I have no idea what's happening here.
In June 2016, approximately 37% of the UK's authorised citizenry (not including many expats who were disallowed) voted in an advisory referendum, stating their desire to leave the EU.
Of those who voted, the breakdown was 52-48%, a percentage Nigel Farage considered marginal, 'unfinished business' and potential reason for a second referendum. But that 52% went his way, and suddenly this non-legally binding advisory poll became business finished well enough, touted as a must, a landslide win, a mandate for Brexit,and the vote-free, manifesto-free, election-free ascendancy of the most right wing government in Britain that I have ever lived through - and that's saying something considering that I was around for the Thatcher years.
The use of Hitler as a hyperbole-inducing thought-terminating cliche, (Godwin's Law/reductio ad hitlerum) indicating the worst of all possible things, turns his name into an effective short circuit in any debate. Yes, attitudes harden, anger rises and that's the end of that. But despite that risk, I don't think parallels can be ignored. There can be no damnatio memoriae regarding this man, the steps he took, the people who followed him and how it all happened. I think it was in 1918 that Jung first warned of Germany's 'blonde beast,' ready to burst out. Speak to many Brits about that and they would nod, enjoying any sense of the world wars as their victories on a historic tribal level. But they would not see how they could be repeating the same phenomenon tailored to their own idea of a national archetype/ideal.
There are worrying resonances; in Britain the divide between rich and poor has grown in an ethos punitive towards the most vulnerable. This has led to massive resentment, ignored by the establishment, with the result of a popular seething anger at the 'haves,' elites and cliques perceived as corrupt and untouchable, while so many suffer under a system that sneers at their poverty and allows no way out of it. These cliques are considered to be pro-Europe,pro-profit and pro-self. The hardened resentment of those with no hope found an outlet in voting against the dull facts and figures of these Weimar-esque caricatures.
Among the dispossessed and downtrodden, the message of the far right seems empowering, removing the previous blame and shame of poverty. It became the fault of foreigners taking our money and our houses and our benefits, leeching off the system while good honest Brits got left behind... a myth but myths have power, this one as toxic and addictive as tobacco.
Many do not read, do not know, do not want to know. They want, instead, a story about how great they are, how outsiders are the real enemy, infiltrating, eroding our values, destroying our culture.
And yes, they could read a book but which book would they choose?
Earlier this week I received a death threat,not from some anonymous troll but a person with a real identity on FB. He told me that if he was asked to clear these islands of 'traitors' like me, he would do so in a flash. I checked out his profile. It was no surprise to see, among his photos, a copy of Mein Kampf very proudly displayed.
An ugly compliment that such a creature should see me as his enemy.
Brexit may/may not be a catastrophe, but to my mind, it is not the very worst thing that could happen. I suspect the worst thing that could happen would be for us to become effectively a one party state chopping and changing legislation as suits any given government. Now we see the danger of an uncodified constitution.
May wants Brexit to be considered a done deal,beyond debate, which is why she is is trying to claim the Royal Prerogative. She's terrified of parliament voting on whether or not to go through with Brexit at all, of alliances being formed that split her party and minimise her majority. Of course, it's a possibility but it's just as likely that MPs will follow the party line, and be mindful of their pro-leave constituents. What is interesting is not how they vote, but the attempt to stop them voting. Our prime minister is prepared to rip up the constitution to prevent MPs from having their say. If she succeeds...Well...
Someone may find that a useful precedent some day.
Last night, half asleep, I became aware of watching the inside of my eyelids. Shadow and light moved as one might expect, but in the lower half of my vision was a much darker semi-circle, the arc upward towards the centre. When I breathed in, the dark semi circle expanded. When I breathed out, the dark semi circle contracted and I could see lighter grey-white rippling outward from and across the base of the semi-circle like little waves. It was really weird, I am pretty sure I was awake.
I tested it a bit, it faded after a while. Wish I had thought to open one eye,see if there was any difference.
I wonder what it is?
In better news, I am getting over this lurgy. Back to work first thing Monday morning.
Many* call themselves Cunning, and they probably fit the bill of some jack of all tricks country conjurer/herbalist/whatever in the hope of a few bob here and there,harking back to the days when few could read. But this man is different. He is old, a bard, and a fine one at that. His talent is obvious and he is connected to his art, or time or something that rings true and I can't quite define. I think he is very at home in his land, a feeling alien to me, so my art must needs be different. Today I cannot do anything, being so full of cold, but to read his words is a delight. I hope he publishes a book of his poetry...
And will bet a psychotic angel fish to any takers that he'll never do it.
* Men, not badgers
This series of images repeated itself, as if to make sure I wouldn't forget. But I take comfort from the fact that t it was obviously an illness dream, me snuffling away unable to breathe in my sleep. Also, various parts were taken from memories. The bottle looked exactly like the witch-killing bottle from the Horniman, the caving in of the room was very similar to the attack a few years back when the man broke down the door, the difference being that there was no blood in the dream, and instead of just the door everything was being destroyed around me. In a way it is a good sign, because it means that my PTSD flashbacks are becoming assimiliated into memory.
The second part showed no images directly taken from recent memory. I was in a field, using a scooper to clear dogs poo from the earth;there were some places so churned up no separation of earth and faeces was possible.I saw a man in a field next to me, grey haired or holding up a silvery grey plant, and there was a flash of purple to it too. I climbed over a style because it seemed wise not to be in a place where a strange man could reach me so easily. There was a country lane filled with people, pleasant enough, we were all going in the same direction. I suddenly discovered I had a dog. One silver haired lady commanded him and he obeyed so well that other people tried to start telling him what to do. I told them not to,because I didn't want them to take advantage of his good nature.
So I went searching for the bizarre, to see what I could find that might tweak some chord in my head. As it turned out,an argument with a most odd individual led me to a page of beauty and grotesquerie. I find dolls disturbing. This is a development from my childhood, when they just struck me as dull. These are not dull - in fact one at least would certainly be at home in my perfect house where every corner holds a painting or an artefact or a letter that may trigger a story - but I find the juxtaposition of these strangely inhuman over-human eyes, lips and faces at odds with painted porcelain vaginas.
The impression is one of great delicacy and beauty, but there is something about them I find a bit repulsive. I would have no issues with these as sculptures or ornaments. As dolls to be handled and dressed, I don't like them,and can't work out whether or not there is something inappropriate about what started as a child's toy being turned into a plaything for adults, or if I am generally oversensitive and a bit freaked out by dolls on every level.
Here is one of the talismans from the Horniman museum, another doll for adults, a poppet carried in World War I,probably for protection. I cannot imagine a greater contrast. And yet it too, has a slight sinister air to it. It must be just me and dolls.
I received this threat today.
I am not worried about it though it's weird that this person has the same first name as my attacker. But my god, what monsters has the Brexit vote released! It may be that there are no clean hands in this world, but I thank my lucky stars never to have voted in a way as to knowingly empower such bullies, cowards and wannabe murderers. And to those who say they didn't know, I believe but I am surprised...I could see very well what was happening. What did they see?
This charmer was referred back to Section 4 , Public Order Act 1986, and reminded that the last idiot who tried this crap with me got an 18 year sentence.
Oh well, not every day can be a rose. Need to work out some way of cheering myself up...I'll start with a photo from Botswana. Africa always makes things better.
The photo was taken by larians. I call it the Louboutin Bird, and it reminds me that I was told a cool story last week.
My cleaner's father was a Muslim in Sierra Leone, and he had four wives; the result was that my cleaner, whom I will call 'G', had 11 sisters and 12 brothers. After her first period her father decided to marry her off to her cousin. G decided she wasn't up for her father's decision, that she wasn't ready to marry at all, and so her father put her under guard of her brothers up to the day of her wedding. She couldn't go anywhere without her brothers watching her! She had an aunt in neighbouring Guinea who said that her door was open day and night, should young G wish to come to her. And she had a little bit of help from her sisters, aunts,mother and grandmother too. These accompanied her to the toilet house one day (not the job of guardian brothers) and waited for her outside while she went in to find herself greeted with,of all things, a ladder. She climbed out of the toilet, and ran across to the getaway taxi previously arranged by her lady relatives, who were all standing outside the toilet chatting casually. Away she flew, across the border to Guinea!
Her father was furious for years, nor did his mood improve when he learned his daughter had embraced Christianity. Still, with all her other sisters in frankly miserable marriages, while the lady herself is able to help many family members back home with her London earnings, he has come to respect her decisions.' He accepted he had made a bad mistake,' concluded G.
G wants to return, to go to Zambia and open a restaurant, as she is a chef by trade. 'Everyone here works so hard, and no-one is happy. There is so much stress! It is OK not to have things, but it is not OK to be sad all the time,' She said. She reckons it will take her five years to save up enough.
'There are wonderful things here,' she said, 'I have learned so much, about being kind to animals and respecting different kinds of people. But still...There is so much money to be earned here, but what is the point if people are too tired to enjoy it? Maybe they need more sunshine.'
That might be the answer. If she ever does open that restaurant in Zambia, I may visit. One day I will sit by that river again, sipping something cool and watching the sunset. Now there's a cheering thought...
I mean, am I a political genius? Is that it? Because I swear to God, I must be, if a vote that swipes away rights from entire nations and ushers in a new government with added fascist leanings is not an automatic mandate for an independence referendum, How can anyone be surprised?
The surprise is that it isn't a trigger for a General Election.