Saturday, 4 November 2017

Let's Talk About Sexual Assault.

Suddenly the whole world has been sexually assaulted. Demons from the past are returning to the present to reign down retribution upon men in their late middle ages whom behaved inappropriately back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. Touched a knee unsolicited? Guilty! Spoken a word of a risqué nature? Guilty! Career suicide mate. Should have thought about the consequences when you were, err, too young and stupid to think about the consequences. Now before the moronic far left screams out in outrage, be clear that I am in no way underplaying how harassment and unwanted sexual attention can cause recipients real distress. These feelings are real. They are valid. We should listen to every report made. But, we do need to have something close to a sensible attitude. For my part, when I worked as a barman in a pub I had one instance of a former school secretary reaching up under a kilt I was wearing and going in for a grope. She settled for a squeeze of my arse as things turned out, and I laughed it off. It was New Year’s Eve and fancy dress and she was a bit pissed. No biggie. Technically a sexual assault, but even then as a young male in my 20’s I could discern the difference between a drunken moment of ill judgement and a genuine predatory intent. And this is what I’m getting at. There is, whether we want to admit it or not, a sliding scale when it comes to sexual offences, and I am certain that the vast majority of females have experience that would testify to this. And God knows we need to cultivate a climate in which men respect and honour women, respecting personal space and looking beyond the sexual. I’m for this. I consider it critical to societal development. I just want us to be careful that we do not allow histrionics to blur the lines between genuine predatory behaviour and lapses of judgement from otherwise decent people. Can’t we at least acknowledge this might be a discussion worth having? I think men do need to change, and I think we’ve had a lot to answer for down the aeons. We’ve cultivated and some might say nourished an imbalance in which women have been repressed terribly. This is self-harm to be sure; to actively hamstring an entire gender achieves nothing. I want empowered women, confident women. Women who don’t have to think about glass ceilings or concern themselves with the behaviour of idiots. My concern with this particular trend is that it is at the mercy of the current news cycle, which will ramp it up to ten and seek to convince us all that every man is a sexual deviant, that none of us can effectively triage our impulses. Most of us aren’t, you know. We’re really not. We’re too caught up thinking about inane nonsense and probably spend less time thinking about sex than you might imagine. You know something, even as I write this I know, just bloody know that some people will perceive me as insensitive, unaware of the deep suffering my gender had wrought upon the women of the world. And to a degree they might be right. I cannot walk your road, and I can glimpse your experiences only through a glass darkly. Forgive me, but I can do nothing to rectify this. What I can do, and what I try to do in most situations is to tread the sensible middle ground. I acknowledge the problem but I won’t escalate it to the levels of hysteria we currently seem to want to. It’s bad, but it isn’t apocalyptic. Change is needed, but it won’t be an overnight thing. Culture and the zeitgeist are often a beast slow to revise old habits. I want a respectful dialogue about this, a balanced and reasoned discourse. Let’s just not be bewildered by the headlines, for that way madness lies.

Sunday, 17 September 2017

We call them shoulders. We can shrug them.

Not everybody loves you. Not everybody thinks you are the dogs bollocks. Universal popularity is an unattainable goal. You probably need to make peace with that. I venture this because I am sick and tired of this creeping culture of offence we find ourselves drifting into. You can't say this, mustn't utter that. Someone's feelings will be hurt, some minority group will feel marginalised and perturbed. I'm actually of the opinion now that there really is such a thing as the professional victim, lurking in the shadows ready to leap out and throw up collective hands because somebody said something mean. Dear professional victim, I am cordially inviting you to fuck right off. To crawl back down the toilet from which you and your brittle ego emerged from. We live in a world where 8 billion brains are firing off at any given time, and they ain't all gonna' be singing from the same hymn sheet. This is reality, and it's untidy and filthy and oftentimes not to our taste. But it is what it is. And it's mostly OK. We have laws for the most egregious transgressions, and they largely work. But kiddo', just because uncle Rex remarks that he prefers traditional marriage, or Arsenal, or Chinese food over Indian doesn't mean you have to ejaculate your toys from the pram. You see, we have these things called shoulders. We can shrug them. We can listen to what a person says, and think to ourselves, "Well that's a pile of horseshit" and then get on with pruning the roses, or whatever it is you happened to be doing. The vast majority of the time people's opinions are just that; opinions. They carry no particular weight and in the greater scheme probably won't alter the course of world history. So how's about we just thicken our skin a little? A negative comment on Facebook or Twitter is not a weapon of mass destruction. Uncle Rex isn't Satan incognito. He's probably just a washed out old knob who probably had one sherbet too many before leaving the pub. Long story short, just calm down, precious. Just wind it in. Accept that your ego is rather unimportant in the greater scheme. Not everybody likes you. Not everybody needs to.Learning that is going to make your dealings with the universe a whole lot easier.

Thursday, 24 August 2017

Two Things

The next week or so is going to contain a couple of significant landmarks. On the 27th August it will be 10 years since I lost my father, Bligh Barnes. Out of curiosity I did a google search on him and could find only one link, his name mentioned amongst a raft of others, all of them the inhabitants of Furze lane burial grounds in Winslow. The second landmark will be on the 3rd September, which will mark my 10 year anniversary of joining Thames Valley Police. Looking back, these two disparate events converged in a really odd way. I recall spending my lunch break during the very first week of basic training writing the eulogy for his funeral, trying to sum up the life of a whole person between learning about definitions for robbery, criminal damage, rape and the like. All a bit surreal, but then since when does life owe us normal? Either way, I survived both the training and then the delivery of the actual eulogy itself, the latter undertaken at the packed St Lawrence Church in Winslow. I recall one line above the other’s that came near the end of the speech, when I essentially encouraged everybody in the Church to live as if it means something. Yet have I? Have I even come close? I know I’ve tried, and I know also that I stand by the plea. I wonder: how many of us are guilty of doing the opposite? And do we even apprehend what it means to live fully? I suppose when I try to break that down it just mean trying to be authentic, to be real. Not to try being something I’m not. That just causes more hassle than its worth. Besides, we’re all on the conveyor belt otherwise known as mortality, and let’s face it we all know the destination. Which leaves the following choice; namely how to spend that time beforehand? Well for me I want to be the version of myself that is the most real, the most genuine, the most bullshit free. I’m not interested in conforming, or even not conforming. I just want to enjoy the journey and not be bound by some unwritten code of conduct. In actual fact, I find my mind lurching back to another of my old mantras, and I can even remember when I first verbalised it. I was in the office of my former Managing Director (And best boss I have ever and will ever work for). He asked me what I wanted from life, or something along those lines. I probably reflected for about a second before replying, “I just want to live my life without doing so at the expense of other people”. And to this day nothing has changed. Not overly detailed as master plans go, but in the absence of other options. . .

Thursday, 27 July 2017

Avoiding The Echo Chamber

Throughout the latter part of my life, I have found that I have learned an awful lot from people with whom I might disagree. By way of example, when I was an evangelical Christian I made a special effort to engage with atheists, with their most prominent voices, with a view to not only just fine tuning my own arguments, but in order to better understand theirs. You see, I was living in an echo chamber, surrounding myself with voices that agreed with me. This is no way to live. No fast track to growth. The outcome was that I rejected Christianity and set upon a path which resulted in me becoming a passionate critic of all religious ideas. Please note that i specifically use the word “ideas” rather than “people”. And this matters. Yet over the past decade I’ve noticed this really odd thing happening, a kind of entrenchment and protectionism from ideas that might hurt the feelings of others. This to me seems deranged. It seems a near perfect way to insulate one’s self from anything that might disrupt what a person already thinks. How does that equal growth? Another thing I’ve seen is a concerted effort on the part of some on the regressive left to actively seek to silence voices of dissent. Preventing certain persons from speaking at universities and college campuses. Aren’t these places meant to be seats of learning? Isn’t a university the perfect environment in which we can refine our views and test them against alternatives? Why would any fair minded person not want this, or actively seek to curtail certain voices of dissent? This phenomenon is particularly bad in the United States, but we see it here, too. And it worries me. The notion that we want to protect ourselves from having to think another way, to revise our knowledge, to change. God forbid. How does this happen?
Irrespective, we should pull the plug on this nonsense. Just a few short centuries back the great enlightenment thinkers, whom risked their very lives to open up new avenues of discourse, paved the way for great social change, and began what was a great movement in which new thinkers could safely revolutionise whole nations. And our freedoms are built upon their immense sacrifice. It worries me that we seem to be going in a different direction, and I doubt anything good can come from the balkanisation of our thoughts. Dear friends, colleagues, and strangers. Get out there and engage with those whom think a different way. Challenge what you think you know. See how it holds up to hostile voices. And if the evidence requires you to change then change you must. To do otherwise is a bit feeble minded, a bit cowardly. Growth can be painful, and disquieting, and traumatic. But stagnation to me seems worse. Nothing good comes from inertia.

Saturday, 10 June 2017

An Open Letter To My Daughter

I woke up at 0530 this morning. I went downstairs and looked out of the window. It had been raining but the sky was blue, the same kind of blue that I recall from this same time and day 16 years ago. I was stood somewhere different then. Outside the maternity wing of my local hospital. I was ashen faced, perhaps a little bewildered. And more than that, I was a freshly minted Dad. As I stood staring upwards into an azure blue sky, I knew with ever fibre of my being that henceforth, no matter what I achieved in life nothing would best this achievement. I mean, with a little help from my wife we'd made a new person. A little person. Actually an odd Phil Collins/Winston Churchill/Gollum lookalike. Those first moments after the birth are moving in a way I find hard to describe. Holly was placed on Joy's tummy, and you get to see millions of years of evolution played out real time as she rooted her way towards the breast. It's an incredible moment, an instance where new life and deep time seem to merge.
And now here I am 16 years later. Holly is finishing her GCSE's, and is an accomplished and creative and acutely self aware young lady. It's no small irony that later today we are going to see Wonder Woman at the cinema. She will always be a wonder to me, as will Lowenna, my gorgeously creative 12 year old. I could talk in cliche from this point on, wax lyrical about how I have made life, but isn't it the case that once you become a parent your kids actually begin to make you? They provide us with a daily choice as to the kind of people we want to be. Am I going to be a role model or a pressure point? A place of safety or something to fear? Well I'm on the liberal side of parenthood, and tend to give my girls room to breath and to discover who they are. I never want to crush them with expectation or scaremonger them. Whilst the world can be scary place it also remains a place of deep wonder. What a canvas they have in which to decide the kind of people they want to be. I encourage them to be brave, to be bold, to expect respect and good treatment from others. Working as I do in law and order I see destructive and corrosive relationships on a daily basis, and I try very hard to instil in both Holly and Lowenna a sense of self worth. And I hope I've taught them the value of laughter and of seeing the humour in life. Of course I cannot mention parenthood without doffing my cap to the other lady in my life, to one whom I affectionately refer to as "The Lady Of The House". She is an astonishing mother, passionate about giving our girls roots and wings, as the saying goes. She is the engine room, the one around which we orbit, and no words I venture could give sufficient credit. But as always I digress. Today is about Holly. 16 year old Holly. To her I say only this; you have been a wonder to me. I have seen you grow and change and fight all the battles that young adolescents have to. And your are winning. You are finding yourself. You have a quiet intellect that hints at a deep mind. You think about the world and your place in it. Be brave, young lady. Not quite fearless, because sometimes a little fear is productive. But never allow yourself to become discouraged by life's injustices and often unkindness. Forge a higher path; go high when others go low; look outward when the world looks in. Be inspired and inspire others. And know in your heart that you are loved and treasured and valued by your silly old Dad.

Friday, 2 June 2017

My Kind Of Britain

Over the last few weeks I have listened. I have pondered. I have struggled. Like many, I've tried to look beyond the rhetoric and the spin and the grandiose claims. There's statistics everywhere, claims and justifications and probably outright lies in some cases. So I'm doing a simple thing; I'm stripping it all back to the marrow and I will be voting based on the only principle I can get my head around. And that is simply to ask myself what kind of Britain do I want to inhabit?
A kind Britain. An outward looking Britain. A Britain that is not afraid to engage with itself and with others. More than than that, I want a country that has a heart, a soul, and a compassion for those needing it most. So this means I cannot vote for Theresa May. I just can't. I cannot support a party that seems unable to get that kindness must sit at the heart of the decision making process. One that sits aloof as so many feel the weight of oppression on their backs. Nor can I vote for Tim Fallon, whom seems to lack a certain something, be it core strength, or perhaps just the kind of personality that sweeps people forward. I just do not see leadership when I look at him, despite sensing that his basic values are good. All of which leaves Jeremy, whom I think is probably incorrect on a great many things. Foreign policy appears to ignore basic facts, and his accountancy skills strike me as more than a little awry. Yet what I do see is kindness, an essential respect for human decency, and a desire to improve the lives of, dare I say it, the many not the few. I think he is going to get a lot of things wrong, and in some cases make some decisions that I would not wish to endorse. But I see humanity. Flawed humanity. And at the end of the day that is a quality I can subscribe to. I have been terribly harsh on him, and I still have plenty left in the tank on this front. But he is a fighter, he is persistent, and he does appear to have the demeanour of a servant rather than a master. And in a world of Trump and Putin and so many other power crazed leaders I think we need this. So I am, and this will come as a surprise to many, going the vote Labour. And probably not for reasons that are intellectual or that are based on hard numbers. This world needs kindness and compassion and a bigger heart. These are human values. And we are human beings. And for once I am keeping it simple. Perhaps I am naive. Or ill informed. Or idealistic in foolish ways. I'm just tired of the cruelty, and of the chest beating, and of the fear. Make of this what you will. . .

Wednesday, 10 May 2017

The Ground On Which I Stand

My father was blue collar through and through. He was born into a very poor family that lived in the Oving / North Marston area of Buckinghamshire. His toes were badly deformed due to having to wear hand me down shoes. Nothing came easy for him or his brothers, one of whom served time at her Majesty’s pleasure, whilst the other succumbed to the bottle and found his life brought to an abrupt halt further to wandering drunk into the path of an oncoming train. My father was good with numbers, and had wanted to be an accountant. Yet his father would not let him, instead forcing him to continue to work as a painter and decorator, a career from which he never managed to escape. He had his faults, but he had an admirable work ethic. He worked long, hard, and over the course of many years lifted his family out of what could easily have become poverty. I say all the above because I want you to understand the ground on which I stand. Put simply, I’m from a world where nothing is taken for granted. I have no sense of entitlement. The universe owes me neither happiness or wealth or long life. If I want anything to happen I take the view that I have to make it so. If I fail I own the failure. If I succeed, likewise. I’m Buckinghamshire born and bred; the classic country boy in any meaningful sense. Thanks to my hard working Father I had a stable and well fed childhood; we never missed a meal and never went to school in rags. I owe him much. Now taking all the above into account you might think my political views err towards the traditional working class. I’ve got Labour stamped all over me. Yet truth be told I’m more blue than red, although I would not say I align with any fixed political ideal. I know only that I have to take responsibility for my life; I recognise that having had children it is my responsibility to raise them and care for them and instill into them a sense of self worth. I don’t want benefits, a hand out, and I do not assume the powers that be owe me a thing. For good or ill I shall take care of all that. Or at least as much as it is within my power. Next month the nation once again goes to the polls as we elect a new government. None of the major parties speak for me. I find myself happily alienated from the whole carnival. For the first time ever I’m seriously considering not voting. I have no desire to support Labour, with their inability to balance budgets and culture of entitlement. And the Conservatives just seem plain mean, subsidizing the wealthy on the back of the working class. There’s just no sensible centrist voice that I can subscribe to. Everybody wants to shout the other down. So I think I might just sit this one out, and just do my best to stand or fall by my own hands. I’m just a working class lad who wants to pay his taxes, raise his kids, love his wife and do a little bit to make my own sphere of influence positive. That’s it. That’s the master plan. So I’m going to sit back and watch social media, suddenly awash with political commentary, reduce to all heat and light. Abuse, ridicule, sound bites. I want none of it. I’m simply not playing this game. I’m bored with it.