Originally published in The Bubble Television, September 18th 2011, available here.
When Queen Victoria set up the Torchwood Institute following a nasty encounter with a werewolf and a Timelord, it’s highly unlikely that she foresaw what it, or the series which followed its agents, would become. To many, despite its mixed critical reception, Torchwood became the supposedly “grown-up” counterpart to Dr Who, with all the violence and swearing that the latter couldn’t show and darker, often shocking storylines. To me, it was that show that I always intended to watch, but was always on at the same time as something else. It was only with the excellent (but equally divisive) 2009 mini-series Children of Earth that I was finally converted: it’s rare that a writer has the balls to have their hero sacrifice his own young grandson, and Torchwood was a glowing example of what British sci-fi could be.
That said, I was slightly apprehensive when series four, Miracle Day, was announced, mostly because of the additional funding from American premium network Starz. After all, you should never trust a company that thinks a plural should end with a “z”. Worse, as with the current series of Dr Who, fans feared that the need to appeal to US audiences would detract from the inherent Britishness (or Welshness) which made previous series so unique. It has to be said, though, that the alternative was to have no Torchwood at all, and I for one am very glad of the decision that was made.
Miracle Day was a fascinating concept: death, the only certainty in the world, is removed, and the goalposts of life suddenly shift. Religions collapse, while new ones are formed; welfare systems and economies crumble as the population soars; the human race stoops to unprecedented depths. In exploring these avenues, it excelled. Where it failed, I would argue, was in forging a narrative which brought them together into a satisfying whole. As the final episode ended this week, I couldn’t help but feel that ten weeks of emotional investment and sacrificed Thursday nights had gone to waste.
Until about episode seven (‘Immortal Sins’), I sang the praises of this series. It portrays a race trying and failing to adjust to a new form of existence, where the justice system falls into chaos because murder cannot exist, and healthcare is stretched until people must be treated like cattle to be treated at all. Eventually, bureaucracy categorises people according to exactly how alive they are, until “overflow camps”, a conveniently sterile term for concentration camps, are established to incinerate those who should have died. It’s harrowing, and the Holocaust analogies are difficult to miss, but most disturbing is the logic with which horror follows horror until the world learns what goes on in the camps – and accepts it as a necessity. I actually understood how humanity had reached that point, and Torchwood forced its viewers to confront the dark side of human nature in ways that few other shows could get away with, much less at 9pm on BBC One.
Against the backdrop of the decline of civilisation it takes sharply drawn characters to hold any attention at all, but Miracle Day managed that too: Gwen Cooper (Eve Myles) has turned into what can only be described as ‘a total bad-ass’ over the past couple of series, and alongside Captain Jack Harkness (John Barrowman) she holds the entire series together. In keeping with the decay of humanity, however, the friends find themselves in positions they could never have predicted. In an impressive character piece, Gwen kidnaps Jack as a ransom for her family; out comes all of her bitterness, self-loathing and resentment, met by his cocktail of guilt, self-loathing and self-preservation. Ultimately, though, it’s Myles’ party: Gwen’s hard edges protect the core of a wife and mother, and the fact that her willingness to kill doesn’t make her a monster to us is remarkable.
Up until a couple of weeks ago, this would have been my summary of the whole series. Fantastic performances and quality writing, setting very personal drama in the context of apocalyptic chaos; friendships, love stories (including a touching homosexual relationship between Jack and his Depression-era lover Angelo), family tensions and politics in the foreground of a landscape of universal suffering. But things changed as the final few episodes brought the various plot threads together – or rather, didn’t.
We know that there is a huge chasm called The Blessing going through the core of the earth from Shanghai to Buenos Aires, which somehow calibrates the life spans of humans. We know that Jack’s immortal blood was fed to it by the mysterious Families who ‘bought’ him decades ago, making humans immortal. What we don’t know is how it works, why it’s there or what the Families are actually trying to achieve, which are all pretty major questions. What exactly are they planning to do when they’ve gained control of the planet?
And what about Oswald Danes? Bill Pullman has pulled out one of his finest performances as convicted murderer and all-round nasty piece of work Danes, who survives his lethal injection and becomes a bizarre poster-boy for the redemptive power of the Miracle. Jack becomes obsessed with tracking him down, is convinced that he is somehow at the centre of everything… and in the final episode, he turns him into a suicide bomber. His death is finally voluntary, but it comes at a point where it’s lost amongst the action and means very little. In fact, if his entire character was removed from the plot it would still hold together perfectly well, which leaves him as nothing but wasted potential.
Critics have thrown many complaints at this series, but most of them matter very little. I don’t care that there are no aliens involved: to say that sci-fi needs to be extra-terrestrial is just plain wrong. It makes no difference whatsoever that it doesn’t cohere with events in Dr Who. More serious are the loose ends which are never tied up. I don’t know what would constitute a worthy conclusion to a drama on such a massive scale, but it isn’t what we were given – and this was only exacerbated by the potential for a sequel suggested in the final scenes. Nevertheless, until its disappointing resolution, Torchwood was an absorbing study of a race in crisis, and by far the best thing I’ve seen all summer.
Sunday, 18 September 2011
The Bubble Columns: Lego in Space
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.
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.
The Bubble Film: The Death of the American Horror Film, or, Why the World Needs Scream
Originally published in a very edited form in The Bubble Film, May 6th 2011, available here.
I’m watching a teenage girl stand in an average American high school. Alone in a lengthy corridor, she looks down to see a broad trail of red streaking the floor. Her eyes follow it to its source, a large, leaking load being dragged by something unseen. I’m trying to tell her she shouldn’t, but she follows it anyway, and finally realises what it is – her best friend, sealed in a bleeding body bag.
I’m 14, and I’m watching A Nightmare on Elm Street. This is the moment when I vow that I too will never sleep again.
To this day, Elm Street remains the scariest film I’ve ever seen – Wes Craven delivered a suspenseful masterpiece which unapologetically swims in the blood of its victims (ask Johnny Depp), but which terrifies because of the psychological depths it plumbs. Freddy Krueger, like an unconscious desire or repressed memory, will never stop invading your dreams, violating your own mind to bring about your slaughter. That’s why it’s so unique and inspired: a truly original cinematic milestone.
Of course, it spawned a ridiculous number of sequels, as did many of the other seminal slasher flicks – Hallowe’en, Friday 13th and the like – none of which came close to the standard of the originals, but then few films managed to attain those heights at all. Prom Night, My Bloody Valentine, House of Wax… by the early 1990s endless, repetitive, clichéd mass murders of articulate, hopelessly pretty white teenagers were so much the norm that the genre was old, bloated and ripe for parody. And then Craven gave us Scream.
If you haven’t yet seen the seminal horror film of the 1990s, go and do it now. It’s genuinely frightening, with plenty of blood and guts to go around, but more importantly playing on the idea that your own home isn’t safe – the violation of the safe place which makes Elm Street and Hallowe’en so effective. What really makes it interesting, though, is the metafictional element. It’s a parody of all the films that came before it. Ghostface, the guy with the white mask your mate probably wore last Hallowe’en, is a horror fan obeying the rules of the genre, but his victims all know them too: girls with big breasts realise that they shouldn’t run upstairs to hide (Jamie Lee Curtis in Hallowe’en, why?), sex, drugs and alcohol always make you a target, and you should never, ever, say “I’ll be right back”. Combine this with a healthy dose of social commentary – if caught, the killer insists that they can blame everything on the corrosive influence of the movies – and you have a vital, brutal and wickedly funny shot in the arm for Hollywood’s horror industry.
But I don’t think it worked. If Scream and its two sequels were intended to revive American horror, it’s hard to see how they succeeded. Eleven years have passed since (the admittedly inferior) Scream 3, and in that time the genre has become dominated by ‘torture porn’ such as Saw and Hostel, finding new and even more twisted ways to make victims suffer. Once the idea is established, there’s always enough profit to justify a sequel – and another, and another, and another until the law of diminishing returns kills a series – and running out of ideas is never a problem, because every film recycles the one before it. That’s how we ended up with seven Saw films, each almost identical to the others but with different (usually more horrific) traps. Then, of course, once a franchise is dead and buried or a film is almost forgotten, you can resurrect it with the remake, or ‘reboot’ if you’re planning on changing things around. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Hills Have Eyes, The Amityville Horror, Hallowe’en, Friday 13th, Dawn of the Dead, Black Christmas… the list is endless, and none of them were either warranted or worth the effort required to drag the dead from their graves. Worse, most are just not scary.
Nearly six years after I discovered Elm Street, I found myself in a cinema watching it again with an even prettier and more suicidally stupid cast. By the time I’d realised that the true massacre was the one visited upon the plot, script and entire final act of the original, I understood why this was happening. There are no scripts in circulation which can match their antecedents, so executives are just using the same plots again. If there are similar genre films that will also make money and fill release dates, then they’re fair game as well, especially if like House of Wax they provide an excuse to kill off Paris Hilton. Although world and even British cinema still offers some innovative and intelligent output, Hollywood, movie capital of the Western world, has run out of ideas. In short, it sounds like we need another Scream.
As it happens, it’s just arrived in cinemas. Scream 4 may not be the most original of concepts itself, but that happens to be the first point it acknowledges. It targets all of the conventions and formats of recent horror – remakes, unnecessary sequels and even the influence of its predecessors. Characters discuss films within the film (the Stab series, based on the events of the original Scream) to a point where someone actually says “it’s so meta”, and this time Ghostface is filming every death. Torture porn comes under fire, too; as one articulate, pretty white teen points out, Jigsaw may kill “creatively” but there’s “something real about a guy with a knife who just… snaps.” The film bears this out: the comedy-horror balance may lean towards the former, but there are still real scares to be had and it hasn’t toned down the gore in the slightest, even though it’s the first in the series to bear a 15 certificate. After years of Saw and Hostel we must be desensitised to a good old fashioned stabbing.
It won’t have the same impact as the original, but for an unnecessary sequel it’s still a breath of fresh air to a disheartened horror fan like me. There’ll never be another Nightmare on Elm Street, but I don’t see any replacements either. While I’d like to think I’m wrong, unless something fresh and exciting appears soon, I suspect the future is bleak for the American horror industry. Meanwhile, we’ll have to look back to answer Ghostface’s infamous question. So, what’s your favourite scary movie?
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.
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
Palatinate Comment: Speaker's Corner - Absurd JCR Decisions
Originally published in Palatinate Comment, 8/3/11 and available online here.
It can often almost feel childish to comment on college politics. Especially in Durham, it’s easy to be as involved or uninvolved in a college or society as you want to be, and our interest can dwindle at the same rate as our remaining time as students. Still, it’s also worth remembering that our JCRs do more than just offer free STI tests and a room with sofas, as recent events during the Josephine Butler executive elections show.
I still have to wonder, though, how slow a day it must have been when the executive summoned a student to a hearing with the threat of suspension over a Facebook status.
The finalist had posted a status which read “Hmm, dull, dull, and, oh look, dull. Must be Butler’s JCR election season again!” The following day, he received an email from the JCR Secretary asking him to remove the status. Refusing, he posted an excerpt from the email as a comment on the original status, prompting some comments about freedom of speech.
Later, he was contacted by the JCR Chair who insisted that the constitution had been breached and that the student had shown “alarming contempt for the conciliatory manner” in which they had originally tried to resolve the matter, while threatening a request for his suspension from the JCR unless he acquiesced. Still refusing to remove the status, the student attended a hearing the following day at an Executive Committee meeting – to which he was not informed he could take a witness – at which he was given an ultimatum: remove the status, or be suspended. The situation was resolved when he resigned his membership of the JCR. The section of the constitution thought to have been breached is article 7.2.14, which reads:
“Candidates are not allowed to ask others to campaign on their behalf. If candidates become aware of any individuals campaigning for them, it is the candidate’s responsibility to notify steering immediately. If someone does canvas on behalf of a candidate even without having been asked to, it may reflect negatively on the candidate”.
The claim of the steering committee, headed by the JCR chair, is that the status campaigned on behalf of RON – Re-Open Nominations, the option which voters select if they are unhappy with all of the available candidates.
The most glaring problem with this argument is that RON is never afforded the status of a candidate. RON is a course of action taken when none of the candidates are felt to be suitable; it is not a candidate, and as such cannot be subject to any rules governing an electoral campaign. More ridiculous, perhaps, is the visible misinterpretation of the remark. I find it bizarre that a statement which says nothing except that JCR elections are boring can be interpreted as a suggestion that none of the candidates are suitable for the roles for which they are standing.
It’s obvious that such a statement is an endorsement for no-one, including RON. Instead, it makes the perfectly reasonable and valid point that college politics – and, I would argue, student politics as a whole – fails to engage much of the student body. That fact has been long accepted in Durham. While there is ample scope for debate over why this is so, it is part of a separate discussion. Freed from its unfairly attributed associations, the student’s comment becomes a valid and legitimate statement which cannot rightfully be censored by anyone.
In fact, it is that censorship which has proved to be self-defeating for the JCR executive. Had they not felt the need to take such action, the status would have been ignored by most of those who could see it, and forgotten quickly by the rest. A Facebook status is hardly inscribed on a stone tablet and displayed in a museum. It was quite clearly a throwaway remark without any serious intention behind it, but the controversy created by the executive has ensured it will have an effect, by casting the executive in an extremely bad light. I have the utmost respect for the JCR and the executive, who do work extremely hard, but at the same time I find it difficult to accept that seventeen people could not collectively come to a less absurd decision – and it is as a collective that the constitution insists they must be responsible. Even in the localised sphere of Durham college politics, it holds true that some rules, even when misapplied and misinterpreted, should sometimes be quietly ignored.
It can often almost feel childish to comment on college politics. Especially in Durham, it’s easy to be as involved or uninvolved in a college or society as you want to be, and our interest can dwindle at the same rate as our remaining time as students. Still, it’s also worth remembering that our JCRs do more than just offer free STI tests and a room with sofas, as recent events during the Josephine Butler executive elections show.
I still have to wonder, though, how slow a day it must have been when the executive summoned a student to a hearing with the threat of suspension over a Facebook status.
The finalist had posted a status which read “Hmm, dull, dull, and, oh look, dull. Must be Butler’s JCR election season again!” The following day, he received an email from the JCR Secretary asking him to remove the status. Refusing, he posted an excerpt from the email as a comment on the original status, prompting some comments about freedom of speech.
Later, he was contacted by the JCR Chair who insisted that the constitution had been breached and that the student had shown “alarming contempt for the conciliatory manner” in which they had originally tried to resolve the matter, while threatening a request for his suspension from the JCR unless he acquiesced. Still refusing to remove the status, the student attended a hearing the following day at an Executive Committee meeting – to which he was not informed he could take a witness – at which he was given an ultimatum: remove the status, or be suspended. The situation was resolved when he resigned his membership of the JCR. The section of the constitution thought to have been breached is article 7.2.14, which reads:
“Candidates are not allowed to ask others to campaign on their behalf. If candidates become aware of any individuals campaigning for them, it is the candidate’s responsibility to notify steering immediately. If someone does canvas on behalf of a candidate even without having been asked to, it may reflect negatively on the candidate”.
The claim of the steering committee, headed by the JCR chair, is that the status campaigned on behalf of RON – Re-Open Nominations, the option which voters select if they are unhappy with all of the available candidates.
The most glaring problem with this argument is that RON is never afforded the status of a candidate. RON is a course of action taken when none of the candidates are felt to be suitable; it is not a candidate, and as such cannot be subject to any rules governing an electoral campaign. More ridiculous, perhaps, is the visible misinterpretation of the remark. I find it bizarre that a statement which says nothing except that JCR elections are boring can be interpreted as a suggestion that none of the candidates are suitable for the roles for which they are standing.
It’s obvious that such a statement is an endorsement for no-one, including RON. Instead, it makes the perfectly reasonable and valid point that college politics – and, I would argue, student politics as a whole – fails to engage much of the student body. That fact has been long accepted in Durham. While there is ample scope for debate over why this is so, it is part of a separate discussion. Freed from its unfairly attributed associations, the student’s comment becomes a valid and legitimate statement which cannot rightfully be censored by anyone.
In fact, it is that censorship which has proved to be self-defeating for the JCR executive. Had they not felt the need to take such action, the status would have been ignored by most of those who could see it, and forgotten quickly by the rest. A Facebook status is hardly inscribed on a stone tablet and displayed in a museum. It was quite clearly a throwaway remark without any serious intention behind it, but the controversy created by the executive has ensured it will have an effect, by casting the executive in an extremely bad light. I have the utmost respect for the JCR and the executive, who do work extremely hard, but at the same time I find it difficult to accept that seventeen people could not collectively come to a less absurd decision – and it is as a collective that the constitution insists they must be responsible. Even in the localised sphere of Durham college politics, it holds true that some rules, even when misapplied and misinterpreted, should sometimes be quietly ignored.
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.
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