Originally published in The Bubble Columns on August 18 2011, available here.
Once again it’s been a while, readers. I’m hoping that over these summer months, when you really should be outside or doing as little as possible, your patience will extend to another odyssey through the more unusual side of world events. In fact, this article may be more summery than the weather wherever you are – after all, the Sun always shines in outer space.
Forty-two years ago, the sight of Neil Armstrong walking on the moon changed the world forever (right, conspiracy theorists?), and ever since, countless children have dreamed of following suit, myself included. Of course, for a brief period in between my time as the sixth member of the Spice Girls and digging up dinosaurs I was destined to travel at warp speed and talk to little green men, boldly going where no man had gone before. Gargarin, Armstrong, Kirk, Skywalker, Parkin. Alas, life hasn’t quite panned out the way I envisioned – I haven’t even found a pterodactyl under Palace Green yet – but it turns out that another relic from my childhood is finally living out my dream: NASA’s latest flight crew are made from Lego.
The spacecraft Juno launched on Thursday, beginning a five-year journey to discover the origins and development of Jupiter. It carries no human crew, but does contain Lego figurines of the Roman gods Juno and Jupiter as well as Galileo Galilei, the Italian Renaissance scientist who made several of the earliest discoveries about the planet. Carrying his telescope and rocking an impressive beard alongside his deified friends, Galileo is one of many Lego characters produced by the partnership between The Lego Group and NASA which began last November.
The two organisations are working together under a three-year Space Act Agreement to undertake educational and public outreach projects aimed at increasing participation in engineering, science, technology and mathematics under the title of “Building and Exploring Our Future”. As a result, this year’s Lego City line includes four NASA-inspired sets including educational materials, while the space shuttle Discovery carried a commemorative Lego shuttle on its November flight. NASA also sent special Lego sets to the International Space Station in February to be assembled by astronauts as well as earth-bound students and children. Sadly, the Pirates of the Caribbean play sets were out of stock.
It’s the kind of partnership which makes total sense. The Administration has had a rough time of late. The Space Shuttle Atlantis landed for the final time in July, marking the end of a thirty year era for the shuttle programme and making way for an age of commercial space flight. Controversial budget cuts have threatened the scope of its research. NASA has to demonstrate value for money in years to come, continuing to deliver the benefits to mankind for which it was established; consequently, the education and public outreach projects which go along with its missions are becoming more important than ever before. A generation of future voters and politicians fascinated by space exploration can’t harm its chances of survival either.
Meanwhile, Lego is the perfect choice. Space, the final frontier, is full of the unknown and a perfect canvas for the imagination, while Lego is designed to encourage creativity. However, the process of realising a design from the imagination teaches principles of engineering which NASA uses every day to build crafts like Juno and the upcoming two-craft lunar mission GRAIL. It may make little sense to lock plastic people into a scientific instrument in which they are unlikely to be seen again, but it’s encouraging to think that there may be children around in 2016 still following the mission in the hope that Galileo and the gods reach their destination. We can only hope that Toy Story 4 will feature their wild parties as they dance around the magnetometers.
As Douglas Adams once told us, “space is big. Really big. You just won’t believe how vastly hugely mind-bogglingly big it is. I mean you may think it’s a long way down the road to the chemist, but that’s just peanuts to space.” It’s staggering to think of how much is out there, waiting to be discovered. We’ve barely scratched the surface of this universe – and is it really the only one? – so here’s hoping Lego inspires a generation to finally build me that Starship Enterprise.
Showing posts with label news. Show all posts
Showing posts with label news. Show all posts
Sunday, 18 September 2011
Wednesday, 4 May 2011
The Bubble Columns: Superman - The Model Global Citizen
Originally published in The Bubble Columns, available here.
You may have noticed a rare burst of British sunshine of late. It may not be all that warm yet – you can’t have it all – but summer is just about on its way, and slowly but surely the thoughts of the nation are turning to ice creams and seaside road trips or, if you’re a shameless film geek like me, the summer blockbuster season. Those of us yet to discover a life and who like to spend sunny days in a darkened room with popcorn-chomping noisy teenagers await a season of action, explosions and, inevitably, superheroes. We’ve long been in the era of the comic-book adaptation, and if (again like me) you like to plan your cinematic experiences way, way in advance you may already know that Anne Hathaway will play Catwoman in the next Batman film, and Henry Cavill of The Tudors fame has been chosen to play Superman in the Man of Steel’s outing next year (funnily enough called Man of Steel).
Superman in particular has played a central role in the modern obsession with superheroes. In 1978, a vast budget, cutting-edge special effects and a brief cameo from Marlon Brando (which somehow earned him an Oscar) made the late Christopher Reeve the first bona fide big screen superhero, and every genre film yet is in its debt. By that point, though, the character was already forty years old and had long been established as one of DC Comics’ most popular characters. Ever since, resplendent in his primary-coloured spandex, flowing cape and inability to wear underwear correctly, the classic foreigner-emigrates-and-makes-good-in-America trope has made him synonymous with American culture, so much so that Captain America was designed to compete with him and never achieved the same heights.
But now he doesn’t like it. In the new edition of Action Comics, after standing silently in support of protesters at a Tehran demonstration, Superman is accused by Iran of causing an international incident. “Tired of having his actions construed as instruments of US policy”, he decides to renounce his US citizenship.
He may not get past talking about it in David Goyer’s nine-page story, but that alone is definitely a Big Thing. The staunch, incorruptible saviour who was raised on a farm in the ‘Bible Belt’ doesn’t want to be American anymore, and for many fans that is inconceivable. The move has been broadly criticised around the world.
It’s been seen as a deliberate attempt to distance the figure from US policy, which does have a precedent – none other than Captain America denationalised himself in changing his name to Nomad in the aftermath of Watergate – but that falls down because in this case, America hasn’t actually done anything wrong (now there’s a phrase I never thought I’d write). Superman can’t act freely internationally when all of his actions reflect on a single country; he’s doing them a favour by preventing them from taking the flak for his actions. In fact, I see this as an interesting development which could prove to be a positive move. He’s the quintessential superhero, and although according to the publishers he “remains, as always, committed to his adopted home and his roots as a Kansas farm boy” he wants to shift the focus of his fight against evil to a global level: in effect, he wants to be a citizen of Earth. When we’re quite happy to refer to him as the Last Son of Krypton, an epithet which also acknowledges a planet but no nation, why is that so terrible?
Earth (apparently unlike Krypton) is a planet comprised of nation-states, and nationalism persists as the strongest level of group identity. I may spend a lot of my time defending Yorkshire (the Motherland) to other Brits as Official Greatest Place on Earth, but when asked by a foreigner I would always identify myself as British. We all have different levels on which we identify and differentiate ourselves from others – if you’re away and you meet someone else from your region, don’t you ask them whereabouts? – and the nation remains the highest: I’m always British, but rarely European. The truth is we are scared of the idea of universal global citizenship, because it identifies us on a level where nobody can be different to anybody else, and we don’t like that very much. My question is, are we justified in that?
“’Truth, justice and the American way’ – it’s not enough anymore,” Superman says, “The world is too small, too connected.” Given the role he has to play, I think he might have a point – after all, America can’t have him dragging them into more international intrigue. Were Superman real, I’d probably shake his hand. Now, if anyone wants to introduce me to Henry Cavill for this purpose, I strongly encourage you to do so.
You may have noticed a rare burst of British sunshine of late. It may not be all that warm yet – you can’t have it all – but summer is just about on its way, and slowly but surely the thoughts of the nation are turning to ice creams and seaside road trips or, if you’re a shameless film geek like me, the summer blockbuster season. Those of us yet to discover a life and who like to spend sunny days in a darkened room with popcorn-chomping noisy teenagers await a season of action, explosions and, inevitably, superheroes. We’ve long been in the era of the comic-book adaptation, and if (again like me) you like to plan your cinematic experiences way, way in advance you may already know that Anne Hathaway will play Catwoman in the next Batman film, and Henry Cavill of The Tudors fame has been chosen to play Superman in the Man of Steel’s outing next year (funnily enough called Man of Steel).
Superman in particular has played a central role in the modern obsession with superheroes. In 1978, a vast budget, cutting-edge special effects and a brief cameo from Marlon Brando (which somehow earned him an Oscar) made the late Christopher Reeve the first bona fide big screen superhero, and every genre film yet is in its debt. By that point, though, the character was already forty years old and had long been established as one of DC Comics’ most popular characters. Ever since, resplendent in his primary-coloured spandex, flowing cape and inability to wear underwear correctly, the classic foreigner-emigrates-and-makes-good-in-America trope has made him synonymous with American culture, so much so that Captain America was designed to compete with him and never achieved the same heights.
But now he doesn’t like it. In the new edition of Action Comics, after standing silently in support of protesters at a Tehran demonstration, Superman is accused by Iran of causing an international incident. “Tired of having his actions construed as instruments of US policy”, he decides to renounce his US citizenship.
He may not get past talking about it in David Goyer’s nine-page story, but that alone is definitely a Big Thing. The staunch, incorruptible saviour who was raised on a farm in the ‘Bible Belt’ doesn’t want to be American anymore, and for many fans that is inconceivable. The move has been broadly criticised around the world.
It’s been seen as a deliberate attempt to distance the figure from US policy, which does have a precedent – none other than Captain America denationalised himself in changing his name to Nomad in the aftermath of Watergate – but that falls down because in this case, America hasn’t actually done anything wrong (now there’s a phrase I never thought I’d write). Superman can’t act freely internationally when all of his actions reflect on a single country; he’s doing them a favour by preventing them from taking the flak for his actions. In fact, I see this as an interesting development which could prove to be a positive move. He’s the quintessential superhero, and although according to the publishers he “remains, as always, committed to his adopted home and his roots as a Kansas farm boy” he wants to shift the focus of his fight against evil to a global level: in effect, he wants to be a citizen of Earth. When we’re quite happy to refer to him as the Last Son of Krypton, an epithet which also acknowledges a planet but no nation, why is that so terrible?
Earth (apparently unlike Krypton) is a planet comprised of nation-states, and nationalism persists as the strongest level of group identity. I may spend a lot of my time defending Yorkshire (the Motherland) to other Brits as Official Greatest Place on Earth, but when asked by a foreigner I would always identify myself as British. We all have different levels on which we identify and differentiate ourselves from others – if you’re away and you meet someone else from your region, don’t you ask them whereabouts? – and the nation remains the highest: I’m always British, but rarely European. The truth is we are scared of the idea of universal global citizenship, because it identifies us on a level where nobody can be different to anybody else, and we don’t like that very much. My question is, are we justified in that?
“’Truth, justice and the American way’ – it’s not enough anymore,” Superman says, “The world is too small, too connected.” Given the role he has to play, I think he might have a point – after all, America can’t have him dragging them into more international intrigue. Were Superman real, I’d probably shake his hand. Now, if anyone wants to introduce me to Henry Cavill for this purpose, I strongly encourage you to do so.
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
The Bubble Columns: Mother Nature's Human Rights
Originally published in The Bubble Columns, available here.
I’ve heard plenty of suggested ways to protect the environment. We’ve all been told to ‘reduce, re-use and recycle’, the search for sustainable fuel sources goes on and nanas have taken a break from making cereal to knit a cover for the hole in the ozone layer. We should be using our cars less (which is why cuts to public transport subsidies and constant fare rises are so ridiculous – another article there) and turning the heating down a few degrees, while judgment will certainly fall upon those who fail to hug trees at appropriate moments.
There’s been plenty of ‘green’ legislation and government target-setting, too, and while industrialised nations pretend they want to cut carbon emissions and Al Gore (ironically) goes nuclear over climate change, one voice which has always been critical of the half-hearted or insufficient measures taken by the developed world has been that of Bolivia. Frequently derided by the UK and USA for demanding much steeper cuts in emissions, the nation has long suffered environmental damage incurred while mining for tin, silver and other major resources, and studies have presented a worst case scenario in which much of the terrain is rendered desert by rising temperatures.
In recent years, however, the resurgence of powerful indigenous groups has been accompanied by a revival of an indigenous spiritual worldview in which the earth deity, Pachamama, and the environment as a whole are at the centre of all things. All living things, humans included, are of equal importance. The state’s first indigenous president, Evo Morales, sits in power with a comfortable majority, and is about to take the concept of eco-friendly legislation to a new level. The Law of Mother Earth, now awaiting passage through Bolivian legislature, will grant nature equal rights to humans.
The law states that Pachamama, a living being in her own right according to indigenous thought, “is sacred, fertile and the source of life that feeds and cares for all living beings in her womb. She is in permanent balance, harmony and communication with the cosmos. She is comprised of all ecosystems and living beings, and their self-organisation.” According to one website, eleven rights will be codified: they will include the right to life and existence; to continue vital cycles and processes without human alteration; to pure water and clean air; to balance; to be free from pollution; to not have cell structure modified or genetically altered; and most controversially, “to not be affected by mega-infrastructure and development projects that affect the balance of ecosystems and the local inhabitant communities”. The government is even expected to establish a ‘ministry of mother earth’, appoint an ombudsman and empower local communities to scrutinise industrial activity.
There’s a balancing act here for Morales. On the one hand, there is clearly a powerful social movement which has a firm foothold in Bolivian politics, and there’s a lot to be said for giving the people what they want (British politicians take note): on the other, the overregulation of industry could prove an economic minefield; over a third of the country’s foreign currency comes from mining companies, for example, and it could well prove an obstacle on the country’s road to development. It probably won’t bring industry to a halt (it hasn’t in Ecuador, where nature has some legal rights but where industrial processes have still damaged substantial regions of the Amazon basin), but it will make it harder to exploit the country’s rich and valuable natural resources.
But maybe, just maybe, that’s not a bad thing. Every global climate change conference seems to involve developed countries like the US and UK, safe in their own positions, hypocritically telling developing countries such as India or even China to stop trying to become developed countries in the same way that they did – by pillaging their resources and developing along a trajectory that is as unsustainable as it is destructive. The fact that we are so protective of the remaining countryside that we have, especially in the UK, belies our underlying guilt. Ideas which could form part of a programme of sustainable development may be the subjects of one of our rather good columns on this site, but are proving difficult to sell to many economies and are still far from becoming the norm. Perhaps it’s quite refreshing that there is at least one willingly underdeveloped country in the world, which will not jeopardise its environment for the sake of capitalism.
Then again, it’s fair to wonder exactly how this law will be interpreted and enforced; the law is by its own nature abstract and complex, but add in an earth spirit who can’t speak for herself and the chances are there will be more problems to come. With poverty rife, lack of healthcare and wide regional disparities in both wealth and literacy, the argument for economic development is also powerful and should not be ignored. I’d like to think that equality means that Pachamama’s rights won’t come at the expense of those of humans; even better, that they will encourage a process of sustainable development to which the rest of the world can look for an example.
I’m inspired. I may set my grandmother back to work on that ozone-hole cover.
I’ve heard plenty of suggested ways to protect the environment. We’ve all been told to ‘reduce, re-use and recycle’, the search for sustainable fuel sources goes on and nanas have taken a break from making cereal to knit a cover for the hole in the ozone layer. We should be using our cars less (which is why cuts to public transport subsidies and constant fare rises are so ridiculous – another article there) and turning the heating down a few degrees, while judgment will certainly fall upon those who fail to hug trees at appropriate moments.
There’s been plenty of ‘green’ legislation and government target-setting, too, and while industrialised nations pretend they want to cut carbon emissions and Al Gore (ironically) goes nuclear over climate change, one voice which has always been critical of the half-hearted or insufficient measures taken by the developed world has been that of Bolivia. Frequently derided by the UK and USA for demanding much steeper cuts in emissions, the nation has long suffered environmental damage incurred while mining for tin, silver and other major resources, and studies have presented a worst case scenario in which much of the terrain is rendered desert by rising temperatures.
In recent years, however, the resurgence of powerful indigenous groups has been accompanied by a revival of an indigenous spiritual worldview in which the earth deity, Pachamama, and the environment as a whole are at the centre of all things. All living things, humans included, are of equal importance. The state’s first indigenous president, Evo Morales, sits in power with a comfortable majority, and is about to take the concept of eco-friendly legislation to a new level. The Law of Mother Earth, now awaiting passage through Bolivian legislature, will grant nature equal rights to humans.
The law states that Pachamama, a living being in her own right according to indigenous thought, “is sacred, fertile and the source of life that feeds and cares for all living beings in her womb. She is in permanent balance, harmony and communication with the cosmos. She is comprised of all ecosystems and living beings, and their self-organisation.” According to one website, eleven rights will be codified: they will include the right to life and existence; to continue vital cycles and processes without human alteration; to pure water and clean air; to balance; to be free from pollution; to not have cell structure modified or genetically altered; and most controversially, “to not be affected by mega-infrastructure and development projects that affect the balance of ecosystems and the local inhabitant communities”. The government is even expected to establish a ‘ministry of mother earth’, appoint an ombudsman and empower local communities to scrutinise industrial activity.
There’s a balancing act here for Morales. On the one hand, there is clearly a powerful social movement which has a firm foothold in Bolivian politics, and there’s a lot to be said for giving the people what they want (British politicians take note): on the other, the overregulation of industry could prove an economic minefield; over a third of the country’s foreign currency comes from mining companies, for example, and it could well prove an obstacle on the country’s road to development. It probably won’t bring industry to a halt (it hasn’t in Ecuador, where nature has some legal rights but where industrial processes have still damaged substantial regions of the Amazon basin), but it will make it harder to exploit the country’s rich and valuable natural resources.
But maybe, just maybe, that’s not a bad thing. Every global climate change conference seems to involve developed countries like the US and UK, safe in their own positions, hypocritically telling developing countries such as India or even China to stop trying to become developed countries in the same way that they did – by pillaging their resources and developing along a trajectory that is as unsustainable as it is destructive. The fact that we are so protective of the remaining countryside that we have, especially in the UK, belies our underlying guilt. Ideas which could form part of a programme of sustainable development may be the subjects of one of our rather good columns on this site, but are proving difficult to sell to many economies and are still far from becoming the norm. Perhaps it’s quite refreshing that there is at least one willingly underdeveloped country in the world, which will not jeopardise its environment for the sake of capitalism.
Then again, it’s fair to wonder exactly how this law will be interpreted and enforced; the law is by its own nature abstract and complex, but add in an earth spirit who can’t speak for herself and the chances are there will be more problems to come. With poverty rife, lack of healthcare and wide regional disparities in both wealth and literacy, the argument for economic development is also powerful and should not be ignored. I’d like to think that equality means that Pachamama’s rights won’t come at the expense of those of humans; even better, that they will encourage a process of sustainable development to which the rest of the world can look for an example.
I’m inspired. I may set my grandmother back to work on that ozone-hole cover.
Thursday, 3 March 2011
The Bubble Columns: Baby Gaga and The Yummy Mummy
Originally published in The Bubble Columns, available here.
What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten? There must be as many answers to that question as there are people. When it comes to food, The Bubble has some pretty cracking articles on the subject, but for all the impressive variety you’ll find here, I guarantee that there’s at least one thing that at some point all of us will have lived on. And no, I’m not referring to the classic student (read: my) dependence on pasta as a staple diet. I mean milk. Breast, bottle or both, it’s the universal source of nutrition for every infant around the world.
But the thing is, it’s also the one thing we tend to leave in infancy. Once we move on to solid food and eventually discover the variety of tea and biscuits available to us, we don’t ever imagine going back. Like Yorkies aren’t for girls and knitting is for your grandmother, breast milk is just for babies, right?
Well, not everyone seems to think so. In fact, until yesterday (March 1st) when it was confiscated by the local council, a London restaurant was charging £14 for a serving of Baby Gaga ice cream – and yes, it’s made from breast milk.
Baby Gaga, which came with a rusk and an optional shot of Calpol or Bonjela (and I’d hope so for £14), was available for about a week from Icecreamists in Covent Garden until complaints from two customers and concerns raised by the Food Standards Agency and Health Protection Agency led Westminster Council to remove it until it can be confirmed as fit for human consumption. Icecreamist founder Matt O’Connor insists that the donor is medically screened and the mixture pasteurised prior to being churned with Madagascan vanilla pods and lemon zest, and described the response as “amazing”: several women have come forward and offered to donate milk, in addition to the sole original donor. London mother Victoria Hiley, who was paid £15 for every 10 ounces of milk donated, has undergone all the same screening procedures as are used on blood donations, and has no qualms about her new sideline; as she told the BBC, "What's the harm in using my assets for a bit of extra cash? I teach women how to get started on breastfeeding their babies. There's very little support for women and every little helps."
Let’s be honest. We all remember pretending to be ill so we could have that spoonful of Calpol. If, like myself, your mother never believed you because you were such a terrible actress, it was one of those things that made being ill occasionally that little bit better. If, however, you have no idea what I’m talking about, you should try some so that you don’t think I’m stuck on some form of Freudian fixation. What’s more, most mothers will freely admit to buying rusks for their own consumption as well as their child’s. But breast milk?
O’Connor insists that ”if it’s good enough for our children then it’s good enough for us… it’s pure organic, free range and totally natural”. It’s also ridiculously nutritious – after all, it keeps babies going through the most rapid and crucial stages of their development – and there’s no arguing with the fact that almost everyone will have already tried it. Hiley even suggests that, if more people were alerted to how good the milk tastes, more women will be encouraged to attempt breastfeeding. All of the above is well and good, but for many of us, I think it’s fair to say it would be difficult to get past that immediate reaction of “urgh!” “yuk!” or whatever sound of revulsion takes your fancy. Humans move on to alternative food sources as they grow for a reason; and isn’t it instinct that we should find imbibing liquid taken from a random woman’s body just a bit disquieting? When I think about it, there are no logical grounds for objection, but my gut reaction is to cringe.
Still, with the ice cream doing the rounds of food safety screening at the time of writing, perhaps upon its return many people will be less squeamish than I. In the meantime, I’ll go for the single shot of Calpol.
Thursday, 17 February 2011
The Bubble Columns: Cameraman
Originally published in The Bubble Columns, available here.
‘Art’. It’s a nebulous term at the best of times. Nobody can agree on what it actually means, never mind what it does – or, for that matter, if it does (or should do) anything at all. Sticking with visual art (in itself quite a slippery concept) and leaving literature, music, film and the rest aside, there’s no better example than that thing we call ‘contemporary art’ – the realm of unmade beds, formaldehyde-treated sharks and everything on the Turner Prize shortlist which makes older members of my family repeatedly shout “What is that!?!” In a sphere where a blank canvas can be considered a finished article rather than a resource, it’s harder than ever to agree exactly what constitutes ‘art’.
Well, consider this: Wafaa Bilal, a professor of photography at New York University’s Tisch School of Arts, is taking one photo a minute for the space of a year to be relayed back to an exhibition in Doha, Qatar, with his position tracked by GPS. This week, however, the project has encountered problems – because his body rejected one of the metal posts keeping the camera bolted into the back of his skull.
Bolted. Into the back of his skull.
When interviewed about the thinking behind 3rdi at the end of last year, Iraqi-born Bilal recounts his escape from the war-torn country in 1991 (how times change). Fleeing his home in Najaf as bombs fell around, he had no way of recording what he was leaving and no connection to his former life: at least this is one year of which he has a full and permanent record. However, he also intends to make a quite serious comment on the “surveillance society” in which we live, forever followed and recorded by CCTV to the point where our lives can barely be considered private any longer.
After doctors refused to perform the procedure on the grounds of excessive risk, Bilal had the camera attached at a body-piercing studio in Los Angeles. Despite treatment with steroids and anti-biotics, he was still experiencing pain and, as the risk of infection grew, it became necessary to remove the device. Hoping that the wound heals quickly so that the camera can be restored, he is maintaining the flow of images by leaving the camera attached by a strap around his neck.
I don’t think I really need to state that I think this man is insane, but I just did. We’ve all heard of people who have done extreme things in the name of art, but this goes a long way beyond Method acting or, for that matter, everything else I can think of.
One of the many, many embarrassing anecdotes that my friends pull out on occasion was directly instigated by contemporary art. During my second year, my housemates and I visited Yoko Ono’s exhibition at the Baltic in Newcastle, and amongst the exhibits was a large, transparent plastic maze. Like many other visitors, I filed in through the narrow gap in the wall – but promptly got lost. This was not helped by the fact that, the maze being transparent, it had not occurred to me that there may actually be a wall in the place where I was about to walk. Needless to say, when the whole gallery resounded with a crash, I shouted “OW!” and the couple of hundred serious art fans in the building all turned to stare at me in outrage as I desperately tried to escape, I learned my lesson. Cringe as I might, and laugh as I know you will (it’s fine – my housemates are still giggling over a year later), this basically sums up my relationship with art: getting drawn in is easy, but I can’t negotiate it with any dignity whatsoever.
Bilal’s current work must be problematic even to people far more artistically aware than I. On the one hand, he does raise some serious questions about the world in which we live; the importance of memory as well as the ways in which Big Brother watches us every second of the day. The dominance of CCTV everywhere we go is a form of socially mandated stalking, to be used to our cost as well as our benefit, endemic to the point where we may as well carry our own camera around with us. Still, the extent to which Bilal has gone is quite disturbing – the extent of the danger and the pain he has put himself through may liken him to many great artists, but they were all somehow mad too. Moreover, it’s difficult to reconcile his ideas about privacy and observation with the fact that, though his girlfriend hasn’t yet imposed any limits, his institution has. To protect the rights of students at the Tisch School of Arts, while Bilal is at work he has agreed to keep the lens cap on. It may be art, but it would seem that it isn’t above compromise.
‘Art’. It’s a nebulous term at the best of times. Nobody can agree on what it actually means, never mind what it does – or, for that matter, if it does (or should do) anything at all. Sticking with visual art (in itself quite a slippery concept) and leaving literature, music, film and the rest aside, there’s no better example than that thing we call ‘contemporary art’ – the realm of unmade beds, formaldehyde-treated sharks and everything on the Turner Prize shortlist which makes older members of my family repeatedly shout “What is that!?!” In a sphere where a blank canvas can be considered a finished article rather than a resource, it’s harder than ever to agree exactly what constitutes ‘art’.
Well, consider this: Wafaa Bilal, a professor of photography at New York University’s Tisch School of Arts, is taking one photo a minute for the space of a year to be relayed back to an exhibition in Doha, Qatar, with his position tracked by GPS. This week, however, the project has encountered problems – because his body rejected one of the metal posts keeping the camera bolted into the back of his skull.
Bolted. Into the back of his skull.
When interviewed about the thinking behind 3rdi at the end of last year, Iraqi-born Bilal recounts his escape from the war-torn country in 1991 (how times change). Fleeing his home in Najaf as bombs fell around, he had no way of recording what he was leaving and no connection to his former life: at least this is one year of which he has a full and permanent record. However, he also intends to make a quite serious comment on the “surveillance society” in which we live, forever followed and recorded by CCTV to the point where our lives can barely be considered private any longer.
After doctors refused to perform the procedure on the grounds of excessive risk, Bilal had the camera attached at a body-piercing studio in Los Angeles. Despite treatment with steroids and anti-biotics, he was still experiencing pain and, as the risk of infection grew, it became necessary to remove the device. Hoping that the wound heals quickly so that the camera can be restored, he is maintaining the flow of images by leaving the camera attached by a strap around his neck.
I don’t think I really need to state that I think this man is insane, but I just did. We’ve all heard of people who have done extreme things in the name of art, but this goes a long way beyond Method acting or, for that matter, everything else I can think of.
One of the many, many embarrassing anecdotes that my friends pull out on occasion was directly instigated by contemporary art. During my second year, my housemates and I visited Yoko Ono’s exhibition at the Baltic in Newcastle, and amongst the exhibits was a large, transparent plastic maze. Like many other visitors, I filed in through the narrow gap in the wall – but promptly got lost. This was not helped by the fact that, the maze being transparent, it had not occurred to me that there may actually be a wall in the place where I was about to walk. Needless to say, when the whole gallery resounded with a crash, I shouted “OW!” and the couple of hundred serious art fans in the building all turned to stare at me in outrage as I desperately tried to escape, I learned my lesson. Cringe as I might, and laugh as I know you will (it’s fine – my housemates are still giggling over a year later), this basically sums up my relationship with art: getting drawn in is easy, but I can’t negotiate it with any dignity whatsoever.
Bilal’s current work must be problematic even to people far more artistically aware than I. On the one hand, he does raise some serious questions about the world in which we live; the importance of memory as well as the ways in which Big Brother watches us every second of the day. The dominance of CCTV everywhere we go is a form of socially mandated stalking, to be used to our cost as well as our benefit, endemic to the point where we may as well carry our own camera around with us. Still, the extent to which Bilal has gone is quite disturbing – the extent of the danger and the pain he has put himself through may liken him to many great artists, but they were all somehow mad too. Moreover, it’s difficult to reconcile his ideas about privacy and observation with the fact that, though his girlfriend hasn’t yet imposed any limits, his institution has. To protect the rights of students at the Tisch School of Arts, while Bilal is at work he has agreed to keep the lens cap on. It may be art, but it would seem that it isn’t above compromise.
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
The Bubble Columns: Blue-rovision?
Originally published in The Bubble Columns, available here.
I should start with a confession. I’m sure you have mental images of me as the highly refined, serious intellectual who slaves to entertain the masses with her astute and serious observations. Alas, these are illusions of which I must rob you. Ladies and gentlemen, I love the Eurovision Song Contest.
It might be the cheesiest, tackiest, and generally most pathetic arena in which our great nation has ever allowed, and in fact paid for, its own humiliation. It may be the site of some of the most disturbing and confusing scenes you’ll ever witness. It is certainly the most ludicrous way the people of Europe have devised to tell Britain that it has no friends (except for Ireland, and sometimes Cyprus or Portugal if we’re lucky) and reinforce trade links between neighbouring countries. But for all that, it’s obscenely entertaining, and those who watch every year admit it with a mixture of pride and shame.
As a nation, though, we approach the Eurovision with the most cynical of attitudes, chiefly because we always know that we will lose. Britain being isolated from Europe in both geographic and figurative terms, we have nobody to give us those all-important points out of a sense of regional camaraderie (which is why so many obscure Baltic and Balkan countries have done well in recent years). Less important, but more easily changed, is the fact that we keep entering diabolical songs. Last year’s entry was written by Pete Waterman – a man who hasn’t been cool since the late 1980s when he worked with Kylie Minogue – though before that, Andrew Lloyd Webber had written a ballad that came fifth. The woman who sang said ballad is now a Sugababe. Everyone lost.
Luckily, however, it seems our Eurovision despair may well be coming to an end. We have an entry for this year. The news that made my week: the United Kingdom’s Eurovision 2011 entry is entitled ‘I Can’, and it’s by a little boy band called Blue. Yes, Blue. Just in case you haven’t had your fill of reformed boy bands in the past few years, the early 2000s group consisting of Duncan James, Lee Ryan, Antony Costa and Simon Webbe, who reunited in 2009, intend to stage a comeback with the performance of the song, penned by Duncan and Lee (the blonde ones), in Dusseldorf in May.
BBC One will be airing an hour-long documentary in April following the band recording and promoting the single, as well as getting advice from fellow musicians (who I desperately hope will include these former Eurovision winners), as part of the run-up to the contest. Head of entertainment and events Katie Taylor said of the announcement “We’re enormously pleased to have found an act that not only meets but exceeds all the criteria for a great entry… Blue are the perfect choice”. Duncan claims that this will be “a great way to mark the occasion” of their tenth year together, while Simon has said that he has “always wanted to represent my country, so this is a truly exciting experience for Blue”.
They do have a better resume than most entrants – 13 million album sales, three number one singles, and insanely catchy tunes like All Rise, Fly By, and One Love, all of which could stand us in very good stead come May 14th. That said, they are also responsible for some pretty terrible covers; they even managed to enlist both Elton John and Stevie Wonder to help them mutilate Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word and Signed, Sealed, Delivered respectively. Either way, though, Britain at least is in the grip of a mania for returning old-school boy bands; if Europe shares this nostalgic sentiment then we could be on to a – well, not a winner, but maybe a little less of a loser.
Still, it does beg the question of how successful this comeback will be. Entry into the Eurovision is widely acknowledged as career suicide- the vast majority of UK entrants are neither seen nor heard from again. Former Blue manager Daniel Glatman has described the decision as “reckless insanity”, insisting that “they will have to win. Anything less and their reputation would be in tatters”. I disagree- Blue are a cheesy boy band whose fan base now regard them with nostalgia rather than genuine adulation, and since nobody ever expects a UK entrant to win, they have little to lose if they don’t win. If anything, the damage will come from the stigma of being a Eurovision contestant, which basically means that they will never be taken seriously again. Still, they’re Blue. Who would take them seriously anyway?
Maybe it will just add to the cheesy kitsch we associate with reformed boy bands like them. Take That may have managed to break out of that category, but they did so by producing some genuinely brilliant new music- and coming from someone who would rather listen to Led Zeppelin or Nirvana, that’s saying something. Maybe Blue can do the same. Either way, we’ll find out along with the rest of Europe on May 14th.
I should start with a confession. I’m sure you have mental images of me as the highly refined, serious intellectual who slaves to entertain the masses with her astute and serious observations. Alas, these are illusions of which I must rob you. Ladies and gentlemen, I love the Eurovision Song Contest.
It might be the cheesiest, tackiest, and generally most pathetic arena in which our great nation has ever allowed, and in fact paid for, its own humiliation. It may be the site of some of the most disturbing and confusing scenes you’ll ever witness. It is certainly the most ludicrous way the people of Europe have devised to tell Britain that it has no friends (except for Ireland, and sometimes Cyprus or Portugal if we’re lucky) and reinforce trade links between neighbouring countries. But for all that, it’s obscenely entertaining, and those who watch every year admit it with a mixture of pride and shame.
As a nation, though, we approach the Eurovision with the most cynical of attitudes, chiefly because we always know that we will lose. Britain being isolated from Europe in both geographic and figurative terms, we have nobody to give us those all-important points out of a sense of regional camaraderie (which is why so many obscure Baltic and Balkan countries have done well in recent years). Less important, but more easily changed, is the fact that we keep entering diabolical songs. Last year’s entry was written by Pete Waterman – a man who hasn’t been cool since the late 1980s when he worked with Kylie Minogue – though before that, Andrew Lloyd Webber had written a ballad that came fifth. The woman who sang said ballad is now a Sugababe. Everyone lost.
Luckily, however, it seems our Eurovision despair may well be coming to an end. We have an entry for this year. The news that made my week: the United Kingdom’s Eurovision 2011 entry is entitled ‘I Can’, and it’s by a little boy band called Blue. Yes, Blue. Just in case you haven’t had your fill of reformed boy bands in the past few years, the early 2000s group consisting of Duncan James, Lee Ryan, Antony Costa and Simon Webbe, who reunited in 2009, intend to stage a comeback with the performance of the song, penned by Duncan and Lee (the blonde ones), in Dusseldorf in May.
BBC One will be airing an hour-long documentary in April following the band recording and promoting the single, as well as getting advice from fellow musicians (who I desperately hope will include these former Eurovision winners), as part of the run-up to the contest. Head of entertainment and events Katie Taylor said of the announcement “We’re enormously pleased to have found an act that not only meets but exceeds all the criteria for a great entry… Blue are the perfect choice”. Duncan claims that this will be “a great way to mark the occasion” of their tenth year together, while Simon has said that he has “always wanted to represent my country, so this is a truly exciting experience for Blue”.
They do have a better resume than most entrants – 13 million album sales, three number one singles, and insanely catchy tunes like All Rise, Fly By, and One Love, all of which could stand us in very good stead come May 14th. That said, they are also responsible for some pretty terrible covers; they even managed to enlist both Elton John and Stevie Wonder to help them mutilate Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word and Signed, Sealed, Delivered respectively. Either way, though, Britain at least is in the grip of a mania for returning old-school boy bands; if Europe shares this nostalgic sentiment then we could be on to a – well, not a winner, but maybe a little less of a loser.
Still, it does beg the question of how successful this comeback will be. Entry into the Eurovision is widely acknowledged as career suicide- the vast majority of UK entrants are neither seen nor heard from again. Former Blue manager Daniel Glatman has described the decision as “reckless insanity”, insisting that “they will have to win. Anything less and their reputation would be in tatters”. I disagree- Blue are a cheesy boy band whose fan base now regard them with nostalgia rather than genuine adulation, and since nobody ever expects a UK entrant to win, they have little to lose if they don’t win. If anything, the damage will come from the stigma of being a Eurovision contestant, which basically means that they will never be taken seriously again. Still, they’re Blue. Who would take them seriously anyway?
Maybe it will just add to the cheesy kitsch we associate with reformed boy bands like them. Take That may have managed to break out of that category, but they did so by producing some genuinely brilliant new music- and coming from someone who would rather listen to Led Zeppelin or Nirvana, that’s saying something. Maybe Blue can do the same. Either way, we’ll find out along with the rest of Europe on May 14th.
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
The Bubble Columns: The Man Who Would Be Kick-Ass
Originally published on The Bubble Columns, available here.
Gentle readers, I crave your pardon. It’s been a while. No doubt you’ve all been sitting at your computers every Wednesday since my last column in the desperate hope of further strange news-based musings. Your disappointment must have been, I am sure, too great for words, but you may rest assured that the hiatus is officially over. I return with the kind of news that could only come from the USA – a man acting like Batman.
Phoenix Jones – a name which bizarrely isn’t actually his pseudonym – claims to be making the streets of Seattle safer since taking up his unconventional hobby about nine months ago. He disappears into the back room of a comic-book store (yes, really), dons tights, black and gold Lycra and a mask, and emerges as a crime-fighting force to be reckoned with. Bearing a bullet-proof vest, stab protection, tear gas and a taser for aid in his all-but-caped crusade, he has already prevented car thefts among other crimes. He’s not alone: apparently there are eight other members of his Rain City Superhero group doing the exact same thing in Seattle, though less is known about them. Presumably this is because they actually understand the nature of a secret identity.
Speaking to CBS, he claimed that “When I walk into a neighbourhood, criminals leave because they see the suit. I symbolise that the average person doesn't have to walk around and see bad things and do nothing”. For all his protective gear, though, there has been a physical cost- he has been stabbed, repeatedly threatened with guns, and was recently kicked in the face while trying to break up a fight, resulting in a broken nose. Still, as you can probably guess, this hasn’t put him off- he told one news website that “I endanger my life with a reason and purpose”. As you might expect, local police have publicly encouraged Jones to hang up his mask before he is seriously injured, and insisted that citizens do not put themselves into violent situations unnecessarily but contact the police instead. The fashion police said something similar, but they were more upset about the Lycra.
Many of us by now will have seen Kick-Ass, and if you haven’t, you should. A comic-book adaptation itself, its central character is a teenage boy who wonders why nobody has ever tried to dress up and fight crime like the superheroes they admire so much; seeing plenty of opportunities to protect and serve where the police can’t or don’t, he dons a bright green wetsuit and does exactly that. It’s a brilliant action-comedy, but it also raises plenty of questions about justice, apathy and vigilantism: in what will one day become a classic scene, Kick-Ass picks himself up from the ground after being beaten by a gang, looks around at the circle of people filming him and pants “Three assholes, laying into one guy while everybody else watches? And you wanna know what's wrong with me?”
That scene, for me, hits the nail on the head. Vigilantism, for me, is intrinsically wrong. Breaking the law in the name of preventing others from breaking the law – using the threat of violence to prevent violence – is not only paradoxical but risks reducing the perpetrators to the same level as the criminals they supposedly suppress; it’s impossible to claim any moral high ground. Moreover, it undermines the authorities who have been entrusted with responsibility for law and order and do work extremely hard to enforce it. Of course, it’s also extremely dangerous.
Still, it’s hard not to see where people like Jones are coming from. When citizens are surrounded and intimidated by crime everywhere they go, and the police are so overstretched and mismanaged that they can’t possibly deal with the number of incidents coming their way every day, it makes sense that individuals move in and attempt to fill the void in their own way. People who are genuinely angry enough will inevitably want to intervene. But beyond that, Kick-Ass summed it up nicely: when so many of us allow injustice and cruelty to carry on under our noses and do nothing to change it, do we really have the right to judge the odd person who does something about it?
I’d still maintain that vigilantism is born of a revenge instinct. Coming out of anger rather than respect for the rule of law, it’s understandable but never commendable- and unless you happen to have been bitten by a mutant spider, turned green and angry by radiation or sent to Earth from a dying planet called Krypton, it’s highly dangerous. But then, there’s a reason that Batman has been so successful in recent years relative to other superheroes, and I’d argue that it’s the fact that he has no actual powers. He may be intelligent and rich, but ultimately he’s an ordinary man who is moved to act against the huge crime problem his community faces – deep down, a lot of us can relate to that.
Well, apart from that time when he fought Arnold Schwarzenegger. I mean, Batman and Robin, honestly…
Wednesday, 24 November 2010
The Bubble Columns: Porn and Prejudice- A Catalan Election
Originally published on The Bubble Columns, available here.
Unless you hid under a rock for the first six months of this year, you’ll know that elections can be complicated things. What always amazes me is that, largely thanks to the media, the political issues themselves usually matter less than the people who argue about them, and both are subject to copious levels of spin. In Britain this spring almost every billboard in every town featured a party leader staring down at us beside some sort of slogan explaining why they were either Satan’s lovechild or God’s gift; party political broadcasts costing more than Ireland’s current bank balance begged us not to condemn our country to the other parties’ reigns of terror; Facebook and Twitter became political weapons. Thank God, most of us said, we didn’t have TV adverts as well.
If you’ve seen any of those cringe-worthy American adverts where an ‘authoritative, genuine family man’ type talks about how his values make him different, you’ll understand just how painful that could have been with, say, Gordon Brown. But there is an alternative path for political TV advertising, and the Spanish have demonstrated that it can make you shudder for entirely different reasons. According to a new advert by the Young Socialists for the regional elections in Catalonia, “Voting is a pleasure”: so much so that the young voter actually has an orgasm.
You’d never see that in the middle of Emmerdale, now, would you?
Responses have, predictably, varied. Alicia Sanchez-Camacho, candidate for the conservative Popular Party of Catalonia, called it an “attack on the dignity of women”. Even within the Socialist Party of Catalonia, opinion is divided: health minister Leire Pajin called for responsibility and respect for women from all political parties, while the leader Jose Montilla (who is standing for re-election) supported the ad claiming that “if it encourages people to vote, it’s a good thing”. Honourable mentions must go to Socialist equality minister Bibiana Aido, whose biggest concern was not the ad’s potential sexism or suggestive content, but deception: “If it was true, electoral participation would go up greatly, but I think we are dealing with a misleading advert.” Still, the best response by a country mile came from Joan Herrera, leader of the Green coalition in Catalonia, who admitted it would be “very difficult to reach orgasm voting for any of the candidates, myself included”. Honesty is the best policy, I suppose.
I don’t think I need to explain why this is my favourite news story of the week. But the best thing about this advert is that it isn’t the only controversy of this election. Sanchez-Camacho, who was so critical of the ad, is probably glad the electorate have someone else to focus on: a videogame which depicted her flying on the back of a seagull and bombing immigrants as recently removed from her party’s website. Yes, you did read that correctly. The game was removed after a few hours amid party claims that the developers had made a mistake – the bombs were apparently meant to fall on the gangs who traffic the immigrants into Spain – but only after the website had crashed due to overwhelming popularity (and you thought Call of Duty was serious). On the same day another candidate, Montse Nebrera, appeared in only a towel at the end of an ad which seems close to soft porn; before that the Catalan Solidarity for Independence Party recruited a porn star to appear at their rallies. It’s starting to look like the candidates are in a race to get their whole campaigns banned for offensive content.
I’m the first person to advocate increasing political participation. My thoughts have always been that apathy is so serious in so many countries, including Britain, with young and minority demographics presenting the lowest electoral turnouts, that it makes sense to use every available medium to engage them in public affairs – but I meant Facebook and education, not porn and prejudice. Catalonia’s election campaigns are symptomatic of a failure becoming endemic in Western societies: something is going very wrong when people are so disinterested in political affairs that officials have to use sex and xenophobic shoot-em-ups to lure them in, or, when officials think they need to use them because they don’t think people will respond to anything else. If it’s the former, we need to ask ourselves why we’re not more interested in our rights, but politicians should also think about why people care so little; someone, after all, is to blame for our disillusionment with politics. If it’s the second option which is true and the officials are right, that’s a damning indictment. If they’re wrong, people who misunderstand their voters to that extent shouldn’t be representing them.
Above all, I just don’t see how it will work. If parties and activists want to encourage people to vote, they need to do it by making them aware of issues and how they will affect people’s everyday lives, so that they can form opinions and act on them. Otherwise, no amount of misleading sexual advertising or look-at-us-we’re-down-with-the-kids-homie games will fill the apathetic void at the heart of most modern democracies.
Unless you hid under a rock for the first six months of this year, you’ll know that elections can be complicated things. What always amazes me is that, largely thanks to the media, the political issues themselves usually matter less than the people who argue about them, and both are subject to copious levels of spin. In Britain this spring almost every billboard in every town featured a party leader staring down at us beside some sort of slogan explaining why they were either Satan’s lovechild or God’s gift; party political broadcasts costing more than Ireland’s current bank balance begged us not to condemn our country to the other parties’ reigns of terror; Facebook and Twitter became political weapons. Thank God, most of us said, we didn’t have TV adverts as well.
If you’ve seen any of those cringe-worthy American adverts where an ‘authoritative, genuine family man’ type talks about how his values make him different, you’ll understand just how painful that could have been with, say, Gordon Brown. But there is an alternative path for political TV advertising, and the Spanish have demonstrated that it can make you shudder for entirely different reasons. According to a new advert by the Young Socialists for the regional elections in Catalonia, “Voting is a pleasure”: so much so that the young voter actually has an orgasm.
You’d never see that in the middle of Emmerdale, now, would you?
Responses have, predictably, varied. Alicia Sanchez-Camacho, candidate for the conservative Popular Party of Catalonia, called it an “attack on the dignity of women”. Even within the Socialist Party of Catalonia, opinion is divided: health minister Leire Pajin called for responsibility and respect for women from all political parties, while the leader Jose Montilla (who is standing for re-election) supported the ad claiming that “if it encourages people to vote, it’s a good thing”. Honourable mentions must go to Socialist equality minister Bibiana Aido, whose biggest concern was not the ad’s potential sexism or suggestive content, but deception: “If it was true, electoral participation would go up greatly, but I think we are dealing with a misleading advert.” Still, the best response by a country mile came from Joan Herrera, leader of the Green coalition in Catalonia, who admitted it would be “very difficult to reach orgasm voting for any of the candidates, myself included”. Honesty is the best policy, I suppose.
I don’t think I need to explain why this is my favourite news story of the week. But the best thing about this advert is that it isn’t the only controversy of this election. Sanchez-Camacho, who was so critical of the ad, is probably glad the electorate have someone else to focus on: a videogame which depicted her flying on the back of a seagull and bombing immigrants as recently removed from her party’s website. Yes, you did read that correctly. The game was removed after a few hours amid party claims that the developers had made a mistake – the bombs were apparently meant to fall on the gangs who traffic the immigrants into Spain – but only after the website had crashed due to overwhelming popularity (and you thought Call of Duty was serious). On the same day another candidate, Montse Nebrera, appeared in only a towel at the end of an ad which seems close to soft porn; before that the Catalan Solidarity for Independence Party recruited a porn star to appear at their rallies. It’s starting to look like the candidates are in a race to get their whole campaigns banned for offensive content.
I’m the first person to advocate increasing political participation. My thoughts have always been that apathy is so serious in so many countries, including Britain, with young and minority demographics presenting the lowest electoral turnouts, that it makes sense to use every available medium to engage them in public affairs – but I meant Facebook and education, not porn and prejudice. Catalonia’s election campaigns are symptomatic of a failure becoming endemic in Western societies: something is going very wrong when people are so disinterested in political affairs that officials have to use sex and xenophobic shoot-em-ups to lure them in, or, when officials think they need to use them because they don’t think people will respond to anything else. If it’s the former, we need to ask ourselves why we’re not more interested in our rights, but politicians should also think about why people care so little; someone, after all, is to blame for our disillusionment with politics. If it’s the second option which is true and the officials are right, that’s a damning indictment. If they’re wrong, people who misunderstand their voters to that extent shouldn’t be representing them.
Above all, I just don’t see how it will work. If parties and activists want to encourage people to vote, they need to do it by making them aware of issues and how they will affect people’s everyday lives, so that they can form opinions and act on them. Otherwise, no amount of misleading sexual advertising or look-at-us-we’re-down-with-the-kids-homie games will fill the apathetic void at the heart of most modern democracies.
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
The Bubble Columns: The Renault Zoe and the Zoe Renaults
Originally published in The Bubble Columns, available online here.
There’s a classic series of books called The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams in which one of the major characters, a visiting alien, had “skimped a bit on his preparatory research” and chosen what he believed would be a nice, inconspicuous name. Ford Prefect only realised after choosing this name that it was actually one of the most popular cars in Britain. As Adams joked in later interviews, he’d “simply mistaken the dominant life form”.
That’s all very well if you’re from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse, but for we terrestrial beings it may not always be so funny. At least that’s the claim of the lawyers in a recent court case in France, where the parents of two girls called Zoe Renault have just lost a legal challenge to prevent Renault from naming a new electric car… yep, you guessed it.
The two families have argued that their daughters – and to an extent all women with the same name – could be subject to a lifetime of mockery for sharing the name of a car, beginning with playground teasing and developing into comments in bars along the lines of “Can I see your airbags?” and “Can I shine your bumper?” (at which point, I hope, there were repressed giggles around the courtroom). David Koubbi, representing the families, told the Associated Press that “There’s a line between living things and inanimate objects” which is defined by the first name: the simple message for Renault was “first names are for humans”.
It’s a message, however, which has fallen on deaf ears. The all-electric Zoe ZE (Zero Emission), expected to be launched in 2012, was apparently named for the original Greek, meaning “life”, to emphasize the car’s environmental credentials. In his ruling, the judge accepted that for this reason, the word was simply a common noun, rather than a name; he also saw no evidence that it would cause the girls “certain, direct and current harm”. Koubbi claims that this logic is perverse, and the families intend to appeal the ruling as soon as possible.
The same lawyer is representing other Zoes across France attempting to challenge the name, claiming that it impinges their rights. A 23-year-old Zoe Renault told Le Parisien earlier this year that she couldn’t bear to be associated with the car for the rest of her life and hear such sarcastic remarks as “Zoe’s broken down again” or “we need to get Zoe overhauled”. The question is: are all these Zoes being overly sensitive?
Names are a part of our identity. They’re one of the ways that we separate ourselves from everyone else, and central to our sense of self. The connotations of our names will follow us around too, especially if they include a level of irony or humour. I, for example, am from Yorkshire, and my surname is also a cake, traditionally associated with said motherland and eaten on bonfire night. A cake I can’t stand, which is apparently mildly amusing to a few people. Zoe Renault is considerably more obvious, and after a while the mockery would conceivably begin to be irksome.
In addition, France as a nation takes names very seriously – until not so long ago parents were legally required to choose from a list of agreed, acceptable children’s names (probably to preserve the French nomenclature from the evil influence of Anglo-Saxon). This is no longer the case, but officials can argue against parental choices if they feel it may result in the child’s harm or ridicule: perhaps one day Zoe Renault could become one such name.
Still, perhaps the time, effort, expense and above all , the added publicity involved in a legal challenge just isn’t worth it. Parents attempting to protect their children are one thing, but the adult Zoes? In announcing to the whole world that you’re so sensitive to mockery that you would go to court to prevent any potential for it, you leave yourself open to so many people who enjoy poking fun at people just to get a reaction. Anyway, as a reason to tease someone, isn’t “the one who didn’t want a car named after them” just as bad as “the one with the car named after them”?
Naming machinery, be it cars, ships, or Eddie Stobart lorries after women is nothing new. Now, whilst I would have the deepest sympathy for a little girl called Titanic, at least Zoe Renaults across France won’t have to listen to jibes about their carbon emissions. Their electric personalities, however, may still be fair game.
There’s a classic series of books called The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams in which one of the major characters, a visiting alien, had “skimped a bit on his preparatory research” and chosen what he believed would be a nice, inconspicuous name. Ford Prefect only realised after choosing this name that it was actually one of the most popular cars in Britain. As Adams joked in later interviews, he’d “simply mistaken the dominant life form”.
That’s all very well if you’re from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse, but for we terrestrial beings it may not always be so funny. At least that’s the claim of the lawyers in a recent court case in France, where the parents of two girls called Zoe Renault have just lost a legal challenge to prevent Renault from naming a new electric car… yep, you guessed it.
The two families have argued that their daughters – and to an extent all women with the same name – could be subject to a lifetime of mockery for sharing the name of a car, beginning with playground teasing and developing into comments in bars along the lines of “Can I see your airbags?” and “Can I shine your bumper?” (at which point, I hope, there were repressed giggles around the courtroom). David Koubbi, representing the families, told the Associated Press that “There’s a line between living things and inanimate objects” which is defined by the first name: the simple message for Renault was “first names are for humans”.
It’s a message, however, which has fallen on deaf ears. The all-electric Zoe ZE (Zero Emission), expected to be launched in 2012, was apparently named for the original Greek, meaning “life”, to emphasize the car’s environmental credentials. In his ruling, the judge accepted that for this reason, the word was simply a common noun, rather than a name; he also saw no evidence that it would cause the girls “certain, direct and current harm”. Koubbi claims that this logic is perverse, and the families intend to appeal the ruling as soon as possible.
The same lawyer is representing other Zoes across France attempting to challenge the name, claiming that it impinges their rights. A 23-year-old Zoe Renault told Le Parisien earlier this year that she couldn’t bear to be associated with the car for the rest of her life and hear such sarcastic remarks as “Zoe’s broken down again” or “we need to get Zoe overhauled”. The question is: are all these Zoes being overly sensitive?
Names are a part of our identity. They’re one of the ways that we separate ourselves from everyone else, and central to our sense of self. The connotations of our names will follow us around too, especially if they include a level of irony or humour. I, for example, am from Yorkshire, and my surname is also a cake, traditionally associated with said motherland and eaten on bonfire night. A cake I can’t stand, which is apparently mildly amusing to a few people. Zoe Renault is considerably more obvious, and after a while the mockery would conceivably begin to be irksome.
In addition, France as a nation takes names very seriously – until not so long ago parents were legally required to choose from a list of agreed, acceptable children’s names (probably to preserve the French nomenclature from the evil influence of Anglo-Saxon). This is no longer the case, but officials can argue against parental choices if they feel it may result in the child’s harm or ridicule: perhaps one day Zoe Renault could become one such name.
Still, perhaps the time, effort, expense and above all , the added publicity involved in a legal challenge just isn’t worth it. Parents attempting to protect their children are one thing, but the adult Zoes? In announcing to the whole world that you’re so sensitive to mockery that you would go to court to prevent any potential for it, you leave yourself open to so many people who enjoy poking fun at people just to get a reaction. Anyway, as a reason to tease someone, isn’t “the one who didn’t want a car named after them” just as bad as “the one with the car named after them”?
Naming machinery, be it cars, ships, or Eddie Stobart lorries after women is nothing new. Now, whilst I would have the deepest sympathy for a little girl called Titanic, at least Zoe Renaults across France won’t have to listen to jibes about their carbon emissions. Their electric personalities, however, may still be fair game.
Thursday, 11 November 2010
Palatinate Features: Is Staying Sober Social Suicide?
Originally published in Palatinate 722 Features, 9th November 2010.
Whenever I’m on a night out in Durham, one event occurs with clockwork regularity. It’s somewhere between 1.30 and 1.45 am that one of my friends, normally in a rather slurred and slightly incomprehensible manner, is guaranteed to declare, “I’m so impressed that you’re sober!”
According to one survey, on average one third of Europeans and 4 out of 10 Americans are teetotal, including numerous celebrities including Ewan McGregor and Leona Lewis. These statistics may seem surprisingly high, but maybe that’s because drinking has become so much a part of our culture that we assume everybody partakes, at least occasionally- indeed, many of the most well-known abstainers from alcohol are recovering addicts, like Samuel L. Jackson. As a result it can be surprisingly difficult to convince people that you’re one of the few who choose a life of sobriety.
It’s all too common, upon telling friends that you are teetotal, to be met with either scepticism or shock. The expectations about the drinking habits of students never go away, and chances are at least one person will accuse you of lying, while others will ask you how you could possibly have enjoyed a Monday night in Studio without any “liquid courage”. Some people’s attitudes might be harder to swallow- at least one of my friends has announced that his only goal before graduation is to get me drunk, while on one occasion I bought a cranberry juice which arrived containing vodka, because the bar staff assumed I’d forgotten to ask for it. Still, the vast majority are perfectly accepting after their initial surprise.
So how does a teetotaller perceive drinkers? To an extent that depends on their reasons to choose to do the opposite. Personally, I have no problem with other people choosing to drink- I frequently have nights out with friends at varying stages of inebriation, and have rarely had what could be considered a “bad” night. Though people frequently ask whether drunk people annoy me, most of the time the answer is ‘no’- but that tends to be when they are the enjoyable type of drunk who doesn’t hinder a fun night.
More difficult to deal with are those who for one reason or another make life harder. The teetotaller in a group often ends up responsible for taking care of all of those who become overly emotional, ill or incapable of supporting their own weight. After a while, putting people to bed, holding back their hair or holding them up on the walk home- being de facto nanny- can be somewhat irksome. That might be a position that can be resigned if it isn’t wanted, but sometimes it can be unfairly expected.
On the whole, a teetotaller’s social life doesn’t have to be any different to those of their alcohol-drinking counterparts. In fact, it can have its advantages- they can go out and have a great night like anybody else. The next morning there will be fatigue, but no hangover. They will remember everything that happened, potentially relishing the opportunity to remind everybody else. Significantly, usually they will have spent less money (I have had great nights out costing less than £5), which they may even spend on going out more often. Should they encounter problems, it’s usually more to do with attitudes towards alcohol itself.
Probably the biggest problem for some, especially those who have never been drinkers, is the difficulty of understanding the culture that has sprung up around alcohol. It can be baffling when people say that they need to be wasted to have a good time in a club, or talk about things they’ve done under the influence as though they were badges of honour. Equally perplexing are the suggestions that stumbling around in the street is somehow fun, or that hangovers are worth it.
This is a question which can never really be resolved without that experience; even most of the drinkers I’ve asked have not been able to answer it themselves. But I think it’s enough, whether you understand or agree or not, to accept drinking as another lifestyle choice, just like teetotalism or anything else, to be respected unless it begins to impinge on the rights of others.
Every non-drinker has their own reasons for this choice, from religion to health to the fact that it tastes bad. Whatever they may be, the resulting sobriety is not something that separates them from people who enjoy alcohol. Studio, Loveshack, and the rest are all perfectly enjoyable sober, so long as you’re in good company and inclined to appreciate the cheesy joys they usually offer. An alcohol-free existence, based on my experience, certainly doesn’t mean a boring one.
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
The Bubble Columns: Giving It Large
Originally published in The Bubble Columns, available here.
What would you do if you won the lottery? We’ve all been asked that question before, and we’ve probably all given the usual answers: a luxury yacht, a mansion, a sports car, bribing a socialite to be seen with us in public. There are the more realistic answers too; paying off debt, taking care of family, bribing Dale Winton to never present a lottery game show again. I’m pretty sure mine would be a combination: pay off the parents’ mortgage, buy an Aston Martin, and spend a vast sum on a library full of poetry (I’m that cool). Most of us would probably give some to charity as well- but how much? 10%? 20%? 50%?
How about 98%?
That’s exactly what the stars of this week’s column have done. Allen and Violet Large, a retired elderly couple from Nova Scotia in Canada, won $11,255,272 (about £7 million) on the lottery earlier this year. After taking care of their family, they chose to keep around £130,000 for a rainy day, and donated the rest to a combination of cemeteries, fire departments, churches, the Red Cross, the Salvation Army, hospitals where cancer-sufferer Violet has had treatment and more.
The Larges insist that they already have enough for their needs having saved up all of their working lives towards their retirement, and had found their new-found fortune “a big headache”. Given Violet’s condition at the time, they were also concerned that they may be taken advantage of (she has since completed chemotherapy), and therefore agreed to give the majority away. Ultimately, says Allen, “That money we won was nothing. We have each other”.
In a world where we’re more used to stories of greed and consumerism than kindness and charity, this was the piece of news that made my week. Once they’d taken care of the needs of themselves and their loved ones, the Larges had no use for the rest of the money, so they made sure it went to good causes that did. I think for most people, it’s hard to imagine being prepared to do the same.
Or at least that was the impression I got from reading other people’s responses to the story. Looking at the comments on a couple of news websites I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Many responses are full of admiration for the Larges’ largesse (a pun I had to use somewhere). Still, there are large numbers of objections, including people asking why you’d play the lottery if you didn’t want the money (one called them “idiots” for this); the other key criticism is that they are denying their family a huge inheritance which would enable them to live what one response termed “the life of Riley”. Another comment claimed that the writer would hate their parents for doing what the couple have done. Others have said that, since the amount donated to each organisation is undisclosed, the Larges may well have given nearly all of it to their family and barely given any to charity (which I’m not convinced would be so terrible a crime).
It’s that kind of cynicism that threatens to overshadow a story like this, and I find it really sad that some people would feel that way. Nevertheless, for every negative response, there seems to be at least one further positive. From my point of view, those who speak about Allen and Violet’s decision as inspirational and enough to restore their faith in humanity are much closer to the mark. My favourite response to this story also came from the same websites.
“I just had to know what kind of crazy lunatic would just give away $11.2 Million Dollars. Apparently the crazy lunatics are a wonderful old couple who are clearly already rich beyond measure”.
What would you do if you won the lottery? We’ve all been asked that question before, and we’ve probably all given the usual answers: a luxury yacht, a mansion, a sports car, bribing a socialite to be seen with us in public. There are the more realistic answers too; paying off debt, taking care of family, bribing Dale Winton to never present a lottery game show again. I’m pretty sure mine would be a combination: pay off the parents’ mortgage, buy an Aston Martin, and spend a vast sum on a library full of poetry (I’m that cool). Most of us would probably give some to charity as well- but how much? 10%? 20%? 50%?
How about 98%?
That’s exactly what the stars of this week’s column have done. Allen and Violet Large, a retired elderly couple from Nova Scotia in Canada, won $11,255,272 (about £7 million) on the lottery earlier this year. After taking care of their family, they chose to keep around £130,000 for a rainy day, and donated the rest to a combination of cemeteries, fire departments, churches, the Red Cross, the Salvation Army, hospitals where cancer-sufferer Violet has had treatment and more.
The Larges insist that they already have enough for their needs having saved up all of their working lives towards their retirement, and had found their new-found fortune “a big headache”. Given Violet’s condition at the time, they were also concerned that they may be taken advantage of (she has since completed chemotherapy), and therefore agreed to give the majority away. Ultimately, says Allen, “That money we won was nothing. We have each other”.
In a world where we’re more used to stories of greed and consumerism than kindness and charity, this was the piece of news that made my week. Once they’d taken care of the needs of themselves and their loved ones, the Larges had no use for the rest of the money, so they made sure it went to good causes that did. I think for most people, it’s hard to imagine being prepared to do the same.
Or at least that was the impression I got from reading other people’s responses to the story. Looking at the comments on a couple of news websites I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Many responses are full of admiration for the Larges’ largesse (a pun I had to use somewhere). Still, there are large numbers of objections, including people asking why you’d play the lottery if you didn’t want the money (one called them “idiots” for this); the other key criticism is that they are denying their family a huge inheritance which would enable them to live what one response termed “the life of Riley”. Another comment claimed that the writer would hate their parents for doing what the couple have done. Others have said that, since the amount donated to each organisation is undisclosed, the Larges may well have given nearly all of it to their family and barely given any to charity (which I’m not convinced would be so terrible a crime).
It’s that kind of cynicism that threatens to overshadow a story like this, and I find it really sad that some people would feel that way. Nevertheless, for every negative response, there seems to be at least one further positive. From my point of view, those who speak about Allen and Violet’s decision as inspirational and enough to restore their faith in humanity are much closer to the mark. My favourite response to this story also came from the same websites.
“I just had to know what kind of crazy lunatic would just give away $11.2 Million Dollars. Apparently the crazy lunatics are a wonderful old couple who are clearly already rich beyond measure”.
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
The Bubble Columns: Compare the Ghost Writers?
Originally published in The Bubble Columns, available here.
In the run up to Christmas last year I wrote an article for another publication about the avalanche (it was snowing at the time) of celebrity autobiographies filling the shelves of our bookshops. In it I argued that although it’s a genre of shameless profiteering and very little originality, the usually humorous and often inspirational stories of people like Dawn French and Jo Brand were popular because they left a smile on our faces. In a climate of economic gloom, depressing weather and endless Katie Price documentaries, I said, who doesn’t need a little cheering up?
Well, the best piece of news I’ve heard this week completely reinforced that belief. Tony Blair and the aforementioned talentless wonder Price may both have seen their new tomes in high demand, but one autobiography is expected to outsell them. It’s exceeded them so far on pre-sales orders alone by 165%. This autobiography, by one of the most well-known faces in the British media, is on track to be a bestseller. And he makes it look so… simples.
He’s Alexsandr Orlov, owner of long-running family business Compare the Meerkat.
A Simples Life: The Life and Times of Aleksandr Orlov
looks set to be a contender for bestselling autobiography of the year, achieving more than double the pre-orders received by Amazon.co.uk for Cheryl Cole’s, Dannii Minogue’s or Russell Brand’s latest (ghost?) writings. The renowned entrepreneur has amazed everyone with his popularity, which has increased exponentially since his huge media campaign informing people looking to compare car insurance that his was not the site they were looking for. Fiercely proud of his heritage, Aleksandr and his head of IT, Sergei, have documented the struggles of generations of Orlovs, including the dark times – including the devastating war against the mongooses – in their adverts and become national treasures in the process, despite their Russian background.
But the media frenzy doesn’t end with a bestselling book. For two days only, to coincide with the book launch, Orlov will be opening Comparethemeerkat.shop in London’s Regent Street, where devoted fans can see artifacts and portraits from the family home, although he himself cannot be there due to a speaking engagement at “Moscow’s Velvety Dress and Dinner Time Etiquette convention”.
Naturally, he is delighted with his success. Speaking to Sky News Online last week, Orlov claimed “My story of struggles, successes and Sergei is the greatest, most thrillsy book ever written by a meerkat in the bath. With this book, I am hope to inspire the next generation of young businesskats. And with royalties I am hope to re-marble roof on Orlov family mansion. Please enjoyment.”
…Okay, so it’s a cheesy and shameless marketing ploy, but it’s also brilliant. A fictional character, invented by an advertising company to sell a price comparison website, has become an industry. There are cuddly meerkats being sold in shops across the country. Most people can quote at least one line from at least one advert (“Quiet – it’s just a fur wound!”), and Comparethemeerkat.com itself must now surely be more popular than its counterpart. As marketing campaigns go, this is an object lesson in success – I’m half expecting Aleksandr to announce his intention to stand for Parliament at the next election, and I think he’d do pretty well (he couldn’t be any worse, could he?).
If any were needed, here’s proof of the power of mass media. What began as an entertaining gimmick has, through multi-platform marketing, entered all of our homes and above all, our minds, to the point where people will actually travel to the capital to see a fictional meerkat’s possessions and pay to read his life story. It’s worrying to think what that influence could do in the wrong hands: as old as culture itself is the argument that it shapes individuals, and through them, society, for better or worse. But society also determines the kind of cultural artefacts which are produced – in mass culture, only those things which will sell will be made. Advertising executives supplied a celebrity because it fitted the demand of our star-obsessed society, and now that we’re demanding more and more of Aleksandr, who can blame them for feeding it to us?
At least, though, this time they did it well. I can’t help but think that this humble meerkat from Meerkovo, near Moscow, has more interesting and useful things to say than the vast majority of today’s tabloid-fodder “stars” who have never had to take a second job comparing muskrats in Muscovite alleyways by night. Good on you, Mr Orlov. Now, who’s coming to London with me?
In the run up to Christmas last year I wrote an article for another publication about the avalanche (it was snowing at the time) of celebrity autobiographies filling the shelves of our bookshops. In it I argued that although it’s a genre of shameless profiteering and very little originality, the usually humorous and often inspirational stories of people like Dawn French and Jo Brand were popular because they left a smile on our faces. In a climate of economic gloom, depressing weather and endless Katie Price documentaries, I said, who doesn’t need a little cheering up?
Well, the best piece of news I’ve heard this week completely reinforced that belief. Tony Blair and the aforementioned talentless wonder Price may both have seen their new tomes in high demand, but one autobiography is expected to outsell them. It’s exceeded them so far on pre-sales orders alone by 165%. This autobiography, by one of the most well-known faces in the British media, is on track to be a bestseller. And he makes it look so… simples.
He’s Alexsandr Orlov, owner of long-running family business Compare the Meerkat.
A Simples Life: The Life and Times of Aleksandr Orlov
looks set to be a contender for bestselling autobiography of the year, achieving more than double the pre-orders received by Amazon.co.uk for Cheryl Cole’s, Dannii Minogue’s or Russell Brand’s latest (ghost?) writings. The renowned entrepreneur has amazed everyone with his popularity, which has increased exponentially since his huge media campaign informing people looking to compare car insurance that his was not the site they were looking for. Fiercely proud of his heritage, Aleksandr and his head of IT, Sergei, have documented the struggles of generations of Orlovs, including the dark times – including the devastating war against the mongooses – in their adverts and become national treasures in the process, despite their Russian background. But the media frenzy doesn’t end with a bestselling book. For two days only, to coincide with the book launch, Orlov will be opening Comparethemeerkat.shop in London’s Regent Street, where devoted fans can see artifacts and portraits from the family home, although he himself cannot be there due to a speaking engagement at “Moscow’s Velvety Dress and Dinner Time Etiquette convention”.
Naturally, he is delighted with his success. Speaking to Sky News Online last week, Orlov claimed “My story of struggles, successes and Sergei is the greatest, most thrillsy book ever written by a meerkat in the bath. With this book, I am hope to inspire the next generation of young businesskats. And with royalties I am hope to re-marble roof on Orlov family mansion. Please enjoyment.”
…Okay, so it’s a cheesy and shameless marketing ploy, but it’s also brilliant. A fictional character, invented by an advertising company to sell a price comparison website, has become an industry. There are cuddly meerkats being sold in shops across the country. Most people can quote at least one line from at least one advert (“Quiet – it’s just a fur wound!”), and Comparethemeerkat.com itself must now surely be more popular than its counterpart. As marketing campaigns go, this is an object lesson in success – I’m half expecting Aleksandr to announce his intention to stand for Parliament at the next election, and I think he’d do pretty well (he couldn’t be any worse, could he?).
If any were needed, here’s proof of the power of mass media. What began as an entertaining gimmick has, through multi-platform marketing, entered all of our homes and above all, our minds, to the point where people will actually travel to the capital to see a fictional meerkat’s possessions and pay to read his life story. It’s worrying to think what that influence could do in the wrong hands: as old as culture itself is the argument that it shapes individuals, and through them, society, for better or worse. But society also determines the kind of cultural artefacts which are produced – in mass culture, only those things which will sell will be made. Advertising executives supplied a celebrity because it fitted the demand of our star-obsessed society, and now that we’re demanding more and more of Aleksandr, who can blame them for feeding it to us?
At least, though, this time they did it well. I can’t help but think that this humble meerkat from Meerkovo, near Moscow, has more interesting and useful things to say than the vast majority of today’s tabloid-fodder “stars” who have never had to take a second job comparing muskrats in Muscovite alleyways by night. Good on you, Mr Orlov. Now, who’s coming to London with me?
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
The Bubble Columns: Are Miniskirts Anti-Social?
Originally published online in The Bubble Columns, available here.
In Britain, anti-social behaviour is the word on everybody’s lips. Whether you’re an elderly person raving for the return of national service, a young person wearing a hoodie and wondering why the security guards have such suspicious looks on their faces, or a politician pretending that you actually know what to do about the problem, the chances are that you’re somehow caught up in the national debate about how to deal with it. Still, it could be worse – you could live in Italy.
New powers handed down by Silvio Berlusconi’s government to combat what is deemed to be anti-social behaviour are being used in the seaside city of Castellammare di Stabia to ban revealing clothing, from miniskirts to low-cut jeans. Fantastically named mayor Luigi Bobbio claims that his policy is designed to “restore urban decorum and facilitate better civil co-existence”, enforcing what he perceives as standards of public decency across the city. Offenders could face fines between 25 and 500 euros.
This raises the question: exactly what is so anti-social about a miniskirt? If I can see what the wearer had for breakfast, chances are I’ll cringe on their behalf, but that’s just because it doesn’t look good. That said, I do appreciate that skimpy outfits may engender disapproval from certain people, but so does saying something they disagree with. They’re just different forms of expression, and just as the disapproval of others does not detract from your right to say something, nor does it detract from your right to wear something (even if you are Lady Gaga). And this is coming from someone who literally lives in jeans.
Issues of anti-social behaviour are apparently not the only ones behind this policy: a local parish priest has supported the plans, suggesting that they would also help fight the rise in sexual harassment. To think, here I was, “going all feminist” and thinking that was caused by outdated attitudes regarding the objectification of the opposite sex. Clearly, they all just need to stop turning their harassers on – and they say politics never solves anything.
Beyond this instance, though, there’s a deeper problem about the interpretation of the law. Across Italy other local authorities have used these powers to ban wooden clogs, feeding stray cats, kissing in cars, sandcastles and the use of lawnmowers at weekends, none of which exactly strike me as being anti-social. Granted, wearing wooden clogs in public will probably prevent people wanting to socialise with you, but surely the only authorities who need to worry are the fashion police? I know from experience that the noise of someone mowing the lawn outside almost perfectly blocks out the sound of Songs of Praise on a Sunday afternoon – that sort of kindness deserves a medal, not prosecution.
It seems to me that decisions are being taken which fit the specifics, but go against the whole spirit and intention of the law – unless, of course, you’re planning on hiding some sort of weapon under your bucket, or beating someone with your spade. Given Italy’s economic ills and numerous other problems, some authorities seem to have rather unusual priorities.
Banning revealing clothing is far from the worst thing authorities can do, but it does seem a rather unnecessary step in the fight against anti-social behaviour. Of course, the greatest irony is that the power to do so was handed down from Silvio Berlusconi, a man whose reputation suggests that he won’t be jumping for joy about it himself. In any case, we’ll soon find out how many people heed the ban – the fines can always go towards repairing the economy…
In Britain, anti-social behaviour is the word on everybody’s lips. Whether you’re an elderly person raving for the return of national service, a young person wearing a hoodie and wondering why the security guards have such suspicious looks on their faces, or a politician pretending that you actually know what to do about the problem, the chances are that you’re somehow caught up in the national debate about how to deal with it. Still, it could be worse – you could live in Italy.
New powers handed down by Silvio Berlusconi’s government to combat what is deemed to be anti-social behaviour are being used in the seaside city of Castellammare di Stabia to ban revealing clothing, from miniskirts to low-cut jeans. Fantastically named mayor Luigi Bobbio claims that his policy is designed to “restore urban decorum and facilitate better civil co-existence”, enforcing what he perceives as standards of public decency across the city. Offenders could face fines between 25 and 500 euros.
This raises the question: exactly what is so anti-social about a miniskirt? If I can see what the wearer had for breakfast, chances are I’ll cringe on their behalf, but that’s just because it doesn’t look good. That said, I do appreciate that skimpy outfits may engender disapproval from certain people, but so does saying something they disagree with. They’re just different forms of expression, and just as the disapproval of others does not detract from your right to say something, nor does it detract from your right to wear something (even if you are Lady Gaga). And this is coming from someone who literally lives in jeans.
Issues of anti-social behaviour are apparently not the only ones behind this policy: a local parish priest has supported the plans, suggesting that they would also help fight the rise in sexual harassment. To think, here I was, “going all feminist” and thinking that was caused by outdated attitudes regarding the objectification of the opposite sex. Clearly, they all just need to stop turning their harassers on – and they say politics never solves anything.
Beyond this instance, though, there’s a deeper problem about the interpretation of the law. Across Italy other local authorities have used these powers to ban wooden clogs, feeding stray cats, kissing in cars, sandcastles and the use of lawnmowers at weekends, none of which exactly strike me as being anti-social. Granted, wearing wooden clogs in public will probably prevent people wanting to socialise with you, but surely the only authorities who need to worry are the fashion police? I know from experience that the noise of someone mowing the lawn outside almost perfectly blocks out the sound of Songs of Praise on a Sunday afternoon – that sort of kindness deserves a medal, not prosecution.
It seems to me that decisions are being taken which fit the specifics, but go against the whole spirit and intention of the law – unless, of course, you’re planning on hiding some sort of weapon under your bucket, or beating someone with your spade. Given Italy’s economic ills and numerous other problems, some authorities seem to have rather unusual priorities.
Banning revealing clothing is far from the worst thing authorities can do, but it does seem a rather unnecessary step in the fight against anti-social behaviour. Of course, the greatest irony is that the power to do so was handed down from Silvio Berlusconi, a man whose reputation suggests that he won’t be jumping for joy about it himself. In any case, we’ll soon find out how many people heed the ban – the fines can always go towards repairing the economy…
Wednesday, 20 October 2010
The Bubble Columns- President Cowboy
Originally published online in The Bubble Columns, available here.
You may not have heard of Robert Burck. You may not care about his politics. But if you’ve been to New York, you may know him as the Naked Cowboy. The busker has been entertaining the masses with the strategic aid of Y-fronts, Stetson and guitar long enough to be part of the city’s furniture- but it would appear he has aspirations to more than just his local fame. He’s standing for office.
Yes, you read that correctly. Burck has cut his hair and not only dressed but suited up to announce his intention to run for President. He plans to run as a candidate for staunchly conservative, anti-establishment activists the Tea Party. He also insists there will be nothing “cowboy” about his policies. And no, I did not make that up.
Despite such questions as “Are you wearing a codpiece?” and numerous enquiries as to the location of his usual Y-fronts, Burck insisted that there was “no time for games” when announcing his plans at a news conference in New York. Apparently, "America is rapidly transforming into a government-run enterprise… American politicians are selling out America and its most cherished institution, that being capitalism." His policies, he also declared, will include the closure of America’s borders, the abolition of trade unions for government workers and compulsory drug tests for welfare claimants. Human rights, it would appear, he’ll worry about later.
It makes sense that economic views like his would align with the Tea Party- a loose group of right-wing activists formed amid a swell of protest at government bail-outs of failing companies such as banks and insurers, objecting to what they perceive as the erosion of capitalist society (which is, of course, perfect, and never did anyone any harm). Most Republicans, they feel, have become too moderate. Though the Tea Party is steadfastly focussed on economic policy, many members are deeply socially conservative too, and Burck’s ideology is likely to appeal in this regard as well.
What’s more, there’s a strong desire within the group to bring fresh blood into politics and throw out many of the old, established faces. For all his attempts to get serious, someone known as being so different to the mostly sombre, complacent and indeed clothed past inhabitants of the White House appeals to the same vein of rebellion that made Brits get Killing In The Name to Christmas number 1 (what was that about doing what they told you, again?)
Living in the country which produced the Monster Raving Loony Party, bizarre politics is a part of life. I’m endlessly entertained by Boris Johnson. America’s political celebrity culture is far more pronounced than Britain’s, but I didn’t even lose the will to live when Paris Hilton attempted to stand for President (though if I were American, that may not have been the case). Burck’s career change is a classic case of what I termed in last week’s column the “Schwarzenegger effect”: a (sort of) celebrity using his (sort of) fame to propel him to (unlikely) political success. He’s sort of like a cross between the bloke with the accordion on Framwellgate Bridge and Kilroy, but with a better tan.
The Naked Cowboy has clearly harboured political aspirations for a while- he announced plans to run for Mayor of New York before dropping out of the race in 2009. Maybe he thought about the incumbent Michael Bloomberg and decided that that town wasn’t big enough for the both of them. In any case, it will be interesting to see how he does in his campaign- though Obama, despite his current problems, is still looking good for a second term, this is the nation that voted George Dubya Bush into office (well, debatably- right, Florida?), and the Killing in the Name effect can be powerful. He might not stroll into Washington, but he may do better than we expect.
You may not have heard of Robert Burck. You may not care about his politics. But if you’ve been to New York, you may know him as the Naked Cowboy. The busker has been entertaining the masses with the strategic aid of Y-fronts, Stetson and guitar long enough to be part of the city’s furniture- but it would appear he has aspirations to more than just his local fame. He’s standing for office.
Yes, you read that correctly. Burck has cut his hair and not only dressed but suited up to announce his intention to run for President. He plans to run as a candidate for staunchly conservative, anti-establishment activists the Tea Party. He also insists there will be nothing “cowboy” about his policies. And no, I did not make that up.
Despite such questions as “Are you wearing a codpiece?” and numerous enquiries as to the location of his usual Y-fronts, Burck insisted that there was “no time for games” when announcing his plans at a news conference in New York. Apparently, "America is rapidly transforming into a government-run enterprise… American politicians are selling out America and its most cherished institution, that being capitalism." His policies, he also declared, will include the closure of America’s borders, the abolition of trade unions for government workers and compulsory drug tests for welfare claimants. Human rights, it would appear, he’ll worry about later.
It makes sense that economic views like his would align with the Tea Party- a loose group of right-wing activists formed amid a swell of protest at government bail-outs of failing companies such as banks and insurers, objecting to what they perceive as the erosion of capitalist society (which is, of course, perfect, and never did anyone any harm). Most Republicans, they feel, have become too moderate. Though the Tea Party is steadfastly focussed on economic policy, many members are deeply socially conservative too, and Burck’s ideology is likely to appeal in this regard as well.
What’s more, there’s a strong desire within the group to bring fresh blood into politics and throw out many of the old, established faces. For all his attempts to get serious, someone known as being so different to the mostly sombre, complacent and indeed clothed past inhabitants of the White House appeals to the same vein of rebellion that made Brits get Killing In The Name to Christmas number 1 (what was that about doing what they told you, again?)
Living in the country which produced the Monster Raving Loony Party, bizarre politics is a part of life. I’m endlessly entertained by Boris Johnson. America’s political celebrity culture is far more pronounced than Britain’s, but I didn’t even lose the will to live when Paris Hilton attempted to stand for President (though if I were American, that may not have been the case). Burck’s career change is a classic case of what I termed in last week’s column the “Schwarzenegger effect”: a (sort of) celebrity using his (sort of) fame to propel him to (unlikely) political success. He’s sort of like a cross between the bloke with the accordion on Framwellgate Bridge and Kilroy, but with a better tan.
The Naked Cowboy has clearly harboured political aspirations for a while- he announced plans to run for Mayor of New York before dropping out of the race in 2009. Maybe he thought about the incumbent Michael Bloomberg and decided that that town wasn’t big enough for the both of them. In any case, it will be interesting to see how he does in his campaign- though Obama, despite his current problems, is still looking good for a second term, this is the nation that voted George Dubya Bush into office (well, debatably- right, Florida?), and the Killing in the Name effect can be powerful. He might not stroll into Washington, but he may do better than we expect.
Wednesday, 13 October 2010
The Bubble Columns: The Cult of Putin
Orignially published on my column in The Bubble, available here.
My favourite piece of news this week may not have been the most publicised, but it was definitely among the strangest. A group of journalism students at Moscow State University, in praise of Prime Minister Vladimir Putin on his 58th birthday, have produced an erotic calendar featuring female students. Positioned next to such captions as “You put out forest fires, but I’m still burning” (sexy, I know), the girls are pouting and wearing lingerie in the “Vladimir Vladimirovich, we love you” calendar which will apparently be sold in Moscow supermarkets.
I admit from the outset that I’m no expert on Russian politics, but I know that it can seem weird at the best of times. Putin has published his own calendars featuring his shirtless self on horseback, at the controls of a helicopter, and in other generally manly poses, and it’s well known that he is still unbelievably popular. After his two terms as President, under Russian law he could not stand for a third - so he ran for Prime Minister, won by a good margin, and has proceeded to act as the power behind the presidency ever since. Since he’s eligible to run for President again in 2012, Miss February’s (supposedly) suggestive slogan “How about a third time?” shows that he’ll definitely get at least one vote.
Can you imagine a bunch of Labour activists doing this for Gordon Brown? “How about another term, but this time we vote for you?” Russia appears to have allowed Putin to put himself on a pedestal right at the pinnacle of celebrity culture. The question is, whether it’s his political status that keeps him famous, or his fame that keeps him so popular in politics (affectionately known as the Schwarzenegger effect). The former is possible - he has a reputation for strength and resilience and plays on nationalist tendencies effectively, holding his own against Europe and the USA. If the latter is true, he’s approximately a sex-tape away from world domination. It’s probably a mixture of the two, but if the next suspect link your mate sends you is entitled “One Night in Vladimir” you should be very worried.
Less surprising was the response to the calendar - in fact, I’m surprised it wasn’t produced first: another group of female students have made a calendar of their own. “Vladimir Vladimirovich, we have some questions…” instead features girls posing with tape over their mouths in protest at the alleged silencing of political dissidents. Captions included “Who killed Anna Politkovskaya?” referring to the unexplained death of the journalist, one of the Kremlin’s loudest critics, four years ago. Not quite as good a present for poor Vladimir, but probably quite important.
It’s easy to laugh so much at Putin’s idolisation that we forget the dissent he faces. Alleged political assassinations, illegal detention and the regime of a former KGB man do seem to fit unsettlingly together. The bizarre 2006 murder by radiation poisoning (of all things?) of Alexander Litvinenko in London is one of many controversies which has refused to fade away - especially since Litvinenko had sought asylum in Britain, after accusing his superiors in the secret service of such murders; significantly, he had named Putin himself as having ordered Politkovskaya’s death. At least Paris Hilton’s biggest crime was only House of Wax.
It would seem that he has a lot to answer for, but it's doubtful he plans to do so. In the meantime, challenging him and the authorities still seems a risky business in Russia, and it’s quite alarming that one man can have such a hold on power, both within the political regime and informally through the media. The calendar war this week is part of a broader propaganda war which, though existing in and across every political arena, seems heightened around this one man.
The first part of this ‘take a random news story and ramble about it’ column, then, leaves me scratching my head at political celebrity and Putin’s grip on the Russian mind. Happy birthday, Mr Putin. Enjoy your calendar. But a few people might like some answers.
My favourite piece of news this week may not have been the most publicised, but it was definitely among the strangest. A group of journalism students at Moscow State University, in praise of Prime Minister Vladimir Putin on his 58th birthday, have produced an erotic calendar featuring female students. Positioned next to such captions as “You put out forest fires, but I’m still burning” (sexy, I know), the girls are pouting and wearing lingerie in the “Vladimir Vladimirovich, we love you” calendar which will apparently be sold in Moscow supermarkets.
I admit from the outset that I’m no expert on Russian politics, but I know that it can seem weird at the best of times. Putin has published his own calendars featuring his shirtless self on horseback, at the controls of a helicopter, and in other generally manly poses, and it’s well known that he is still unbelievably popular. After his two terms as President, under Russian law he could not stand for a third - so he ran for Prime Minister, won by a good margin, and has proceeded to act as the power behind the presidency ever since. Since he’s eligible to run for President again in 2012, Miss February’s (supposedly) suggestive slogan “How about a third time?” shows that he’ll definitely get at least one vote.
Can you imagine a bunch of Labour activists doing this for Gordon Brown? “How about another term, but this time we vote for you?” Russia appears to have allowed Putin to put himself on a pedestal right at the pinnacle of celebrity culture. The question is, whether it’s his political status that keeps him famous, or his fame that keeps him so popular in politics (affectionately known as the Schwarzenegger effect). The former is possible - he has a reputation for strength and resilience and plays on nationalist tendencies effectively, holding his own against Europe and the USA. If the latter is true, he’s approximately a sex-tape away from world domination. It’s probably a mixture of the two, but if the next suspect link your mate sends you is entitled “One Night in Vladimir” you should be very worried.
Less surprising was the response to the calendar - in fact, I’m surprised it wasn’t produced first: another group of female students have made a calendar of their own. “Vladimir Vladimirovich, we have some questions…” instead features girls posing with tape over their mouths in protest at the alleged silencing of political dissidents. Captions included “Who killed Anna Politkovskaya?” referring to the unexplained death of the journalist, one of the Kremlin’s loudest critics, four years ago. Not quite as good a present for poor Vladimir, but probably quite important.
It’s easy to laugh so much at Putin’s idolisation that we forget the dissent he faces. Alleged political assassinations, illegal detention and the regime of a former KGB man do seem to fit unsettlingly together. The bizarre 2006 murder by radiation poisoning (of all things?) of Alexander Litvinenko in London is one of many controversies which has refused to fade away - especially since Litvinenko had sought asylum in Britain, after accusing his superiors in the secret service of such murders; significantly, he had named Putin himself as having ordered Politkovskaya’s death. At least Paris Hilton’s biggest crime was only House of Wax.
It would seem that he has a lot to answer for, but it's doubtful he plans to do so. In the meantime, challenging him and the authorities still seems a risky business in Russia, and it’s quite alarming that one man can have such a hold on power, both within the political regime and informally through the media. The calendar war this week is part of a broader propaganda war which, though existing in and across every political arena, seems heightened around this one man.
The first part of this ‘take a random news story and ramble about it’ column, then, leaves me scratching my head at political celebrity and Putin’s grip on the Russian mind. Happy birthday, Mr Putin. Enjoy your calendar. But a few people might like some answers.
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
Palatinate Sport: Summer Tennis Despair
Originally published in Palatinate Sport, Issue 720 (October 5th 2010).
October. It’s a depressing month. It’s cold and damp, but more importantly, even leaves would rather jump to their deaths from the trees than look back on a summer of disappointing British tennis.
We’ve had Roland Garros, Wimbledon and the US Open, and Andy Murray, the sole British player in the world rankings, has won none of them. He has lost in a fourth round, semi-final and third round respectively this year, despite reaching the final of the Australian Open in January. Hardly Mr Consistency- his sole title of the year may have come from an impressive display at the Toronto Masters in August, but he failed to convert this into success on other hard courts, losing in the quarter-finals of Cincinnati and then embarrassingly early at the US Open.
While it’s fair to say that Murray underperforms in tour tournaments, perhaps his slam record is less surprising. Roland Garros and the US saw early defeats, but against Thomas Berdych and Stanislas Wawrinka respectively- both are formidable players whose rankings (17 and 27) do not reflect the form they can sometimes produce. Wawrinka in particular played one of the best matches of his career. Considering Rafael Nadal’s performance at Wimbledon, it’s hardly shocking that he could beat Murray in a semi.
But it’s not just the competition to blame. Murray’s form can drop at key moments and he can look lethargic on court. He lacked some of the flair during the Wawrinka match that we saw from him in Sydney and Toronto, and grumbled and moaned as he lost to Berdych. John Lloyd, Britain’s Davis Cup coach and former British number one, has recently gone on record saying that he believes Murray will need to change his psychological approach if he is to win the majors of which he is capable. It certainly appears that, for all the epic five-setters we’ve seen him come through, he can give up in the face of defeat, sealing his own fate; in a game which demands as much mental stamina as tennis, that’s hardly helpful.
He’s far from a hopeless case. He is ranked 4 in the world, still only 23 years old, in impressive physical shape and facing the prospect of a new coach to help him reassess his game. He has 15 tour singles titles and has been in two grand slam finals. That said, Murray still has far to go before he reaches the dizzying heights that Brits dream of- and if he wants to become world number one, chances are he’ll have to go through Roger Federer, Nadal and even Novak Djokovic first. He’s beaten all of them at least once, and Federer’s grip on supremacy has loosened of late, but their dominance as the top three in the men’s game since the Dark Ages will not be broken easily.
Still, there’s another question to raise here. Britain only seems to produce one good player at a time. The British men’s number two is Alex Bogdanovic, sitting pretty at the time of writing at number 220 in the world. Why is Murray our only hope?
The answer would appear to be in his background. Like Tim Henman before him, he comes from a sporting family; though Henman’s upbringing was considerably more privileged, Murray’s parents could send him away to train in Barcelona at the age of 15. Tennis still seems to be the reserve of the wealthy in Britain, largely because of vast under-investment over the years. The vast majority of investment in British sport goes either on more mainstream sports (football, rugby, even cricket) or potential Olympic hopefuls, while not enough is being done to find and develop young talent. While this has begun to improve (Britain boasts some promising juniors such as Laura Robson), the crucial stage lies in transferring junior successes into future adult champions. Time will tell whether we can get this right. Until we do, no amount of strawberries and cream can change the fact that Britain deserves all the yearly disappointment it gets.
Friday, 1 October 2010
The Bubble Politics: "Red Ed" and New Labour
Originally published on The Bubble Politics, 1st October 2010, available here.
Those of you who have not been hiding under rocks all summer may have noticed that the Labour party has been busy. Nursing their wounds after losing the election and vigorously opposing many of the coalition’s proposed cuts, they’ve also been weighing up the contenders to succeed Gordon Brown.
What has felt like an interminable process of hustings and campaigning across the country has seen the five contenders not so much battling for the leadership as politely discussing their differences: it’s been remarkably civil, but very healthy for the party as a whole. The last time there was a contest was in 1994, when Tony Blair took over after the death of John Smith- and even this was supposedly impacted by a secret deal between he and Gordon Brown, meaning the latter would not stand in the way of the former. An open, free contest, allowing a frank post-mortem after the effective collapse of New Labour, was exactly what was needed. New leadership couldn’t hurt either.
Each of the competitors has managed to differentiate themselves from both the former regime and their competitors. For long-serving back-bencher Diane Abbott, though, this was hardly a challenge. Poetic as it is that Britain’s first black, female MP should have the chance to become party leader 23 years later, she wouldn’t have secured enough nominations to stand but for a last minute endorsement from David Miliband, and didn’t even win the vote in her own Constituency Labour Party. She was eliminated in the first round of voting with just 7.42% of the vote.
Then again, as many commentators have pointed out, victory was never the point of her campaign: well-known to be on the left of the party and having opposed the Iraq war among other New Labour policies, she has provided a foil to the major contenders. Detached enough from the Blair and Brown regimes to criticise from a position of relative safety, she has done exactly that- pointing out, amidst other issues, that the people surrounding her were all criticising a government they were in- and from the point of view of many grassroots activists, hers was a voice that needed to be heard.
Next in the vote came Andy Burnham, who became Shadow Health Secretary after taking that brief in government. Originally from Liverpool, Burnham has often played up his ‘working class’ roots in his condemnation of Conservative policies, and has been attending Labour party meetings since before he was old enough to join. His commitment to the party is well-known, but he is still relatively new to politics, having only entered the Cabinet during Brown’s tenure. His comparative inexperience and less established public persona went against him in this election, but it’s also reasonable to suggest that he had little chance in a contest dominated in both the party’s mind and the media by the political heavyweights, the brothers Miliband and Ed Balls.
Shadow Education Secretary Balls was for some time considered a genuine contender in the contest, and always looked fairly strong in hustings. His long-time allegiance to Gordon Brown is well documented; he was Brown’s chief economic adviser for 10 years, which ensured him speedy promotion to the Cabinet just two years after he became an MP in 2005. However, this would also appear to have been a double-edged sword- it was easy to portray him as a candidate offering no real change, and he has earned himself much of the opposition that was afforded to Brown by certain factions within the party. It would seem that, after the pain of the end of Brown’s premiership, large sections of the party preferred one of the more Blair-like Milibands.
David (the elder one, just in case) was the front runner from the moment Brown announced his resignation, having almost stood against him in 2007: a known Blairite, leading light of the Cabinet during Labour’s later years, and former (now Shadow) Foreign Secretary, who made clear his intention to claim the centre ground from the beginning. With the Liberal Democrats in coalition with the Conservatives, he claimed, Labour could become “a great unifying force” for the centre-left- a strategy which would also see Labour pick up the votes of disenchanted liberals to boost their support at the next election. Significantly, he is the candidate most closely associated with New Labour and has warned against the party reverting to its left-wing “comfort zone”.
Ed, meanwhile, has done the opposite, cautioning against a return to the “New Labour comfort zone”. His decision to stand against his older brother surprised some at the start of his campaign, despite his established support. The biggest boost to his campaign, however, came from trade unions- all three of the major unions recommended him, and most of the smaller ones, which significantly detracted from the support some unions were expected to extend to Balls and Burnham. He performed impressively in hustings, and is seen as slightly more left-wing than his brother. The nickname “Red Ed” has sprung up around this, although it would be a stretch to see him, and his intention to defend the “squeezed middle” class ,as decisively socialist- in fact, his father, the late Marxist philosopher Ralph, would probably see both of his sons as ‘sell-outs’.
So, how do we explain Ed’s victory? The answer lies in the complex voting system used to determine the outcome, where MPs, party members and union members each constitute a third of the vote, and second, third and fourth preferences are accounted for. Looking at the breakdown of each round of voting, Ed’s union support is obvious, though David polled higher amongst party members and MPs. Moreover, in three of the four rounds David was slightly ahead.
However, most next preferences among Abbott’s voters went to Balls and Burnham. Burnham’s voters were fairly equally divided, giving roughly an extra 3% to Balls and 4% to each Miliband, but more of Balls’ voters went for Ed (boosting his total by 9.4%) than David (about 6%). This suggests that Ed picked up more next preferences from people who had voted for more strongly socialist candidates than David. The numbers imply that Ed’s success stems from occupying a strange left-of-centre middle ground- just socialist enough to appeal to those who preferred Abbott and Burnham, but central and Blairite enough to be electable. David, having stuck so closely to the centre, didn’t have the same appeal among the old Labour supporters, and as a result narrowly missed out.
For most of the candidates, the consequences are straightforward. Abbott will return to the back-benches. Burnham and Balls can probably expect nominations for the Shadow Cabinet. Only for David is this less simple: having probably missed his best chance to become leader, rumours have suggested that he could leave politics altogether and forge a new career. Meanwhile, serving in his brother’s Shadow Cabinet could either serve to divide the party (as in the Blair/Brown years) or unite them- as Leader of the Opposition and Shadow Chancellor, for example, the brothers Miliband would be in a close working relationship which may soothe David’s supporters. Importantly, they could also form the nucleus of a very solid team, which would be a potential threat for a government defined by its (supposed) internal differences.
Ultimately, it’s the formation of a solid Opposition that matters from this election. Speeches at the conference may set out the stall for the future, but given the political and economic situation, Labour has a mountain to climb. Moving on from their defeat in May might be hard enough, but if they are to make Ed Miliband the next Prime Minister, they will have to reclaim lost public confidence as well as thousands of their core voters. With 32,000 new members having joined over the course of the campaign, the rehabilitation may have begun. Time will tell if it can end happily for them.
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