.

The problem is, when you point out they’re being stupid, ignorant or arrogant, these days they claim they’re being oppressed and that the ‘liberal elite’ are just trying to silence them. They seem increasingly trying to frame bigotry and intolerance of other people based on their social or ethnic status, as a facet of their own right-wing culture, so preventing them from expressing their prejudices is in itself an act of persecution. This gives rise to quite a galling, insipid paradox.

How Basic Trump’s Intelligence Really Is

It’s not that long, but if you want a bit more background about what is going on in America, I think this interview/conversation between Mark Thompson and Prof. David Cay Johnston is worth a watch. In it, Johnston outlines just how stupid and corrupt Trump is. He is an appallingly corrupt, cynical man who is essentially running the US like one of his failed casinos – to a certain extent we all already knew this, but what I think videos like this help to make clear is just how low he’s going. The guy is literally treating the White House like one of his hotels and charging people to stay there. He also plans to turn the streets of Washington into an indicar track. Just how low can this man stoop? That’s like holding horse races along Whitehall or The Mall. That aside, what I also think makes this video noteworthy is that it’s the first time I’ve heard such a high-ranking academic talk about Trump so disparagingly and in such base, disgusted terms, referring to him not just a crook and conman, but also as a fascist.

Post-Absence Cheer

I’ve written a few times about my absences, and how uncomfortable and anxious they often make me feel. When I know one is coming, I feel a strange sense of imminent doom. Yet in a weird way they can also make me feel a sense of relief and even contentment, particularly after they happen. This morning, for example, I had one: to be honest I’d known one was coming for the last few days, and Sod’s Law prevailed so it happened during a visit by my parents. Of course they knew what was happening and helped me through it.

Now though, I must admit I feel oddly cheerful. It’s as if I now know it happened, it is over and I don’t have to worry about it anymore. The one I knew was due happened at home and there were no serious consequences, so I can now get on with the day without having to worry. While that obviously won’t be my last ever absence, I now won’t have another for some time. Knowing that feels oddly liberating. That seems to me quite a positive, optimistic way to look at things, which other people can probably learn from.

What You Can Assume

It’s probably time for a bit of a housekeeping post today. I think I ought to make it clear that, when I write about having talked to people, it’s usually safe to assume that I used my communication aid to do so. Yesterday, for example, when I wrote about speaking to the staff at the shoe shop, of course I did so using my Ipad. It’s obviously quicker and easier not to have to make that explicit every entry, but I also think that using my communication aid is now so normal for me that I don’t even think about it. Indeed, I think that is what makes occasions when I don’t need to use it all the more noteworthy. Similarly, when I blog about going somewhere, it’s safe to assume that I used my powerchair. Even spelling that out feels a little weird; yet as someone who aspires to be proud of who he is, including my identity as a disabled person, I don’t think it ought to be forgotten.

New Shoes

I bought myself a new pair of shoes today. There would have been a time, not that long ago, when I would have thought that that in itself was a blog-worthy event. I would probably have gone into elaborate detail about how, three days ago, I got into a slight incident with a car as I was coming home from the shop. Despite being caught under it’s wheel, my feet were fine but my shoes were ruined. Then I would have explained how, today while out and about, I ended up in Bexleyheath with it’s well-appointed shopping centre; and how, more or less on the spur of the moment, I thought I’d resolve the issue by buying myself a new pair of shoes. No doubt I would have contextualised this by explaining that, throughout my childhood I had to wear special shoes, so my footwear was always supplied by school, and thus shoe shopping is still a relatively novel experience for me. I’d also have told you all how courteous the staff at the branch of Clarks were, how well they treated me, and how they helped me try on several pairs of shoes until I found the one I wanted.

But does anyone want to read all this? Would anyone want me to go into so much detail, or be interested by something so mundane? It’s not as though there aren’t plenty of other things I could blog about. After all, everybody goes shoe shopping; there is nothing special or novel about what I did today. Are such trivialities really worth blogging about? Does the fact that I did it for myself make it noteworthy, or is that being egotistical? Am I just talking cobblers, or do I think the sense of achievement at what I managed to do today is justified enough to document on here? I suppose in writing this means I do.

Fragments of a Fading Past

I think I’ve written about what I call the urban palimpsest on here before. I find it absolutely fascinating how, amid all the regeneration happening everywhere in London, you can still find fragments of the past. Earlier today, for example, I thought I would go down to Woolwich for my usual trundle. Woolwich is an area which is developing fast, and these days I head that way quite often to get on the Elizabeth Line. Today, however, I wasn’t in much of a hurry, so I decided to do a little exploring.

Turning left off the road from Charlton, I headed down a street I’d never been down before. Of course when I was living with Lyn I got to know that area quite well; yet it is labrynthine enough that there are still some places I don’t know. I found myself going past what looked to me like seventeenth or eighteenth century walls. That area was once a massive military base for the Royal Artillery: much of it has now been converted into housing, but I really like how you can still find fragments of what was here before. The walls and gates I had stumbled upon were still highly ornate, bearing royal and military insignia, as if they evoked a long faded prestige. My guess is that there were some quite important or high status buildings there, long swept away to make way for houses. To be honest I found it rather amazing, as if I had come across some decaying artefact of a long forgotten past. There was certainly still beauty in what I had found; yet down that underused side street in Woolwich, I doubt many people would even know it’s there.

Questions Of The Day

What kind of abhorrent bigot posts a blatantly racist video on social media, depicting his predecessor as a monkey; then, when he is called out for his vile behaviour, he tries to claim he had nothing to do with it?

What sort of self-respecting, outward looking nation would call such an embarrassment to human civilisation their president?

I’m sure I don’t need to tell anyone reading this just how appalling the latest news from America is. If I were American, I would feel utterly insulted that Trump tried to deny the obvious truth that he posted this vile video. The situation there is getting more perverse by the day, to the extent that I now honestly can’t understand why they’re putting up with it.

Fiddling While Milan Burns

I suppose I still have quite a naive, romanticised view when it comes to the Olympic games. It seems to me that they are festivals of world unity unlike any other: periods when, every couple of years or so, the attention of the entire world is focussed on one city or region, and we can all enjoy the sports and festivities together. I still think back fourteen years to London 2012. Just to have been here in London that year was incredible. The metropolis had a buzz to it; it felt like the centre of the entire world as we played host to human civilisation. To see Lyn performing at the paralympic closing ceremony will always be one of the greatest moments of my life. For those few weeks, humanity felt as one, centred around London. It wasn’t just a sports event, but a celebration of culture and place.

I freely admit this is a highly naive view which (probably deliberately) ignores all the overt corruption and scandal which underpins the olympics. In a way I think it ties into my love of travel: I like how it gives a city the opportunity to show itself off before the world. From this perspective, olympic opening and closing ceremonies are effectively performances, not just to be enjoyed but read and analysed. What do they reveal about a city’s culture, and what is the community trying to say to us? Thus, in an ideal world, I’d like cities from all across the world to host the Olympics and Paralympics, so that the global community can focus on them and they can show theirselves off to us, as London and Paris did. I also think it would be cool to see more such mega-events, just as gigantic, but focussed on other disciplines such as arts or technology.

But again, I’m being naive. The world is far from ideal, especially at the moment. The olympic games take billions of pounds to put on, money which many countries do not have; so obviously only the most affluent cities get to show themselves off like this. More to the point, the world of 2012 or even ’24 is long gone: we stand at the brink of a profound global catastrophe. Thus as intrigued as I am to watch the Winter Olympic Opening Ceremony in Milan this evening, I can’t help thinking there are now more pressing issues at hand. Celebrations of human unity are all well and good, but at a time when we may well be about to blow ourselves apart, it feels like fiddling while Rome (or Milan) burns. I”m not saying that I think the games should be cancelled or delayed, just that to hold such an event right now feels like we are wilfully ignoring wider, darker issues, giving rise to quite an unseemly mismatch or juxtaposition.

Coverage We Didn’t Need or Want

I was just watching the BBC news channel as usual, sipping my morning coffee, when they suddenly flipped from their usual coverage to farage giving a speech. We all know what huge trouble Labour and Starmer are in over the Epstien files; but the last thing we need is the snivelling p’tahk farage sticking his neck in, making the morons listening to him laugh and stirring up trouble for his own benefit. The views of that charlatan are utterly irrelevant, on this or any other matter. He is a racist embarrassment to human civilisation who actively, knowingly deceived the country into voting for something contrary to our best interests: he should either be on his knees begging our forgiveness, or rotting in a jail cell. But there he was, mocking the government, cracking jokes and doing his pathetic statesman act; as if we don’t all know that, sooner or later, his name will no doubt appear in those very files as one of the biggest culprits.

It was so sickening that I turned it off. The thing is, the more such coverage the guy gets, the more he looks like a respectable politician and the more likely people are to forget that he’s a deceptive little xenophobe who should never have been allowed to rise to such prominence. More to the point, the Beeb should never have suddenly cut to him like that, as if his rancid, fascistic views have any relevance whatsoever to the current political situation.

At Least They Had Their Granddad

As militant as I like to be about prams and the bus wheelchair space, I can’t help but feel rather guilty occasionally. It may not have been the driest day for it, but I went exploring today: a couple of days ago my friend Kate suggested meeting for coffee sometime, and that the nearest tube station to her was Finsbury Park. Accordingly, today I decided to see how easy it would be to get there. To cut a convoluted story short, three tube lines later I got there safe and sound.

The problem was, by then it was bucketing it down. I would have liked to explore the area a bit more, but instead decided I better head back. Luckily outside the tube station I found a bus heading to Liverpool Street station, from where I could get the Elisabeth line- that would be far more straightforward than getting back on the tube.

Shortly after getting on the bus though, it stopped again: a mum was waiting there with a pram, three young sons and their apparent grandfather. The little boys got on with their grandad, but the bus driver wouldn’t let the mum on with her pram because I was in the wheelchair space. By then it was too late though, and as the bus door shut the three boys burst into tears at being parted from their mother. Obviously they were perfectly fine as their granddad was with them, and he told them to calm down, both adults silently agreeing that they would meet at their destination. But nonetheless the incident made my heart sink: I felt so guilty for making those children cry, if just inadvertently. Of course I knew their parting wouldn’t last long, and that I had every right to be sat where I was; yet I don’t think people realise how galling and disheartening knowing you have caused such turmoil can be.

Of Travelogues, Statues and Tolerance

I watched the first three episodes of Clive Myrie’s African Adventure last night. I love travelogues almost as much as I love travelling itself, so it was captivating to see Myrie explore a part of the world I still know very little about. The three episodes I watched all focus on South Africa, although no doubt later episodes, which I’ll probably get to later, will look at the wider continent. As such, there was quite a bit in the programmes about the history of South Africa, apartheid, it’s legacy, and Nelson Mandela. He is a man who still stands head and shoulders above all other politicians, and whose legacy should never be diminished.

While it must be said that, above all, watching the program filled me with the intense urge to go to South Africa and explore it myself (well, probably with John), it also filled me with an intense pride that Mandela’s statue now stands in Parliament Square: he deserves to be there, just as much as the statues of Churchill, Gandhi, and the other great politicians. His is the statue I go and pay my respects to whenever I go to Westminster, and in fact I may well now head that way later today. What he did, in his forty year struggle to rid his country of racism’s abhorrent stain, is testimony to human fortitude.

But then, another, darker thought occurred to me: we all know that, these days, society is more fractured than ever and that racism is on the rise. To some, outright xenophobia is seen as a perverse form of rebellion and a way to strike back against ‘the liberal elite’. Such dunderheads might not like that statue of Mandela being there, and want to attack it. Naturally, that thought made me want to go to Westminster even more, just to check all the statues are still there. Surely that square is the place we, as Brits, celebrate such great people irrespective of their ethnicity, gender or whatever: people whose impact upon history can only be recorded in iron and stone. After all Mandela, like Gandhi and Lincoln, was not even British; yet we nonetheless had the wisdom and foresight to commemorate him there among all of our other political champions.

The thing is, I then thought, how would I feel if a statue of Farage or Yaxley-Lemon appeared there? What if a hoard of racist dishcloth heads held a petition to get a statue of one of their charlatan heroes built? Naturally I’d be indignant, and probably head up there to physically try to stop the square being so desecrated. But wouldn’t that be hypocritical on my part? How is it my place to only allow statues of politicians I agree with to be built, in Parliament Square or anywhere else? If I truly want to champion and celebrate diversity, should that not include diversity of ideas?

Mind you, as it stands I doubt we’ll ever see a statue of Farage or Tommy Ten-Names in parliament Square: as political figures. they’re still far too contentious, and I think there would be a widespread rebellion against it. Many people would, like me, find it repugnant to see such deceptive, divisive charlatans celebrated in that way. Yet the fact remains, if we are truly the open, tolerant society we desire to be, and if we truly respect the lessons which people like Mandela and Gandhi taught us, then we must accept and respect the views of those we so vehemently disagree with.

What Better Example of American Arrogance?

The last thing I watched last night before going to bed was this half hour NBC video on the Artemis program. Of course it’s crammed full of jingoism about how America is a space-faring nation, about how they have to beat China back to the moon, and about how the exploration of space should be up to them rather than anyone else. Their cities are literally burning, there healthcare system is non-existent and they’re sliding further and further towards fascism every day, yet Americans have the hubris, the arrogance to think they should be the ones to return to the moon. Surely I can’t be the only one to find that sickening.

The Greatest Meeting Ever

When I was out on my trundle yesterday I had a bizarre idea which I now can’t get out of my head. An idea for a meeting of two fictional characters which I think would be so hilarious, so awesome that I simply have to make it happen. How it could possibly happen is another question, especially given one character was live action and the other is animated; but I’m now nonetheless set on seeing it come about. Surely it would be the most amazing thing ever if the French Taunter from Monty Python ant the Holy Grail could somehow meet Cornholio. I have no idea what they would do together or how they could possibly be shown to meet, but even so I suspect it would make me roll on the floor with laughter. The unnamed French Taunter, of course, was played by John Cleese in the 1975 film Monty Python and the Holy Grail, mocking King Arthur and his Knights from the battlements of a castle. Cornholio or The Great Cornholio is Beavis’s alter ego who he transforms into whenever he drinks too much coffee or any other stimulant. Both are, separately, probably the funniest things I have ever seen. The crazy idea of seeing them somehow meet may be far fetched, and I have no idea how I would get either of the actors to reprise their roles, but this is just too awesome for me to let go. The thought of those characters having some sort of dialogue is too magnificent. If it is indeed true that everything is possible, then this simply has to happen.

A Nice Threshold To Have Passed

I just have something rather trivial to record here today. I’ve been going to the branch of Nationwide on Eltham High Street since moving here six years ago. I go there once or twice a week, whenever I need more cash. I can’t physically use an ATM so I always go up to the cashier. As such the staff in that branch have come to know me quite well. Of course, until now I have always used my speech app to tell them what I need. Things like numbers can be especially difficult for me to articulate. Rather cooly, however, this morning was the first time I didn’t need to use my communication aid there: I was able to roll up to the desk and tell the dude what I wanted. As usual he then put it in my wallet. Nothing special really, but I think that was quite a nice threshold to have passed, and a sign that this area is becoming more and more my home.

Hoping Things Are Being Exaggerated

America is really beginning to scare me. Or rather, what I see from America is beginning to scare me. Every day the situation there seems to get worse, with more depictions of violence, anger and intolerance. The thing is, my prime source of information is my YouTube feed. I obviously don’t live in the United States, so almost everything I know about the situation there comes from YouTube. Every morning among quite a few other things I watch clips of guys like Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Kimmel doing their nightly routines, panting an increasingly dystopian picture of their county. The thing is, their acts are still so interspersed with jokes and throw-away remarks that you could almost assume things were perfectly normal. The mismatch between tone and content is quite jarring, but might that mean that I’m only seeing one side of the story? Could the violence and turmoil be being exaggerated for dramatic effect? As unlikely as that may be, to be honest I’m starting to hope with increasing desperation that it is.

The One Thing London Lacks

I have once again just got back from my usual daily trundle. Today I thought I would just go to Lewisham, take the DLR up to the Isle of Dogs, and head up to Canary Wharf. That area still amazes me: to think that, forty years ago, all that was there was a bunch of decaying docks is incredible. Going there is like suddenly stepping into Manhattan or Tokyo or any other great commercial centre of the world. The way skyscrapers keep shooting up is nothing less than jaw-dropping.

The thing is, I am starting to think that the very thing that makes that area so incredible is also what makes it dull. Ernest Hemingway once said he found London too normal. When I first moved here, I couldn’t disagree more: London seemed an amazing, innovative metropolis unlike anything I had experienced before. As someone used to a small,  rural Cheshire town, to suddenly find myself trundling around one of the world’s greatest metropolises filled me with awe. Yet sixteen years on, I think I finally see what Hemingway meant. London is rich and affluent: the type of city capable of turning a wasteland of crumbling docks into a thriving commercial centre, creating multi billion pound rail networks, hosting the Olympic Games or anything else. It is rich, middle class and safe. Obviously it is multicultural and diverse, but that’s because people come here from all over the world because it is so safe. It’s wonderful to hear such a diverse array of languages being spoken in the streets and on public transport, but at its core London remains an affluent, middle class English city. 

The thing is, in that middle class safety it looses something which I now find myself craving more and more. Everything may work here and the busses may come on time, but with that it looses something exotic and intriguing. Its ability to pile billions of pounds into all kinds of projects means it loses any sense of danger. Its coffee shops may be accessible and well maintained, but it feels like I am getting bored of cappuccino. Tube stations may all be clean and have working lifts, but with that they become sterile and inhuman. Busses and trains are brilliantly regular, yet that regularity is starting to feel soporific.

With privilege you lose thrill, and it is that which I now find myself yearning for. That touch of human limitation which carries with it a sense of cultural diversity. A kind of exotic fallibility or down-to-earth grit that I encountered in places like Jaipur or Tangier, but which London would just concrete over and turn into yet more ubiquitous blocks of flats. The grimy, gritty, working class docklands of east London have now been transformed into a phenomenally wealthy landscape of sleek skyscrapers, bling and decadence: Canary Wharf could be an area of any other big city. In that sense, it’s transformation and gentrification took away what gave that area it’s own unique character and rendered it normal.

These Peaceful Parks Might Burn

Out on my trundle yesterday, I was as usual thinking about the state of the world, and reflecting that, during the Second World War, this part of South-East London was very much on the front line of the defence of the capital. Sutcliffe Park in Kidbrooke, about ten minutes from my flat, was one of the areas where they anchored barrage balloons. Yet now it seems the very forces those guys were fighting against have returned. I used that as the springboard to put together this film. It isn’t perfect, and probably could have done with a bit more editing, but I think what I’m getting at is clear enough.

A Truly Frightening Interview

I know I shouldn’t just direct everyone to videos I’ve just watched on Youtube, but I certainly think this Channel Four interview between Krishnan Guru-Murthy and Mehdi Hasan is certainly worth watching. It’s rather a long, in-depth conversation, covering topics ranging from Brexit to Gaza, but I think it is particularly significant in that Hasan openly uses the word ‘fascism’ in relation to Donald Trump and what is currently unfolding in America. It is probably the first time I have heard that word being used so openly and on such a mainstream platform: As Hasan himself explains, he is openly liberal and left-of-centre, but tries to be as critical, balanced and objective as possible. Yet there is no getting away from the fact that what Trump is doing, in weaponising the US justice system and silencing his critics, equates to a form of fascism. We might not be seeing jack-boots on the streets there just yet – although ICE is drawing closer and closer to becoming an American gestapo – but the form of autocracy Trump is steering the country towards is no less chilling. Please watch the video for the details, but I have to say, watching it and videos like it is making me increasingly frightened about where the world is heading politically.

Who is this Vance Bloke Anyway?

If you would like a bit more background on the complete and utter car crash that America is becoming, as well as to chill out for an hour or so listening to a dude talk, I think this is well worth a watch. I’d previously dismissed JD Vance as just one of Trump’s lackeys and another right-wing scumbag, but the reality is far more complex and nuanced, if no less frightening. Vance is actually quite an intelligent person whose ideas were once well rooted in reality, but like Macbeth and so many others, greed and ambition got the better of him.

The Third Graduation Photograph

On my shelf I have three graduation photos. Two are mine, of course, from my Masters graduation eleven years ago, and I’m still immensely proud of them. The third, however, is of a young man I do not know. I think it’s of Lyn’s nephew. When I moved to Eltham six years ago, much of her stuff came with me, including many of her pictures. Lyn’s brother Paul had given her the small graduation photo, and it came with me. The thing is, I haven’t heard anything from L’s family since. No doubt the photo will be as special to someone as my graduation photos are to me; yet I have no idea who, what their name is or how to contact them. Naturally I’ve tried looking on Facebook without much luck. If anyone has any leads on this, please get in touch.

The Disgusting Words of a Coward

I think it’s fair to say that I’m not a military kind of person. I believe, quite firmly, that armed conflict is folly and must be avoided whenever at all possible. What on earth is the point of sending young men to brutally kill one another, when a conflict can more efficiently be resolved if people just get around a table and talk to one another? Yet I also know that there are times when physical conflict is unavoidable, and necessary to protect one’s community or friends. In the room behind me right now there are three Polish guys; they might not be here if Britain had not gone to war in 1939. Thus, as much as I detest conflict, I know the military deserves my respect.

War is famously hell: it is brutal, bloody and barbarous. Frankly, I can barely imagine what it must be like when you’re about to go into a conflict zone, knowing there is a good chance that you or your comrades will shortly be ripped apart by a bullet or shell. I know this comparison might be a bit stretched, but to be honest the closest I’ve come to it is looking into the eyes of my classmates. They knew they didn’t have long to live; they knew their Muscular Dystrophy would sap away their strength and rob them of their lives far sooner than they deserved, yet they carried on nonetheless. I see my friends as soldiers, on a par with those who fight to defend their communities.

Thus like many others I was disgusted by what Donald Trump said yesterday. I may not like war, and can certainly see that there were huge problems with the fact that British soldiers were in Afghanistan in the first place. But that is no reason to allow him to degrade or belittle their contribution or sacrifice. 457 British personnel died in Afghanistan, alongside many others from a diverse array of countries. Pacifist though I may be, to hear that draft-dodging piece of shit state yesterday that they somehow held back from the front line, so that only Americans did the fighting, was beyond the pale. To hear Trump utter such bile as though he were some kind of great military historian or commander, when he was famously too cowardly, arrogant and self-important to defend his country himself, made me want to rip his head off. Thus, as much as I don’t want to get caught up in any kind of patriotic furore, but Trump now owes them and this country a grovelling apology.

Another Westfield

I just got back from Westfield Shopping centre. Only today, it wasn’t the Westfield I usually go to up in Stratford. I can get to that one quite easily, and as huge and opulent as it may still be, I’m getting bored of it. I decided a while ago that I need to get out of East London a bit more, so today I decided to head to Shepherd’s Bush. I had  had a glimpse of it a few days ago, having been on one of my canalside trundles; but today I decided to go back and check it out properly.

Getting there was somewhat novel in itself: the Jubilee line to Westminster, the District to Hammersmith, then a short walk from there rather then taking the circle line a single stop. I’m becoming more and more comfortable navigating london’s transport system and switching between lines, although some of the gaps between the train and platforms were slightly wider than I’d have liked. Even so, my journey was relatively swift and problem free.

I didn’t stay at the actual shopping centre that long, and decided to start making my way home after just a short cruise around it’s opulent shops. I realise how strange that might seem, having gone to so much trouble to get there. But that isn’t the point. The reason I have adventures like today’s is to sort of demonstrate to myself that I can get to places. It’s about establishing routes. Now I know I can get there though, and that this ‘other’ Westfield is just as big and impressive as the one in Stratford, I think I have a potential new rendezvous point for meeting mum and dad. Moreover, getting back turned out to be even easier than getting there, as I found a Superloop running directly to Ealing Broadway, where I could just hop onto the Elizabeth Line.

London is definitely feeling smaller and smaller. I’m not sure how many people will be interested in all this stuff about me going places and which trains I ride, but in a way feel compelled to record it. This city once seemed like a huge, inaccessible labyrinth; yet it is becoming increasingly familiar, homely and welcoming. I’m feeling more and more comfortable with getting around and exploring it, and as I do so it becomes ever more fascinating.

Pride In Normality

In a way you could say I have nothing to report here today. My parents came to visit for lunch, just as they visit every few weeks and just as they also visit my brothers, Mark and Luke. It was nothing special: we had a very nice lunch together, and we sorted some things out regarding my powerchairs. You know – normal, family stuff. Yet, whenever they pop by like this, I always feel a sense of intense pride and satisfaction. As I wrote here about a year ago, there was a time when I thought such visits would be absurd: when the idea that I would one day be living in my own flat, and that Mum and Dad would visit for brunch, would have seemed totally out of the question. But perhaps even more than that, I feel pride in it’s very normality. After all, whose parents don’t visit them? What’s so special about a man and a woman going to visit their son? It’s perfectly normal, and in that sense I’m just like Mark, Luke and just about anyone else. I’m just a normal bloke whose parents came to visit. Paradoxically perhaps, I feel great pride in that normality.

What the Zark is Bait?

Putting my James Bond hat on for a moment, could someone please tell me what the zark this is. It purports to be a trailer for something called Bait, an Amazon produced series about an actor cast as James Bond. I just came across a reference to it, and of course the online Bond fandom is abuzz with speculation. It’s only a short trailer, so I don’t know what to make of it or where Amazon intend to go with it. It’s quite odd: it just shows a fairly young man surprising his family with the news that he has been cast as James Bond, who then become extremely excited. But now they’ve acquired the rights to it, I can’t help worrying that Amazon intend to take Bond in all sorts of weird new directions to squeeze every penny they can out of it. The appearance of this trailer only increases that concern.

Under The Weather?

Apparently too ill to answer questions about his mate Trump on national TV, but seemingly fine to do his ‘statesman’ act for halfwits to allow them to think they are some kind of ‘elite’.

Our Last Hope

We all know what a dangerous state the world is in. I’m not going to go off on one of my spasticated rants about how Britain should now unilaterally void the Declaration of Independence and render all Americans British colonists, much as I might like to. In all seriousness though, I find myself baffled over Americans can put up with this. Many of them are intelligent people; they must realise what is going on, and the catastrophic damage which the deranged charlatan they’re currently forced to call their president is currently doing to their country. They must surely be as horrified as the rest of the world is.

Surely there is something they can do: surely what remains of the American intelligencia can somehow step in to remove the fool from office. They must be able to see the way things are going, just as the rest of us do, as well as the obvious truth that Trump is a highly unstable, mentally ill man. As Owen Jones explores here, his recent deranged tweets put that well beyond doubt. If that isn’t valid grounds for removing someone from office, what on earth could be? Thus I genuinely hope America gets a grip and does something to change course soon; otherwise the consequences could be horrifying. It might not be democratic in the strictest sense, but you’d think there would be a clause in their famous constitution which allows presidents to be stripped of office on medical grounds. Otherwise, what choice would we Brits have but to take back control of the American colonies?

Powerchairs Are Not Toys!

Powerchairs are not toys. For many disabled people, powerchairs are essential to living their lives. In my case, I simply couldn’t enjoy my life without my powerchair. I would be stuck in my flat, unable to go out without someone to push me. More to the point, most of my friends at school were powerchair users, and being completely nonambulent would have been totally stuck without them.

As a disabled man my powerchair is part of who I am: it is part of my identity, just as my communication aid is. I couldn’t be who I am without it. Yet these days, when I’m out and about , I see more and more people using powerchairs. Their use seems to have shot up in the last couple of years for some reason. I don’t know why, but it seems to have suddenly become cool to use a powerchair, at least around London. Perhaps access to free public transport has something to do with it, but it’s as if people are using them for more and more tenuous reasons.

I have been getting angrier and angrier about it. Whenever I see such a person, I want to shout “It’s not a toy!” because that is honestly what using powerchairs in this way feels like to me. Something they have started using because they feel a bit fragile or infirm, have diagnosed themselves with one fashionable condition or another, or think it would be cool to ‘identify’ as disabled. I know I keep returning to this subject, but it really is getting to me: it feels as if an integral part of my identity is being usurped or even stolen.

A lot is now being said about identity and identity politics; it is a highly charged political subject. What exactly constitutes ones identity, and how do people identify as members of one group or another? Having had cerebral palsy from birth, I have always identified as disabled. I have always had friends with disabilities and been accustomed to the mise en scene – the powerchairs, expanded keyboards and dribble-absorbing teatowels – of disability. It is part of my very being, without which I wouldn’t be who I am. It has also always felt like a very niche thing to be; an identity shared by very few others outside of a small special school just outside Winsford. Now, however, many more people are adopting that identity, seemingly simply by starting to use that paraphernalia.

It is weird because I don’t think I would mind if they were using scooters – the kind with handlebars often used by elderly people. It is the increased use in powerchairs specifically which gets to me, perhaps because I associate them with the most profoundly disabled people I have known. Such friends needed their powerchairs to get around, and without their chairs they would have been confined to their beds. They had absolutely no choice; so to see other people essentially choosing to use powerchairs for sociopolitical reasons, whatever other bullshit they might tell themselves, frankly feels like my friends are being mocked.

I realise how bizarre this may sound, but I am struggling to come up with a decent analogy. I once likened it to when white actors used to paint their faces black in order to play black characters; but in a way it’s deeper and more hurtful than that. Frankly, it’s as repugnant as Donald Trump and his MAGA goons starting to wear feathered headdresses and wave around tomahawks, calling themselves ‘Native Americans’ and structuring their entire politics around the notion of being ‘native’. It is the reduction of something absolutely essential to one person down to a sociopolitical plaything by another. By choosing to start using powerchairs, it feels like these people are intruding upon a world they have no idea about. Powerchairs are not just toys which people can just begin to use when they start feeling sorry for themselves; they are vital facets of who we are. Essential parts of our everyday lives, now being wheeled around in like go-carts by people who think identifying as disabled is sociopolitically cool. Such increased adoption feels like a trivialisation; and such trivialisation feels like an insult.

Powerchairs are not fucking toys!

Social Media and Emotional Regulation Questions

I’m probably just once again using my weblog to think things through, but I was just watching BBC Breakfast news. They had an item on the possible banning of social media for under 16s. Now, I’m very much on the fence on that issue as I can definitely see advantages and disadvantages to such a ban; but during the item, one academic stated that there was a link between the use of social media and ’emotional regulation’. That really caught my ear: we know that people with autism have trouble regulating their emotions, and it’s one of the defining features of the condition. Could there be some kind of connection between social media use and the dramatic rise in ASD we’re currently seeing?

I’m pretty certain I won’t be the first person to wonder about such a link. I’m just thinking openly here, before doing any googling or research (yes yes Dad). But you have to wonder what such a connection could mean, how it might be objectively established, how we might explore the way social media use effects how we interact with society, and what if anything could be done about it.

Interestingly, later in the Breakfast programme, they also had an item about a man with severe autism, and the techniques being used to cut his hair. He had what I’d recognise as autism from my school days, was non-verbal and clearly couldn’t really interact with the world as others do. To be honest I think there is still a real, clear distinction between this manifestation of autism and the one now being ascribed to so many more young people. They may be on the same vague spectrum, but I don’t see how they could relate. The boy with autism had apparently been diagnosed ten years ago, when he was very young; yet these social media-using kids will be in their teens and will still be highly capable of interacting with other people on some level. This situation is obviously very complicated and certainly worth looking into.

Jessie Gender on Reactionary Grifters And Star Trek

Staying on the subject of Star Trek, I surely wouldn’t be doing my duty as a blogger if I didn’t direct everyone here, to probably the greatest piece of Trek-related analysis I’ve come across in a long, long time. It’s long and detailed, but in it, Jessie Gender discusses modern Star Trek, and the criticism reactionary p’tahks now hurl at it that contemporary Star Trek is too woke or liberal. Trek has always been woke, of course, but as she explains, such grifters seem to be pining for a conservative past which never actually existed. My concerns about it’s underlying Americano-centric worldview notwithstanding, part of what has always made Star Trek great is it’s championing of inclusion and diversity, including, as Jessie explores really well, how it handles disability. The video is over an hour long, but if you have the time, I’d really encourage you to give it a watch.

Northern Transport Questions

It has been a pretty wet, miserable day to be honest. As usual though, I far preferred to go out than stay here at home, so it has been a case of darting between busses, shops and trains as quickly as possible. Fortunately, here in London we have a world class public transport system, so it hasn’t been too bad. Busses are frequent and accessible, and thanks to the DLR I actually managed not to get too wet. However, I have to wonder whether this would have been the case anywhere other than the capital. You’ll have seen yesterday the announcement of massive a new rail infrastructure project in the North of England, which will enable faster connections to Leeds, York, Manchester and Liverpool. I naturally think this is only to be welcomed, although yesterday I facetiously began to wonder what ‘Crossrail’ would sound like in a northern accent. However, I must say key questions remain: new rail lines are all well and good, but what about other improvements? Are busses in Cheshire any better, or are they as crap and inaccessible as they were twenty years ago? Linking the ‘big’ cities (what a subjective term that now seems) is cool, but what about access to the other smaller northern towns? If we are serious about ‘levelling up’, surely these are the kinds of questions which must be answered. As a wheelchair user, I remember getting between towns and villages was an utter nightmare: you waited ages for a bus, and then the driver had to reluctantly get out of his cab to unfold the ramp manually for you. My biggest concern now is that things haven’t improved.

Very Thin Ice

If like me you’re becoming increasingly concerned (read frightened) by what is currently unfolding in America, I have a couple of videos to flag up. Firstly, I think this Private Eye discussion is a good reflection of the bewilderment we all now feel. Hislop and co clearly have a good grasp of what is going on and what Trump is doing, but there is a definite rabbit-in-the-headlights dimension to their conversation. Secondly, I think this thorough debunking of what actually happened is certainly worth a watch. Details still seem to be quite hazy, but watching this yesterday gave me a much better grasp of the situation. Watching either video, however, makes things seem all the more horrific: as what actually took place – the cold-blooded murder of an unarmed woman – becomes clearer and clearer – the fact that the American president is still attempting to deceive us all over this should send shivers down our collective spines.

Sandy Trails

I was just browsing Facebook on this dull wet afternoon, when I came across a link to this new blog on one of the disability related pages. The fact that it is focussed on travel got me interested of course, but I’d just like to flag up something I find problematic. It’s a blog written by the mum of a man called Corey, a 25-year-old American with Spinal Muscular Atrophy. She says her blog is about ‘Empowering caregivers’, and writes “At My Sandy Trail, I believe that every caregiver deserves to be healthy and happy. My blog shares inspiring stories and tips not only for making wheelchair accessible travel a reality, but also ensuring that you and your loved one can create unforgettable memories together in a safe and healthy way!”

Sorry if I’m being a bit grouchy, but this instantly sent my mind back to what I wrote here, about people speaking for disabled people when we’re perfectly able to speak for ourselves. Such so-called ‘advocates’ may mean well, but isn’t it a bit patronising for a mum to speak for her son, and document their adventures online? Can’t he do so hisself, so we get his own perspective on the issues he faces rather than that of his mother? After all, this blog would be vastly different if my parents were writing it for me (it would probably have a lot more about making marmalade!) On the other hand, it could well be the case that Corey does not want to blog and is fine with his mum documenting their adventures, so I better not read too much into it. Even so, I still think accounts of disability issues from disabled people rather than their ‘caregivers’ are always preferable.