Ill-Educated Extremists and their Witch Hunts

Ramadan passed and the celebration of Eid for Muslims the world throughout. Ramadan is a month of fasting, refraining from eating, drinking, and sexual relations in a bid to find patience, humility, and spirituality; a month of contemplation. I sat reading my newspaper last Wednesday and I found myself curious to how much contemplation must have gone through the mind of Pastor Terry Jones and his failed plans to burn the Quran to mark the anniversary of 9/11. I was further curious to read some Facebook statuses of people who I thought I knew supporting the act and voicing their support in the small-minded racist way that the ignorant so often do. Ignorance isn’t bliss, it’s embarrassing. Someone once said to me when watching some generic American crime drama based in the Middle East that what these extremists need is education, it’s the lack of education why people blow themselves up. This may be true, anyone who kills another person in the name of God or because of some voice in their head has had some misleading somewhere along the line. So yeah, extremists need education, but all extreme views...What got to me from this conversation, Pastor Disaster and the racist status’ was the presumption that we in the West know all. Just because we have a train of thought doesn’t make it the only train of thought, nevertheless the correct train of thought if one can truly exist?

The French writer Voltaire writes that ‘we shouldn’t judge a man about the answers that he has but by the questions he asks and intends to answer.’ What Pastor Jones did, besides take the attention off the mourning and remembrance of the 9/11 victims, was to show us that extremists live on either side of the globe, have different religions, and just as my friend said, are just as ill-educated. Those that preferred to be judge rather than jury, would prefer to assume rather than ask, those that would go along with the status quo because that was presumed to be the ‘correct’ way of thinking. But who wants to see the wood through the trees when it isn’t our forest?

Arthur Miller, one time husband of Marilyn Monroe and playwright, written The Crucible in 1950’s as an allegory of Senator McCarthy’s hunt for Communists during the cold war. The play revolves around the Salem witch trials when a young girl is accused of witchcraft and starts pointing the finger at someone else and so on and so on. Ultimately the town ends up in mass hysteria and girls are convicted and hung on the grounds that they share a gender with the person originally accused. McCarthyism in the United States was Senator McCarthy’s witch-hunt for Communists and the hunt was similarly based on grounds from the Salem witch trials. People were recklessly arrested and advised that if they did not give up a name of someone who they knew was a communist they would be charged, if they did they were set free (Guantanamo Bay Bells ringing anyone?). It had such a cascading affect that Hollywood actors found themselves on a communist blacklist, people such as Charlie Chaplin, Orson Welles, and Miller himself brought in for questioning. McCarthyism is now known as a term of making allegations without correct consideration of evidence, a strategy for gaining power by appealing to bias, worries and emotions. McCarthyism is used on a daily basis in our political sphere and press reports but the term is seldom mentioned. There have been wrong doings by someone of colour, creed or clothing over the past 100 years but does that make it right to bastardize the whole because of the actions of an individual because they fall under some umbrella term?

To subvert Churchill’s famous quote ‘Never in the field of human conflict was so much [damage] owed by so many to so few’:

The Brixton riot of 1981 involving 5000 people both Black and White resulted in injury and arrests to both sections yet when the smoke had settled the fault (allegedly) lay in Black hands. The aftermath would result in The Scarman Report, not just the black people involved in the riot or the Black people that resided just in London, every single Black person in Great Britain could LEGALLY be stopped and searched without warrant on the grounds of their skin colour.

In 1985 Liverpool football fans incited riots at the European Cup Final causing the death of 36 people, the repercussion was so that British football clubs and subsequently their fans were banned from Europe competitions. There was 27 arrested yet millions of football fans suffered the consequence, and to this day English football and the fans still carry the repuatation of hooligans.

In the Noughties, a fraction of younger members of society that wear hooded tops commit crimes and now teenagers aren’t allowed into shopping centres due to the chance that people who wear such clothing commit crimes.

So what do we have; the clothes that someone wears are an indication of the person they are, the flag of your country is an indication of all your politics, the religion you follow is an indication of all your belief system. It sounds as ridiculous as it is and it happens every time an incident happens, we attack the collective rather than the individual.

To look at British culture today we can see that we have come a long way since the aforementioned witch hunts but English fans in Europe will always be seen as trouble causers, black people are still more likely to be pulled over by the police than any other colour. The major problem with the witch hunt on Islam is that it is on an unprecedented scale, no pursuit like this has gone before so it’s unknown how we recover. If my friend is correct and it is education that will stop extremism then why is it we don’t lead by example? Why do we adhere to Harry Redtop Sun journalist interpretation of Islam rather than read it ourselves? But we don’t need to, as my friend presumes it’s not us that are the uneducated it’s those over there. We have the answers, we don’t need to ask any questions.

Let’s Blame all of Islam for 9/11, blame all the Irish for the deaths caused due to IRA bombings, blame Black people for inciting riots and blame hood wearing youths for shoplifting. Hitler did a similar thing with Judaism and Jewish people; generalised them, alienated them, (literally) branded them and put them into neat little sections, Aushwitz anyone...oh yeah, then he murdered them...by the millions.

Not a nice man Adolf, but then again, he was German, and all Germans are the same, aren’t they?

Rooney and Morrissey; ‘We hate it when our friends become successful’

Morrissey released the single ‘We hate it when our friends become successful’ in October 1991, Morrissey by this point in his career well aware of the cancerous burn the celebrity spotlight can imprint on your life; Rooney, however, playing football for the love of it, blissfully oblivious of the attention which his talent would unduly endure. Both men set out to become performers in the profession they adored. Both men succeeded. Both men are now seen as role models, icons and idols. Both have been built up on accolades and the word genius often hangs close to their names. Both this week, to quote Morrissey, ‘have been dragged through shit.’

Today Morrissey could be found writing the sequel to his 91 single and could call it ‘But we love it when they fall on their face.’ We build these people and oh how we love to knock them down. Morrissey’s quip about the Chinese being a subspecies has had the tabloids looking through their files for the lyrics to Asian Rut, Bengali in Platforms and that ‘infamous’ picture from the Finsbury Park gig in which he is donning the Union Jack. This is not new. We’ve been here before. Morrissey remarks to Simon Armitage how acts of cruelty ‘make him feel’ and it has been translated into yet another jibe of racism. Did anybody else see the documentary in which he is talking about? To skin an animal whilst it is alive cannot be considered as a humane act, it is barbaric and wrong. Morrissey is far too articulate, intelligent and long in the tooth to not know that his comment would receive a huge amount of attention. Journalists have being trying to pin down Morrissey for well over two decades for being gay and/or racist and much to their disdain they have been unable to do either and his latest faux pas will be no different. The lyrics to Morrissey’s songs involve characters that he creates and the world in which they live, his voice a mere vehicle to tell the story. The protagonists songs such as The National Front Disco are fictive and aren’t Morrissey’s own expressions. He is an artist painting a picture, much like a Shane Meadows film yet interpretations of This is England are seen as a depiction of life rather than a racist statement. Morrissey’s songs (solo and with The Smiths) are intentionally multi-interpretational and fans and critics have been tripping over themselves to throw their own opinions on what Reel around the Fountain is about, or who the bowing Sheila is. Therefore why is it when he makes a statement about immigrants, the lack of Britishness in Britain or the Chinese as being a subspecies do we only paint his portrait with a thick brush and not with the analysis that the songs get and the man deserves? The Guardian’s Tom Clark implies that it there is a ‘telling’ link between Morrissey’s comments and the soon to be released remastered album. Are we to believe that a man whose last British tour sold out in less than an hour needs some cheap publicity stunt to sell an album? What next a three way VMA kiss with him, Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears?

When it comes to foreign artists opinions on China, Morrissey is not alerting the public to any new target. In the last 5 years Oasis, Bjork and Bob Dylan have been banned for expressing views of Tibet, Steven Spielberg resigned from the Olympics over China’s involvement in Darfur and it is odds on that Morrissey won’t be playing Beijing anytime soon. Like the lyrics to his songs, is it completely inconceivable that his ‘racist’ remark was less a generalisation of a race and more a highlighting of the cruelty that China continue to consent? If Bigmouth Strikes Again then should we not see what he is striking against rather than portraying him in the same light as Nick Clegg; it is Stephen Patrick Morrissey not Manning. Tom Clarke’s assumption of a publicity stunt may prove to be correct but it is not an album Morrissey is bringing to public attention but the way that China treats animals. For someone who believes that ‘Meat is Murder’, it is not really that shocking that he views the way that China create such meat as an act of a subspecies people. Morrissey is aware of how his quoted words will be represented in the press but it is an act of bravery that he falls on his sword for his character to be assassinated in the hope that it will shed light on what he deems (quite rightly) to be a horrific act.
Media reports do not wish to offer this opinion, it is far better to persecute than promote, to pursue those heroes of ours than prevent. We are told that it is such news that sells, and we are the people who buy it.

Wayne Rooney, this week, has seen revelations of his appetite for call girls sprayed all over the red tops. Late night acquaintances at The Lowry Hotel with a reported £1,000 a night hooker has had the press critics looking in their files for pictures and quotes of the 48year old cowgirl he paid and slept with as an 18year old. This is not new. We’ve been here before. Wayne Rooney has been a journalist’s darling since he nearly broke the net scoring a sensational goal against Arsenal as a 17 year old lad. A year later he’s scoring with aged prostitutes on the back streets of Liverpool behind the back of his fiancée. This year alone we have seen the likes of John Terry and Ashley Cole being unfaithful to their respective partners, one lost his captaincy, the other lost his wife. This playboy lifestyle goes hand in hand with footballers; it is expected of them is it not. There is a telling difference between Terry and Cole in comparison to Rooney other than the team they play for. Cole and Terry are not as a natural a talent as Rooney is and therefore had the late teenage years and early twenties to develop emotionally, physically and mentally. Wayne did not. How many other professional footballers have had the transition from the CCTV of Croxteth to the Celebrity Cameras of Old Trafford in the space of a few years? There aren’t any. At the age of 19 he had the expectations of the country on his young shoulders, again when he was 21 and then this year at the World Cup. To say that he is defendable for cheating on his pregnant wife would be a reach too far I’m sure he feels that more than anybody else now. But does no-one think that we have a responsibility to Rooney as you think that he had to his wife? The title of role model was put upon Wayne Rooney like it is to all footballers but none of them want it yet we persist to say it, because our kids watch them. My niece watches Spongebob Squarepants but only for the 30 minutes he is on television after that Spongebob can get up to what he wants, Role models should be someone that you want your children to have similar principles and morals of. I can’t say that there are too many of the overpriced, overpaid and over ego’d footballers that I want my own children to follow.

Facebook statuses, football websites, music websites are calling for the head of Morrissey and the Balls of Rooney and nobody is looking at the irresponsibility of the press journalists to what they choose to publish and how it is portrayed. We as the public have a responsibility to the people that we put on such a pedestal. Morrissey wanted to have his opinion aired about China, obviously Wayne Rooney wanted to keep his affairs to himself. The media will dress the reason that they have spread the news about Rooney’s affair is because we want to know. We want to pry into these people’s lives on a daily basis because they are on a television show, they sing in a band, they play for a football team. Rooney’s mistake aside but do you think it is a responsible act to put the private life of him, his child and his wife across the newspapers regardless of the embarrassment that it causes. It is cheap, tasteless and boring, we surely need to wake up to more pressing matters in the world rather than the private life of a young man who made a mistake.

Good Manners - You're Talking Shit

During the days in between writing my next instalment of 'Your Talking Shit' aimed at Northern Comedians, a bizarre incident occurred that made me rethink the pros of having good manners.

So to start, it was a cold day, and rain hadn't threatened. I live in Manchester, when it threatens, nine times out of ten it tends to make good on its promise. My girlfriend was going home and being the concerned other half I thought it best I walk her back; pillaging being the favourite pastime of all things hoodie in her neighbourhood. So we head off toward her house taking in rare glimpses of sunshiiiiine through the grey slated skies. Mid-August and still no T-Shirt Suntan. We get back to her house, say our goodbyes and I'm homeward bound

Walking back Mother Nature (MN) starts gozzing from above like a highschool bully. Not dropping enough spit to get you soaked but each shot having the precision of an assassin. I up my pace and rue not wearing one of the multitude of jackets that I own but it was the 'right' thing to do, you know, to avoid the pillaging. MN upped her game and what started out as a 2 shot Kennedy-esque killing became the open scene of Saving Private Ryan. No Tom Hanks in sight to drag me from the barrage I speed up . My pace becomes a strut, think John Travolta in the rain, the hips shaking to avoid the rain, I consider running but remember seeing something on BBC about you getting wetter running in rain, so I strut. The presenter of the show was an elderly lady, and you know, we should respect and heed the advice of our elders. Onwards I strut.

Getting to the main road, I'm anticipating the taste of PG Tips in my mouth when a beep comes from the side of me. I don't know how other people react to this situation, I'm of the school of waving back, no harm done. I've felt like a twat enough times when I mistakenly thought that I knew someone only to find out the opticians was calling. I wave back. Car pulls over into the side street. Maybe I actually did know the person? I go over to the driver side, an old bloke winds down the window and signals me to get in the passenger side. He must've been about early 60's, had I not been approaching 30 and still a 14 year old boy the Hindly/Brady alarm bells would've rang aloud in my head, but not today, paedophiles cant get me no more...they can't can they? So I get in the car and sit down. He has an air of nostalgia that tends to hang around old people and he reminds me of my late Grandad in both looks and smell, he opens his mouth.. The comparison ended there, he starts talking Italian...

Being slightly beige and having black hair, most people mistake me for Spanish and I presumed that he had done the same but moved the goalposts, assuming that I am paisan. I allow him to continue his dialogue, you know, it's rude to interrupt people when they are talking. I figure Italian to be a language that is spoken fast and he'd be over soon enough. My endless hours of watching Italian gangster films (Godfather, Soprano's, etc) paid dividends, I was picking out words here and there. (Side note: See them people that say that too much televison is bad for you, they are 'Talking Shit', watching too much bad television is bad for you – read last post!). From his 'buon' and 'vende', I get the impression that he is flogging something, he has a plastic bag on his lap and keeps pointing to it and doing stereotypical Italian mannerisms toward me with his hands. The wandering mind of a writer kicks in and I'm thinking all sorts of mafioso roles, he needs me for a hit, I'm supposed to hold onto something for a while (cue: GF2). He continuously points to his dashboard and mentions London. The rain begins to get heavier and I cant see out of the windscreen of the car while I try to decipher what he wants.

15 minutes pass and he says the universally known Italian word 'Capish', I'm thinking, no mate, not really got a clue. I, for reasons, unknown adopt an Italian accent and say 'only speak little italiano, really.' Does watching Goodfella's 100's of times constitute for basic italiano? He points at my face and shrugs, and I presume he says you look Italian, I reply with 'Thanks, usually Spanish', you know, beige, black hair. He starts talking again....in Spanish!

What are the chances, so once more I engage in the story, piecing together what I had got from the Italian translation and now adding some phrases I know in Spanish. Thankfully for holidays in Spain and club 18-30's to Maggalluff, my Spanish is better than my Italian. (Side note: Those who say club 18-30 holidays to Magalluff won't get you anything but the clap and cirrhosis, they also are Talking Shit.) I get part of the story, something to do with selling watches and from out of his plastic bag comes a box of watches and not the expected Gun, dead fish or drugs. He opens the box and his (Senor) and Hers (Senorita's) Swiss diamond pristine watches. My Spanish exhausted I don't know if I'm to take them or pay for them. I open my mouth, Italian accent dropped and Spanish adopted. I don't speak Spanish as much as I don't Italian. I merge together as many words in Spanish that I do know together with words that I made up to sound like Spanish, I don't why, I was being polite. I get really into it and throw in some hand movements and point to the watches, say London, and point to his dashboard, he looks at me and nods, smiles, doesn't say anything. 5 minutes gobbledegook over, he points at my face again and says 'Catalonian?' and then I say 'Si', why I really don't know I said 'Si'. He goes to speak again and I'm dying inside wondering what language is on it's way next, 'Sorry, I don't speak Catalonian, English?'.

He was on his way to London and he's ran out of money and has recently come into possession of some watches, do I want to buy them so he can get to London. I explained due to Britains Bankers, Recession, and so on I couldn't buy his watches. He smiled and said something in Italian, or Spanish, and then shook my hand and I went on my way..in the rain. During our multi-lingual conversation the heavens, off course, had opened.

I finally get home, pissed wet through, my father having a nice cup of tea, the last bag in the house and 'did I want to go out for anymore'.

I was always told that it was important to have good manners; manners made me walk my missus back home, made me pay attention to some ol' dear on television, to wave to strangers to be polite, to not speak when other people are and so on and so forth. It's manners why I sit here nursing a cold and all the while without a hot cup of tea...

Have Good Manners they say; 'You're Talking Shit!'

Reality Television

Date of Birth: 21/08/2010, or to the mindless millions of minions that watch 'reality' television, 'You're Talking Shit' was conceived on the same day X Factor series 782 started. This wasn't my intention, but hearing the garbled gibberish of the diminutive Dermot O'Leary in the background I wonder how I hadn't started it earlier. What a proud day to be born. You would hope in reaching 2010 'reality' television would've been tossed out on the shitheap like a month old cucumber that lies at the back of your fridge.

Alas we are without luck; Big Brother's beady eye maybe closing but the rest of the cucumber remains, multiplying in mould, festering in our fridge and we continue to eat it. The following months we will be forced to endure such 'real' life programmes as I'm a Celebrity [are you?], Get me Outta Here? Britains [not really] Got Talent on ITV. BBC, the channel that we pay for, stimulates us with Strictly Dumb Dancing compered by the bigot Bruce Forsyth. (Sidenote: Russell Brand has sex with a lapdancer, has a crude pop at her Grandad and is banned from beeb, Bruce Almighty says a racist slur and it's fine because he's old, surely Ron Atkinson's agent must be on the phone to Match of the Day.) Then we have Andrew Lloyd Webber's search; he's looked for a Dorothy, a Nancy, surely the expiration on his skin is up and his next search will be for a Face. I'm not really a fan of his opera, but I thought he was terrific in Texas Chainsaw Massacre. We are told that this is a reality, a reflection of how we live but I see no affinity with lycra clad dancers, no kinship with Jungle Jim and Jane. I don't know anyone who Foxtrots or Dances on Ice, or even Ice Skates for that fact, we Northerners have a small catalogue of moves that consist of the Two-Step or the Bez.

As much as I had hoped that at the dawn of a new decade we would be moving on to something new, challenging, and enlightening it seems reality television will continue. I will be picking up my SingStar soon to hone my voice, my Gran is sewing a sequins shirt for my Samba rendition, I'll be having crocodiles cock for breakfast...Of late there is only one television programme that I have seen that deserves the tag reality; the protagonists offering a comparable warmth, wit and wisdom and that is the shit flicking swinging chimps David Attenborough broadcasts. They have more authenticity than any 'singer', 'dancer' or 'worm eater'. There is more reflection of humanity in animal documentaries and their need to eat, love, live and survive than anything ever fronted by The Racist, The Geordie and The Serial Killer...

Reality Television, 'You're Talking Shit'!