When Lockdown Turns Stupid

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Three days ago, a minor hiccup occurred in my life; my computer keyboard stopped functioning. Naturally, this meant no more computer until a new one was obtained (Note: I’d lined up the previous three posts to fire on a time-delay). Unfortunately, a quick dust-off of my spare revealed that it was the older PS/2 connector, which didn’t fit my current rig. Nor did I have an adaptor. Well, I say ‘minor hiccup’, for that’s what it would normally be; but lockdown made solving this purpose much more difficult.

I could not order one online; the fact I required a working keyboard to order said item making it a Catch-22 situation. My local big-box electronics emporium was, naturally closed. So was the smaller independent repair store in the town centre which I believe sold a few spares too. Trusty old Argos was closed. Getting another to order it for me would take a considerable amount of time, then I’d have to work out how to get it from theirs to mine. I did try this; contacting a relative who lived within biking distance. They refused to do it; saying it was ‘unnecessary’. That is, because they think it’s unnecessary for them, it is for everyone else. Ultimately, I had to visit five different supermarkets to find one which stocked this tacky number I’m using now.

If the state’s intention of closing the electronics shops was to stop people going out, well it backfired here. I travelled for around three hours in total, coming in contact with I’d suspect some seventy more people all to simply buy one fucking basic item which normally I could have achieved in less time, less distance and less human contact.

I’m hearing reports of this here, there everywhere; the ways that lockdown is being applied is proving to be stupid, overkill, crazy or utterly callous. In fact, today was a prime example of this. For I had to bury a relatives’ cat in their garden.

This story is simple; a few days ago, said cat looked rather sick. Owner called their usual vet practice; only got a pre-recorded message saying they were closed. Second choice said they’d only open up if it was ‘an emergency’ – ie an accident. Third said the would be willing to see the cat; if they paid five times the going rate for the consult. By the time they’d managed to scrape up the funds; kitty was with the scratching-post in the sky.

To add insult to injury; the local pet crematorium wasn’t open to people to drive up there for the deed as normal; but they did offer a pick-up service. If the animal in question was at a vets, that is. Which it wasn’t, as I’ve explained. So cue me making another ‘unnecessary journey’ so I could wield a shovel. Well done, lockdown!

I have another example, from another relative. They’re in a vulnerable group, have the letter to prove it. However, their beloved landlord – the local council – has decided that they must have an gas check. As in the usual yearly check. Let’s go through the situation, here. Said person – who is statistically more likely to be felled by coronavirus than the rest of us, partly the reason we’re going through all this lockdown crap for – is expected to open their front door to a complete stranger, to lead them throughout their home for around an hour, with them breathing the same air and touching everything. Oh, and they have no PPE whatsoever. Either relative or worker. Council do not give a shit; did not even consider the possibility of delaying said check. Just gave them menaces about ‘breach of contract’ if they refused to let them in. To which I say this; well, that makes lockdown fucking worth, doesn’t it?

There’s reports of this crap all over the country. Why, in the prime-time of ‘planting season’ are the garden centres closed? Surely, ‘social distancing’ can be done in such a place? Being at a time where lots of us are stuck at home, why can’t the DIY stores be open so we can beat cabin fever, clear the backlog of jobs (which we all have) and generate some economic activity? Flytipping is starting to become problematic; for the dumps are all closed too. What if the likes of my cooker dies? Am I supposed to subsist on sandwiches and cup-a-soups until the likes of Currys reopens?

Yes, I hear you say – all of these can be done online now. Lockdown is proving which many working-class folk already knew; problems can be made to go away if enough cash is thrown at it – I can get my turf, timber, a hippo bag and a new fridge-freezer delivered to my door in short notice if I’ve got a high enough limit on my credit card to make the thing happen. Which many folk do not have (including me, for that matter). Once again, I smell the reek of classism, and I’m calling it out.

Why should you care about this? The answer is simple; the more pain and inconvenience a person suffers (such as the individual situation some Britons are in), the shorter the time they’ll support and follow a lockdown. For, due to the ramshackle state of the police, general lack of either public control mechanisms and strong anti-authoritarian streak in British society lockdown is basically an honour system. Lose that, and we’re screwed.

As I finish this post; the lamp-bulb in the room I’m currently in has started to flicker rapidly; either it’s trying to see if I have epilepsy or it’s about to die. This is another problem; for it’s a weird size cap and – if I remember right – the only stockist in town was a big-box DIY store. Which is closed due to lockdown. And I don’t have a spare. Oh for fuck’s sake, here I go again…

As everything on this blog, merely my own thoughts and opinions. Part of my Covid Pandemic series.

Socialism vs Identity Politics

Is I’ve said before, I’m an fairly old-school socialist; and in the last decade I’ve found myself increasingly at odds with the faction within “the left” which espouse what I call “progressive identity politics”. For a long time I found myself disagreeing with their positions at a gut level, however unable to articulate the reasons why – to my (slight) shame, I used a couple of talking-points which turned out to be ones strong in alt-right sewer-circles. However, despite being shouted down, I refused to give in and studied further; and now I feel that I can provide a proper socialist critique of said identity politics – which I shall do in a moment.

Not that this was easy, mind; most “left” groups have been completely taken over by the progressives; when I raised questions online about it in forums I’ve been purged. Unfortunately, I’m not really that up to date with my Marxist theory either; and the few sites I found which appeared to echo my gut misgivings were so dry, dense and long few would actually bother reading it, and many who did wouldn’t really “get” the crux of the argument. However, after much reading and thought, think I’ve finally hit the nail on the head. In no particular order…

#1: Socialism stresses collective, communal effort. It’s the bedrock of the movement; the idea that only by working together can we achieve our goals; the end of oppression, exploitation and discrimination. A prime example of this can be one of the maxims of the old IWW – “An injury to one is an injury to all”. That you say join the union and keep ranks when it’s defending someone else, for one day it might be defending you and so on.

This means that socialism is, fundamentally a universalist creed; that while often it gets hung up on archaic Marxist terminology (such as definition of “working class”) it in reality should only ask one question; “who is the exploited, and who is the exploiter?”.This puts socialism in direct conflict with identity politics; the system where society is cut up into slithers and the differences are emphasised.

In Marxist terms, this is “false consciousness”; the championing of different identities over the general one makes “common cause” harder to find and said groups easier to be neutralised by “divide and rule” tactics.

#2: Identity politics often leads to “Golden Hammer Syndrome”; a situation where a campaigner starts to see everything through the prism of whatever minority they’re championing. A recent example of this mentality can be seen in the whole thing with Meghan Markle. To this crowd, all criticism levelled towards her is racism “because she’s black” and therefore, an oppressed minority.

Well, first off, she’s not black, she’s mixed-race (when did the old “one-drop rule” return?). Secondly, race is not the be-all and end-all of discrimination; that it’s perfectly possible to be an ethnic minority, female, LGBT or whatever and still have a “general privilege rating” as a positive number – after all, the woman is wealthy, well-connected and now married into one of the most powerful families in the world. And lastly, just because you’re “a minority” it doesn’t make you immune from being an idiot.

#3: Many “progressive campaigns” are basically bourgeois in nature. That as a whole, they’re overly fixated in cosmetic improvements (such as changing words) rather than any fundamental change in society as a whole. And this suits our “liberal elite” down to the ground; after all, gender-neutral pronouns neither threaten their wealth or power. In fact, supporting such actions can act as a most effective blind to their other objectionable activities.

Said campaigns are also personally bourgeois in nature due to the socio-economic position of many of the campaigners. As a rule, they’re pretty privileged folk themselves – usually with decent income, social status and educational levels. Another example of this can be the #MeToo movement; where were all the working-class women, talking about their experiences? I’ve been around enough to know that there’s loads of cleaners, cashiers, waitresses and the like who have had to put up with tons of sexist crap – yet they’re almost silent. Invisible. Speaking of which…

#4: Biased minorities. That is, some minorities get the “allies” and all that, and others don’t. From my own anecdotal evidence, I’ve developed a rule of thumb; the more bourgeois members a minority contains, the stronger the movement for it will be. This would explain for example the almost complete invisibility of a disadvantaged group close to my heart – Care Leavers. Where are our “allies”, eh? Do you know that we even exist?

Admittedly, this is partly our problem; I’ve not “come out” as one in the flesh, so nobody has ever questioned me about it. But this is compounded by the fact that we, as a group have really crap “life chances” and therefore are highly unlikely to get within shouting distance of any really woke, diversity-loving, allyship progressive type. And to be honest, this fucking sticks in my throat a bit. Though not as much as…

#5: Working-class erasure. Ethnic minorities are fine and good (many of which are working class themselves), but the white working class? Nope. You’re part of the “privileged”; the fact you got poor schooling, have crappy job prospects and chances are have shoddy health outcomes and housing is irrelevant – you’re haunting the room with your paleness, so you better fucking get down on your knees and apologise for the historical wrongs your race did. And again. And again…

It’s this viewpoint which made the alt-right the force it is today. By repeatedly stressing to the white working class (esp the native-borns) about all this “privilege” they have (which they never really see) has made them bitter and resentful. For some, this had led to them to cling to their whiteness, maleness and xenophobic patriotism in a similar manner to down-at-heel genteel characters in old novels who stuck to their waistcoats, old-school ties and bourgeois manners to retain their “dignity” as “gentlemen”, even if they are in “reduced circumstances”.

#6: Being the trailblazers for sub-dividing society. It was the fault of the ‘New Left’ in the ’60s and ’70s; when ‘socialism’ (of all types) became increasingly out of fashion and the leftist intellectuals looked for a new raison d’être – and found it in things such as gay rights, feminism, anti-racism and so on.

This would have disgusted old-school socialists; Nye Bevan, while a proud Welshman refused to accept that there was particular ‘Welsh’ issues which weren’t seen in other parts of the UK, for example. He – I think – would have seen the threat; not that the above causes weren’t laudable in aims, but the fact it gave intellectual tools and respectability for sub-dividing society – something which was then exploited by the alties.

That it’s their monochrome view of “privilege”, delivered in a dogmatic, hectoring manner which is driving away “amiable neutrals” into apathy, intellectual withdrawal or down the alt-right U-bend. And it’s they who are killing off the “left” (though I don’t overly see them as actually left-wing).

And the most depressing thing is, I don’t think they even realise it. They’re too far up their own backsides, perhaps admiring the bright light of their own “wokeness”. While Rome burns. Question is: how much more has to burn until they admit that listening to the complaints might be an idea?

As everything on this blog, merely my own thoughts and opinions. Part of my ‘Essays‘ series.

For a much more in-depth, scholarly and duller article on this, try this article from Marxist.com

One MP’s Shoulder…

A couple of days ago, the Labour frontbencher Tracy Brabin caused a bit of a storm in the House of Commons. Unveiling a radical policy, like stopping people starving to death due to Universal Credit? Saying a “controversial” comment, like pointing out the mass lying of our Prime Minister? Revealing the blatant callousness in the Government’s immigration policy? Nope. It was the resulting backlash due to her attire; wearing what appears to be a an off-the-shoulder evening affair in the chamber.

Double Standards?

As ever, I found the reactions to this much more interesting than the event itself. First, the various dicks and cunts online who threw at Ms Brabin a load of insults; if you judged the dress on their reactions alone, you’d think she turned up wearing a skimpy number suited for doing hostess work at a private *cough* “gentleman’s club”. I’ve looked at the offending item, and while I think it was inappropriate for the locale, hardly warranted said “storm”. However, the one person who gave me the impetus of writing this post was the spokesperson from the “Women’s Equality Party” who I heard on LBC regarding it.

To this spokesperson, all the insults were completely and utterly sexist. Yeah, I agree on that one – well, enough to make any disagreements here a task of hair-splitting. Then she went off the rails; making the assertion that no male would ever have that levelled at them and ending with the point that “no woman should be judged on her ability at work by her attire”. The LBC presenter prodded this point further, asking whether this applied to all circumstances; that if (say) Ms Brabin had attended the Commons clad like a contestant on Love Island that nobody should bat an eyelid, let alone comment. The resulting answer from the spokeswoman was a clear Yes.

Firstly, “no male would have this levelled at them” for as a rule male “office dress codes” are still pretty restrictive. In my opinion, the proclaimed “death of the suit” is still way away; on my London commuter trains, I’d guestimate half are suited-and-booted in a manner which would have been acceptable in the ’90s. Perhaps another quarter are in “quasi-suits”; normally a jacket-chinos affair, though the occasional breakout of the polo-necks can be spotted. One thing is clear, though; the tie is rapidly dying out in my completely anecdotal, unrepresentative example.

Necessity Or Choice?

However, women can be forgiven in thinking that men choose to dress like this. Male wardrobes are pretty restrictive, period; once you hit your thirties and (hopefully) put away your teenage-student wearables, there’s not actually that many directions you can go. You’ve got the bog-standard “Jeremy Clarkson” (jeans, collared shirt) which if you’re a bit of a peacock can slide into the “Alfie Moon” variant of shirtage. Then there’s the “Steve Jobs” (dress trousers and roll-necks) which is a godsend for males who don’t like “the Clarkson” but don’t want to be suited. And there’s always the suit; from the old-school “Rees-Mogg” look to the rather eccentric weirdness of the “Jarvis Cocker”. You could go in for the form-fitting athletic wear I suppose, but that’s a look only a few males over thirty could pull off – and everybody would think you were a bike courier or something.

That’s it. You can tinker around with the edges – cuts, colours, the adding or subtraction of neckwear, swapping Oxfords for ankle-boots or trainers, perhaps ditching the standard twill overcoat for a true trench or greatcoat – but for the vast majority of males, the palette is limited indeed (and thus much less likely to fuck up). Don’t believe me, my female readers? Next time you’re in an old-school department store, take a look in the Men’s department and check out the selection. Or lack of it.

We also have to remember that the Houses of Parliament is one of the “stuffier” ends of the employment spectrum; along with legal firms, accountants and banking. After all, it was only in ’17 in which it was decreed that tie-wearing was not mandatory for male MPs. Such organisations also set their tone from their current membership; and the vast majority of Members are over fifty.

The Logical Conclusion…

The most interesting part, however is “no woman should be judged on her ability at work by her attire”; mainly for the natural conclusion this statement leads to – that dress codes should be abolished. That very morning, millions of people put on the mandatory clothing. My nephew, for example was forced to wear a suit, tie and dress shoes every day he went to sixth form. Did that bit of textile around his neck improve his “work” ability? How about a teacher I used to know who was disciplined for they wore trainers instead of “proper shoes”? Clearly, the children wouldn’t listen to her lessons from the wrong footwear! Or the hordes of children who shove on the school uniform, for that matter? I could continue almost indefinitely; hell, I could be dressed in attire fit for a Royal Garden Party or in a skimpy top and thong as I type this and it wouldn’t make one jot of difference in my writing / bitching ability.

Yes, people shouldn’t be judged on their ability to work by their attire. But they are. It’s why folk “dress up” for job interviews, why some big companies give “wardrobe advice” to new employees (esp young ones coming straight out of university) and why advertising companies shove actors into white coats to flog us toothpaste. We would not do these things if it didn’t work.

However, I say all this with one caveat; codes which are either implicitly racist, sexist or damaging to health should be flouted and attacked as much as possible – prime examples including “hair codes” which can’t handle “black hair” and the request women wear make-up and/or high-heels. Otherwise, I advocate the Fabian strategy; to find the limit of said dress code, plonk yourself on the edge of it and slowly push the window of “acceptable attire” wider. After all, it’s the way it’s been done for over a century – did you know what we currently call “the suit” was considered casual wear in the Edwardian Era?

As everything on this blog, merely my own thoughts and opinions.

The Loyal Opposition

So, my forum ban expired, and I was back. First thing I did was to carefully consult the rules, then I composed a post which politely questioned several things in general terms regarding the system of banning, appeals and so on. Nothing about the details of my banning; for that was against the rules. My intention was to point out that basically, their current system was not working as intended.

I had grounds for this. I had, at least three previous times followed the “correct” methods laid out in the sacred rules and gotten nowhere. And when I say “nowhere”, I mean literally nowhere – it was the electronic variant of writing a letter of complaint and then shoving it in a shredder. I had in fact warned that I would voice my worries publicly if I didn’t get any joy using the correct method, and I did my best to compose a polite, constructive post which in fact obeyed all known rules. Once again, this was a test, and the response was… well, I’ll grant them a D-Minus.

The thread was immediately closed. Then they issued a “rebuttal” which can be boiled down into three general points. (They avoided an F by not deleting post and banning me again).

First, the Mods are Always Right. Any appeals must be purely technical in nature; anything is “continuing the argument” and therefore ignored. And you’re not told you’re being ignored either. There is no possibility of “mod abuse” for they watch each other even though said position is done by a method of co-option and therefore it’s perfectly possible a faction can perpetuate their blinkered views by simply recruiting more of the same to the “board”.

Secondly, It’s Our Way or the Highway. I didn’t even get the vaguely demeaning “I’m sorry you feel that way”. Said mods have apparently got a serious hard-on for “making this community to be welcoming to the kind of people the internet is not usually welcoming to”. This includes, apparently making it uncomfortable for everyone else. As I’ve argued before here, this is blatant mission creep; make it a “friendly place”, yes – but not some hermetically sealed bell-jar. It’s a rather general forum, not a damned support group.

What they’ve not considered for one iota I may be one or more minorities myself. Simply that I’ve never brought these things up for I’d prefer to let my words to the talking, not by say plastering my avatar with a rainbow, or putting a comment in my signature that “I am neuro-diverse, so please be patient”. Which I could have done, to score cheap (but truthful) points – but didn’t, for I really don’t like the divisive nature of progressive Identity Politics and I do try not to be a hypocrite any more than I already am.

Lastly, There Is No Problem. This part is the worst of all; for if you think everything is perfect this means you can ignore all complaints or criticisms. Which they did in my case.

Now, you might be wondering why the hell I’ve bothered continuing this; it’s becoming rapidly obvious to all that the progressive extremists have control here, and I (and my views) are about as welcome as a dead rat in a meat pie. The reason is simple; I’m the loyal opposition. Here’s a dictionary definition of it…

“Noun. A minority party especially in a legislative body whose opposition to the party in power is constructive, responsible, and bounded by loyalty to fundamental interests and principles.”

(Webster’s)

That’s the thing. As a Marxist socialist, I’m an “independent ally” of many of the Progressive’s ultimate goals – similar to my position regarding the Green movement. But this doesn’t mean “we” agree with all “your” tactics. In fact, some of them we might disagree bitterly with. This does not mean we are your enemy. In fact, the three of us often have the same damn enemy and it would be nuts not to work together fighting them.

What’s happened is that said Progressives have done with any other remotely “leftish” organisations the similar that the beloved Moderators have done with the forum; capture control, then increasingly close the “Overton Window” and either drive away, kick out or intimidate into silence anybody who doesn’t fit. Or in my case, suddenly start hitting the bricks where only a year before there was a window.

That’s why I continued to plug away; hoping – with it increasingly draining away – that perhaps, just perhaps I could get them to see what the hell they were doing. I know of others who have been doing the very same – in LGBT groups, in trade unions and the Labour Party – but with precious little success. For the Progressive extremists are in control, and they’re utterly blind, deaf and dumb to any complaints; even from their loyal opposition.

And if we don’t do anything, they’ll run everything into the ground, and the 20s will truly be the age of the “Neoreactionaries” – where long-slain monsters rise from their apparent graves and lay waste to what’s left of liberal, civil society.

As everything on this blog, merely my own thoughts and opinions.

Safe Spaces and Friendly Places

Safe spaces have gotten a lot of flak over the last decade; it’s become part of the snarl lexicon, along with ‘allyship’, ‘woke’, ‘trigger warnings’ and the like. With fair reason; the concept has been utterly deformed from it’s original intention to the point where at times it’s become laughable. Or worse, useless.

The original intention of safe spaces was to create situations where participants could talk freely, without fear of retribution, being shouted down, mocked or being judged by ‘outsiders’. Early examples can include places where workers can talk to consultants about their jobs without fear of being sacked, support meetings for marginalised groups or those with mental health issues and sex education at schools. Thus, a ‘safe space’.

I can fully empathise with this. After all, I grew up in care, and talking about the experiences of it is difficult. Not emotionally difficult – as a rule – but would be so damn tedious having to ‘explain it all’ and field the various questions which are often ignorant, insulting or just plain nuts. Then there’s the risk that you’ll think less of me for this. Or feel pity. Or give me a load of crap I just don’t wish to deal with. One thing is for sure; I wouldn’t be telling you this if I was sitting in front of you.

That’s the thing about original safe spaces. A monthly meeting of people in care would be such a space, as we could bitch about stuff which only makes sense to us, or got the significance of. An example of this would be the issues facing you if you’re in a foster placement and one (or more) of the relatives clearly hated your guts. Realising your precariousness of your position; that chances are said relative could utterly sink you and usually said fucker knew it. To be honest, I think most carers and workers would be either annoyed or upset on what we said about them. That’s the thing about ‘safe’ – it does not mean ‘nice’. It’s like the episode of American Dad when Stan Smith gets the listening device and hears everyone bitching about him in private. We need the myriad of self-deceptions and ignorance simply to avoid an ocean of blood on the carpet.

The point about safe spaces was that it kinda recognised that the world outside was… unforgiving. That you’d within short order hear, read and see things which were condescending, offensive, stupid or on occasion ‘not even wrong’. Anyone who’s a member of a minority gets this; the only question was how severe and how frequent. That’s what makes the spaces vital; not only a place to bitch, but also ones where you could gather strength from others ‘like you’ for your next foray into Out There.

Which brings me to by complaint towards the overuse of safe spaces. Not everywhere can be a safe space for all minorities – period. In fact, your very choosing on what is and is not protected is a subjective judgement which is demeaning to those who don’t ‘make the cut’. Next, the whole damn concept of said spaces were not designed for use by the ‘general public’; to go back to my example, that space was for ‘kids in care’, not say ethnic minorities, or rape victims or whatever. It had a single purpose, and so a common set of assumptions and code. Foisting it onto wider groups simply does not work. Lastly, it was not designed to protect people’s brains from contrary views. Sure, every community has it’s own ‘Overton window’ but the nature of society is the larger the group, the wider said window is. And to be frank, we all have to learn how to deal with views that we don’t agree with in a mature manner.

This is why I feel that larger groups – such as online forums, academia and the like – need to ditch ‘safe space’ and embrace ‘friendly place’ instead. That within limits, it should accept divergent opinions, grant ‘good faith’ to speakers unless proven otherwise, to encourage debate over censorship, to appreciate that every single person is coming from a different mindset and that sometimes, sharp (but respectful) debate can be the crucible where ideas are made, broken or developed. It also allows us to better-understand each other; it is perfectly possible for a person to fully understand ‘where you’re coming from’ but still think you’re wrong. And sometimes, you’ll be surprised to learn that They actually care as much as You about the issue – simply have a different proposal(s) for the solution.

As everything on this blog, merely my own thoughts and opinions.

Why Interviews are Pointless

A week or so before Christmas, I had to attend an interview. What it was about is irrelevant; it’s enough to say that while I didn’t have to attend, it was important I did. So I re-arranged my schedule to open up a large enough gap (for the meeting-makers are notorious for massively overrunning, meaning you can’t have anything organised afterwards), put on the smart clothes (realising that my shoulders had broadened since “last time” due to weight-work), consulted the map for the location and went off.

Got there marginally late, though didn’t matter for we were promptly kept waiting for an hour. Finally ushered in; the interviewer(s) started their stuff. Plus; layout of office had us sitting in front of direct sunlight (which meant reading facials much harder), minus; they were organised and had the “newbie keenness”. I think we did okay, though I’ve been around long enough to know you can never really tell; for one, I don’t even know if the interviewer(s) even had any input the decision(s). You know what I mean; that the decision had already been made elsewhere, that the interview was just for form, so the correct rules were respected.

One thing which struck me afterwards was basically, how pointless the interview actually was in the regards for it’s stated goals. We did not provide any new information, the interviewer roughly stuck to the script (as far as I could tell) nor were we enlightened on anything. It was, basically a bog-standard interview. A waste of everybody’s time, conducted mainly for the purpose so somebody can tick a box and say it was done. Four hours of my life, gone forever. And theirs.

Companies spend thousands of pounds in hiring each new employee; from the first sifting through the mound of CVs to conducting the “final” interviews. The DWP inflict “Fitness to Work” studies on claimants on a regular basis. Contractors and their commissioners conduct countless meetings, while service providers organise “sessions” in relatively inaccessible locations to impart news to their customers. And so on. We all know the drill.

Almost completely pointless. Company “personal interviews” have as high a success rate as if you’d simply picked a short-listed CV from random, the contractor and commissioner could simply do it by email, while the service provider sends each of their customers a booklet. As for the DWP… medical files don’t lie and however far medical science has advanced, nobody has “recovered” enough from severe autism, missing limbs or heart failure to go and work as a shelf-stacker.

But… they’re not there to do that. Well, usually.

The company interviews are there not to judge your ability to do the job, but your ability to “fit in”, to “be suitable”. Usually the interviewer(s) have a mental image of the successful applicant in their heads, and the winner is the one who fits it best. The “Fitness to Work” is not testing the applicant’s abilities regarding work, it’s testing their abilities in organisation (getting documentation) and memory (remembering what said documentation said). The contractor meetings are often a combination of gold-bricking, busyworking and covering you arse, while the service meetings are a method of delivering information in a manner which both inefficient in retention and deniable later if needed.

And that’s not even going into the sinister reasons; most of us have had enough of these brushes to make us mentally highly suspicious and on-guard whenever we’re asked to come to “a meeting” which is any way out of the ordinary.

Not that folk aren’t wise to this. From playing dress-up for interviews and using guarded language to outright lying and falsification, the whole system is rotten; similar to the examination system for schools.

It’s like a public hallucination; that these things are vital, when they’re not. Even after we will happily admit that at least half of such things we’d personally experienced were a complete waste of our time. Almost like a inverted anecdotal fallacy; “it doesn’t work with me, but it must do for everyone else…”

As everything on this blog, merely my own thoughts and opinions.

Something a Little Bit “Tasty”

One of my words of the year is “richsplaining”; which is basically “when the wealthy ‘explain’ something and/or offer ‘advice’ to the poor which is either inappropriate, ineffective and/or just plain incorrect.” An insulting, condescending sneer is optional, though frequent.

It’s not that this phenomenon is new either to me (I’ve seen this much of my own life) or society in general (GB Shaw and HG Wells both showing this tendency a century ago) but it’s only in the last few years where the online world has allowed people to notice the sheer amount of it going on, and thus coin a name. And as we already have “-splaining” a new portmanteau was born.

While I feel I could write a whole dissertation on the whole richsplaining thing, I’ll focus (as I usually do on this) on the bit which is kicking around my head right this moment; the issue with diet and nutrition. And one part of it; choice and desire.

A Critical Misunderstanding

From well-meaning TV chefs “teaching the poor how to cook” to right-wingers bellowing that junk food should be taxed (which allows them to continue consuming to their waistline’s content, naturally), we have richsplaining everywhere. At it’s best, it’s well-meaning progressive “do gooding” which utterly misses the mark, at it’s worst openly contemptuous hectoring of “the lessers”. Both, in my opinion are equally condescending – the only difference being the motivation behind the comments and “help”.

It’s no secret; poor people eat badly. They always have; it was only the 19^th Century where in the advanced world the poor stopped starving to death in their droves due to crop failures. Yes, it is perfectly true that it’s possible to have a “healthy diet” on a very low income in countries such as the USA and UK. But those arguments miss a fundamental point; that food and drink are more than just “fuel”, but a provider of enjoyment. You saw this in the feast-days of old, where people would come around to consume good food, good drink and with (hopefully) good company – of which Christmas is one of the few surviving examples of into the modern age. And this wasn’t a new idea, as George Orwell observed in 1937…

“…The basis of [the miner’s] diet, therefore, is white bread and margarine, corned beef, sugared tea, and potatoes – an appalling diet. Would it not be better if they spent more money on wholesome things like oranges and wholemeal bread … Yes, it would, but the point is that no ordinary human being is ever going to do such a thing. The ordinary human being would sooner starve than live on brown bread and raw carrots. And the peculiar evil is this, that the less money you have, the less inclined you feel to spend it on wholesome food. A millionaire may enjoy breakfasting off orange juice and Ryvita biscuits; an unemployed man doesn’t…

…When you are unemployed, which is to say when you are underfed, harassed, bored, and miserable, you don’t want to eat dull wholesome food. You want something a little bit ‘tasty’. There is always some cheaply pleasant thing to tempt you. Let’s have three penn’orth of chips! Run out and buy us a twopenny ice-cream! Put the kettle on and we’ll have a nice cup of tea. That is how your mind works when you are [unemployed]. White bread-and-marg and sugared tea don’t nourish you to any extent but they are nicer (at least most people think so) than brown bread-and-dripping and cold water. Unemployment is an endless misery that has got to be constantly palliated, and especially with tea, the English-man’s opium. A cup of tea or even an aspirin is much better as a temporary stimulant than a crust of brown bread…”

The Road To Wigan Pier (1937)

As accurate now as it was eighty-odd years ago, and something which could only be written by one who knew first-hand how poverty changes your mindset. For like many of these things, you only notice it when you’ve been on both sides of the divide. Truly on the “other side”, when you’ve dug under the skin of the surface view and heard, seen and felt the situation like a native. This is exactly why Hunter S. Thompson put Orwell’s Down and out in Paris and London on his reading list – it showed the need for “Gonzo Journalism”.

Onward, Hectoring Buzzkills

That’s the thing; Orwell got that food is meant to be enjoyed. That when you’re poor, your life basically sucks and a “tasty dinner” might be the highlight of your day. That for your meagre finances, the “tastiest” things are basically crap; oven chips and pizza slices, cheap sausages, frozen microwave curries and pasta with fatty mince and lashings of cheese. And in the enjoyment matrix, salad, lentils and plain oatmeal simply don’t cut it.

It’s this desire for enjoyment which leads to several other things which the richsplainers love to attack; drugs, gambling, smoking and particularly alcohol. Shit, the flack that pastime takes; constant warnings about binge drinking, the concerted effort to choke pubs to death, the tut-tutting which has all but destroyed the traditional “lunchtime drink”, the increasing demands for “minimum alcohol unit pricing” which will hit the shelf-stacker wanting a few beers but not the stockbroker and their vintage claret.

Sure, booze – particularly high levels of booze – is not good for the health, but there’s more to this world that just that. It’s this which led a Mr Roundtree in 1899 to note that pubs and alcohol were important to the poor as one of their few sources of pleasure; one which even as a teetotaller he felt it was impossible to deny them. Doctors have coined a shorthand for this; “Dot Cotton Syndrome” – after the chain-smoking old god-botherer on EastEnders – as the older person who clings to their whiskey, fags and fry-ups simply because they feel it’s “one of the few pleasures in their lives”.

That’s what the health richsplainers are doing. They’re trying to deny poor people of their few pleasures they’ve got in this world. I feel “sanctimonious killjoys” is the best term to describe their feelings towards said richsplainers. Ignorant ones too, as I’ve barely ever seen the above argument shown regarding things like public health. That while “education” and so on does help, the key thing we need to do to tackle this problem is to find these people other things which make them happy.

As everything on this blog, merely my own thoughts and opinions.

Baby with the Bathwater

Like most of us, I have a morning routine. Coffee, emails and the radio. I like the radio; allows me to catch up on the news of the day before I go out into the world. I used to listen to Radio 4, but on getting a digital radio I found LBC and didn’t look back. Was finding Radio 4 too metropolitan, too staid. I’m not sixty years old, after all. Anyway, the slight minus of this is that it means I often end up hearing the views of one Nick Ferrari, a right-winger who is rather good at jumping to stupid conclusions and occasionally just annoying me. Rather like Andrew Neil, but minus the gravitas.

Anyway, there he was a couple of days ago, working through the news items of the day, reached the smaller items; the success of the demand for people to have “none” in the sex box of your passport. Predictably, he jumps all over this as “political correctness gone mad”, takes it to stupid conclusions (a common tactic if you’d like to turn “ordinary folk” against something), then verbally skewers a spokesperson (I think) who supported this (though said person wasn’t that competent in the first place). I wasn’t paying complete attention, but I do think he managed to get them to state basically “masculinity is toxic”.

This caused Ferrari’s “Stopped Clock of the Day”: if masculinity is toxic, well, it’s toxicity which led those people to stand up and defend others against the terrorist murderer on London Bridge last Friday. Who may have been motivated partly by toxicity. I think we can throw the police who sorted the problem out in too. So… toxicity was the antidote to toxicity.

Raven Paradox?

Just like all ravens are black birds but not all black birds are ravens, many progressives fall into the logical trap in assuming that because some aspects of masculinity is toxic, therefore all of it is. An argument which is at best stupid and at worst disingenuous; for “masculinity” can also mean competitiveness, self-reliance, courage and integrity. It’s often the very thing which motivates the firefighter to run into a burning building, the police officer to stand their ground against a violent attacker or, in this case random members of the public to try to stop a knife-wielding loon with whatever means they had at hand.

Sure, there are some parts of “masculinity” which is toxic; to others, to themselves, to society. Problem is, some bits only become “toxic” when done to extremes or when the virtue becomes warped; American Dad mined this vein for laughs (and thoughts) for years in the character of Stan Smith. A man who’s courage and devotion can’t be doubted, but often makes atrocious decisions due to the fact his “self-reliance” has warped into a general inability to listen to others (amongst other faults).

Objecting To The Conclusions?

Which was why that spokesperson symbolises my worries. The vast majority of British males under, I’d guess forty are stuck within two competing visions; the “Traditional Bloke” model in which some positives can be seen and the hectoring voice of the progressives who are saying the Traditional Bloke is a evil dinosaur who should be wiped of the face of the earth forthwith.

Once again, monochrome views, and yes misandry rear their ugly heads; to see any positives in Traditional Bloke makes you a reactionary bigot, to suggest that “toxic femininity” is a thing too makes you “part of the problem”, to state that boys need men to provide role models (and don’t disregard the power of them being a model for rejection) makes you a misogynist and so on.

The Gender Cringe?

Which is the crux of the matter. Males are getting sick and tired on having to continuously apologise for being men. To paraphrase Orwell; you don’t gain supporters by telling them they are irredeemable. In fact, you push them away, and sometimes this push is hard enough to shunt them into the drek-pit which is known as the “Manosphere”, which is only a short hop to becoming a full-blown “Altie”.

We should not be scared of creating, nurturing positive masculine images, particularly for children. But not only should they be presented à la carte – allowing individuals to accept or reject component parts, but also it to cross genders too. By doing this, I feel is the only way progressives can get “ordinary guys” to feel that their planned future society still has a role in it for them. Once they genuinely feel that, you’ve got yourselves allies. Or at least people who don’t oppose you.

As everything on this blog, merely my own thoughts and opinions.

Let’s Ban: Bags for Life?

Another day, another finger-wagging hector to us ordinaries; this one being from Greenpeace about plastic bags. Seems that the “Bags for Life” are failing on the latter part of the definition, and they’d like to see the price to rise to at least 70p (a seven-fold increase) or banned entirely. And my reply is this; sit down, shut up and think what you’re saying before saying it.

Back in the golden days of “free disposable” bags, I used them all the time. Not only for my shopping, but for the transportation and storage of other items; muddy boots, some wires, gifts for others, tools – you name it, I’d put it in a bag sometime. Some ended up in landfill, yes; for I used them as bin bags – always making sure I picked the ones which had broken handles and were close to their end. And the ones which became unusable, went into the “bag of bags” which was destined to go to the recycling point when full.

Then, these bags were phased out. On the benefit of hindsight, this was perhaps a good thing; the fact it took the best part of two years to me to work through my stash of them suggesting far too many were in circulation. But this had a negative knock on effect for me; I had to start actually buying bin bags. So, not a complete win for the green forces of good here. But I’ll say this, the phase-out of the disposables has created a change of ethos; it’s much more “the norm” to have your own bag, which means I get almost no funny looks from the likes of checkout staff for my rucksack.

However, the Bags for Life still filled many of the roles which I’d previously used their predecessors for; in fact, with rather less of them as they lasted longer. Still, I continue to go through them at a fair clip; either given to others (containing items) or sent off to the bag recycling when beyond actual use.

That’s the thing; even if you’re “good”, there’s still a need for the bags. I may have forgotten mine, or it may be already full. Might have purchased something strong-smelling or crushable and I’d like them to be separate. And if I’m passing on something to another, I’m more likely to throw the bag in for free if it’s one of plastic than if it’s one of jute or cloth. This means that the plastic bag still has a role.

Other “green campaigns” can sometimes increase this need for bags; a couple of years ago I used to use the fresh produce boxes for any “overspill” shopping – and often they would then have a long, productive life holding and transporting until finally going to be recycled. I’m sure the number of “plastic bags not used” because of this is three, possibly even four digits. Yet, my usual supermarket has converted to using tough plastic trays instead; while I’ve not tried it yet, I suspect they might object if I tried to take one of these home. Ergo; I need more plastic bags!

Sure, there are some folk who do simply throw them in the bin after one use – but you will always have this proportion of the public. I have relatives and old childhood acquaintances who still tell me “recycling is all just a con” and wouldn’t bother at all if the council hadn’t got all snoopy and pawing through your bins (though they’re not doing it for honourable reasons; they’re simply looking for reasons to fine you).

Here we hear the classist bellow once again, which we’ve seen in the likes of “sugar taxes” and “minimum alcohol unit prices”. Where the well-heeled, middle-class progressives deign to teach us working stiffs the “right” way – and demanding the use of the Big Stick of the State for this purpose.

I predict this campaign will be mostly successful. Most progressive campaigns are when they don’t actually directly threaten either the ruling class, the order of society or our current capitalist model. It also allows virtue-signalling by making sure you’re not seen with one of the “bad bags”. It won’t be completely successful for I predict we’ll simply see more expensive bags in the bin; or different ones which are “free” due to a loophole.

Lastly, it doesn’t actually deal with the ~97% of the plastic which enters my home; the films, tubs, trays, bottles or blister packs. Worst thing must be the first one; for it appears to be damned impossible to recycle. After all, who’s ever heard of a recyclable crisp packet?

And it’s this which has led me to write this post. A campaign which focuses on a tiny segment of the problem, requires almost zero change from the actual producers, allows individuals to show how virtuous they are and to lecture others? Classic progressivism.

As everything on this blog, merely my own thoughts and opinions.

You Make Me Want to Flytip

When you’re relatively young and physically fit, one suffers from ‘occupational hazards’ – and one of these is being the ‘go to person’ when it comes to physical labour. From shifting furniture in a house move to clearing out garage of crap, your humble narrator is on top of the list for ‘volunteering’ by friends, family and assorted hangers-on. And today’s fun task was to help the ‘preparing a garden for winter’ which naturally turned out to be more a ‘clearance of junk’ than say putting potted plants inside and covering up the patio set with the tarpaulin.

In the grey drizzly afternoon I quickly blitzed the place, producing a decent car-load of general debris which called to a visit to the delightful place known to all as ‘the tip’ aka the local refuse/recycling centre. Loaded up double-quick, got down there a half-hour before closing. And then the troubles began.

Now, in the decade or so of ‘Tip Adventures’ I’ve noticed significant changes. The ‘recycling’ component has ballooned; sort your cardboard, glass, plastics and so on. I don’t like the extra effort, but I get the whys of it. A myriad of small containers for batteries, DVDs, books and the like. Erm, okay – I’ll play along. A tip worker jumping to ‘inspect’ the items I’m putting in? I get that you’ve got to see I’m ‘doing it right’, but you could have bloody helped me carry the thing first rather than simply waiting there and observing.

But now, you’ve gone too fucking far. A dozen or so old broken paving slabs and bricks aren’t ‘building waste’. I’m not going to spend half an hour prizing off the tar-paper and wire from an old rabbit hutch. Nor am I going to pick through soiled hay and sawdust to retrieve sodden newspapers. And refusing to take those Calor gas canisters even when we both bloody know no other sod wants the things is the icing on the cake.

Mr Council; you’re lucky indeed that I’m a (generally) law-abiding citizen who likes the countryside clean and agrees with recycling. For otherwise, after dealing with your unhelpful, jobsworthery workers and stupid rules I was sorely tempted to simply take the ‘scenic route’ back and dump said crap in a lay-by, a drainage ditch or in front of a field gate and wave it goodbye.

I know times are tight financially, but tell me this; is is ‘cheaper’ to simply accept the damn waste at the tips or to go around scooping up and investigating the myriad of flytip mounds I’m increasingly seeing around the county? Oh, wait – you don’t even move the fucking flytip mounds either. Going to work the other day I saw enough of them from my train window that I was reminded of the shit-hole Britain which is the setting of the film Children Of Men. Or a Ken Loach film.

Though I’m impressed at your ability to lie with a straight face when your beloved leader said he was ‘surprised at the rise’ of said tipping and that he felt there was ‘no link’.

Well, either a liar or someone’s who’s head was filled with said sodden newspapers in lieu of an actual brain.

As everything in this blog, merely my personal views and opinions.