A friend of mine is sick. Very sick. Six weeks in hospital and still going, with no clear end in sight. After hospital comes rehabilitation. Never one to be exuding with patience, she recovers at a pace far too slow for her liking. Whilst it may not be noticeable to her, the improvement in her condition is substantial - even if she still has some way to go until she is healthy and can return home.
My friend's husband - equally as much a friend - is holding it all together, but is clearly very stressed. Understandably. Working long hours on top of everything else is not making matters any easier for him. His wife's illness consumes his being, and the current pressure of his employer's deadlines do not help.
On Saturday night, his brother-in-law died unexpectedly. Having only just been diagnosed with a very serious illness that would potentially have killed him within a couple of weeks, he instead died of a heart-related condition. Her mother has just been diagnosed with cancer. A type that has a very high chance of being treated successfully, but cancer nonetheless. My friend has understandably not taken the news of her mother's illness well. My other friend continues to soldier on, as he needs to for his unwell spouse (if not for himself - which he most clearly does need to as well).
Another person that I know, who is also friends with my friends, is going through the last stages of what ought to have been, by all accounts, a straightforward divorce from her partner. However, now that the end of what became more a complicated than expected separation (aren't they all!) is approaching, she appears to have gone back on previous agreements between her and her ex-partner and is making the last stages unnecessarily difficult - and expensive (another inevitability once lawyers become involved).
Is not interesting to see how people deal with the issues in their own lives and gain a perspective of their own issues by considering what others face?
Tuesday 24 August 2010
Monday 9 August 2010
Crass: Do They Owe Us a Living?
Fuck the politically minded
Here's something I want to say
About the state of the nation
The way it treats us today
At school they give you shit
Drop you in the pit
You try and try and try to get out
But you can't
Because they fucked you about
then you're a prime example
Of how they must not be
This is just a sample
Of what they done
To you and me
Chorus: Do they owe us a living?
Of course they do
Of course they do
Do they owe us a living?
Of course they do
Of course they do
Do they owe us a living?
Of course they fucking do!
They don't want me anymore
Cos I threw it on the floor
They used to call me sweet thing
But I'm nobody's plaything
And now that I am different
They'd love to bust my head
They'd love to see me cop-out
They'd love to see me dead
Chorus
The living that is owed to me
I'm never doing to get
They've buggered this old world up
Up to their necks in debt
They'd give you a lobotomy
For something you ain't done
They'll made you an epitome
Of everything that's wrong
Chorus
Don't take any notice
Of what the public think
They're so hyped up with T.V.
They just don't want to think
They'll use you as a target
For demands and for advice
When you don't want to hear it
They'll say you're full of vice
Chorus
Monday 2 August 2010
The palm oil-free odyssey continues.
It's now been a few weeks since the palm oil-free lifestyle change kicked in fully. I'm still alive, my hair hasn't fallen out or my face dissolved from the switch to bicarbonate of soda and lemon juice for washing, and I have yet to offend any restaurant owners.
I have, however, discovered that I am allergic to the first type of palm oil-free soap that I tested. I initially wondered (but not enough to arrange an appointment with my local friendly health practitioner) what horrendous flesh-eating bacterium (albeit slow eating) or skin-inflaming virus I had been inflicted with, thanks to the non-stop itching that I had been suffering from for a good ten days.
A fortuitous decision to test the Palestinian olive oil soap I had purchased demonstrated the medicinal strengths of West Bank cleaning products, as both the bacterial infection and viral plague were swiftly eliminated. Or perhaps simply didn't contain the ingredient to which I am apparently allergic.
Either way, issue solved. Itching gone, a product to wash with discovered and palm oil banished from one part of my life.
To date I have had two opportunities to question waiting staff about the oil source of meals that I have eaten. The first, a very average vegetarian risotto, listed olive oil in the name of the dish. In retrospect, I should have suggested that they buy a better olive oil and learn how to cook risotto.
The second occasion involved a vegetarian Thai green curry and may well have contained some sort of oil but it didn't occur to me to ask at the time. Not least because my friend and I were struggling to make ourselves understood by the hapless woman employed by the restaurant, ostensibly to serve customers. At least it tasted pretty good. Not a sterling example of investigating what one eats though, is it?
I have, however, discovered that I am allergic to the first type of palm oil-free soap that I tested. I initially wondered (but not enough to arrange an appointment with my local friendly health practitioner) what horrendous flesh-eating bacterium (albeit slow eating) or skin-inflaming virus I had been inflicted with, thanks to the non-stop itching that I had been suffering from for a good ten days.
A fortuitous decision to test the Palestinian olive oil soap I had purchased demonstrated the medicinal strengths of West Bank cleaning products, as both the bacterial infection and viral plague were swiftly eliminated. Or perhaps simply didn't contain the ingredient to which I am apparently allergic.
Either way, issue solved. Itching gone, a product to wash with discovered and palm oil banished from one part of my life.
To date I have had two opportunities to question waiting staff about the oil source of meals that I have eaten. The first, a very average vegetarian risotto, listed olive oil in the name of the dish. In retrospect, I should have suggested that they buy a better olive oil and learn how to cook risotto.
The second occasion involved a vegetarian Thai green curry and may well have contained some sort of oil but it didn't occur to me to ask at the time. Not least because my friend and I were struggling to make ourselves understood by the hapless woman employed by the restaurant, ostensibly to serve customers. At least it tasted pretty good. Not a sterling example of investigating what one eats though, is it?
Friday 30 July 2010
That's alright by... anybody?
In what has been an intriguing week for the music world, Roger Jouret, better known as Plastic Bertrand, strenuously denied the allegations levelled against him in a Belgian court battle, then a day later admitted to them. The allegations? That his is not the voice on the first four albums released under his pseudonym's name, but rather record producer Lou Deprijck is the singer.
This may come as a shock to some, but I recall reading rumours about PB's lack of vocal involvement with the song years ago. And don't forget - as a member of Hubble Bubble, Jouret's first band, he was the drummer, not the singer.
And, of course, "Ca Plane Pour Moi" (translated in various ways, but "That's alright by me" is the one that appeals to me - other perhaps than for PB's one-time assertion on the John Peel Show that it actually meant "I like it when I'm high"), is not even the original song.
Will the original Milli Vanilli please jump about and mime?
This may come as a shock to some, but I recall reading rumours about PB's lack of vocal involvement with the song years ago. And don't forget - as a member of Hubble Bubble, Jouret's first band, he was the drummer, not the singer.
And, of course, "Ca Plane Pour Moi" (translated in various ways, but "That's alright by me" is the one that appeals to me - other perhaps than for PB's one-time assertion on the John Peel Show that it actually meant "I like it when I'm high"), is not even the original song.
The real thing: Elton Motello's "Jet Boy Jet Girl" - I'm gonna make you penetrate...
No, that honour belongs to Elton Motello. Rather than being bitter about the relative obscurity of the band's version, Alan Ward (who also used the "Elton Motello" moniker for himself, as well as the band), famously said,
No, that honour belongs to Elton Motello. Rather than being bitter about the relative obscurity of the band's version, Alan Ward (who also used the "Elton Motello" moniker for himself, as well as the band), famously said,
We have all been ripped off at some point in our lives, but judging by the emails I receive, my lyric has touched many more people and seems to ring a chord in many more hearts than the French one will ever do. That's why I wrote it. If I was meant to be rich it would have happened. But I am rich in the knowledge that my thoughts will never disappear.
I wonder how Roger Jouret feels now, safe in the knowledge that the world knows of the 33-year deception surrounding his claim to fame.
Tuesday 27 July 2010
Palm oil-free soap: the journey continues.
Since discovering that the purchase of palm oil-free soap is not as simple as it ought to be, I've widened my search.
First stop: the Central Market, home to a few health shops. Result: not a bar of palm oil-free soap in sight. One store did, however, did make a photocopy of my Borneo Orangutan Survival shopping list, so that it could investigate potential suppliers.
Searching online did reveal one local producer that does not use palm oil in any of his soaps. Alex's Handcrafted Soaps proudly states that
As it turned out, a second option turned up unexpectedly: at my local Oxfam shop I spotted a palm oil-free soap whilst purchasing some Fair Trade palm oil-free chocolate - Sindyanna Olive Oil Soap, produced in Israel and the West Bank by Arab farmers. Excited as I was by this discovery, trying to explain to the friendly woman behind the counter that there was an additional benefit beyond fair trade ended up being a frustrating (and ultimately futile) exercise. As much as I tried to explain, she appeared to be incapable of appreciating that there could be a second benefit. Oh well.
So far, so good with Alex's soap. It lathers and washes well, but the first variety is a little soft, meaning that it is disappearing at a far faster rate than I would like it to. Tomorrow will be the first test for the Palestinian olive oil soap.
First stop: the Central Market, home to a few health shops. Result: not a bar of palm oil-free soap in sight. One store did, however, did make a photocopy of my Borneo Orangutan Survival shopping list, so that it could investigate potential suppliers.
Searching online did reveal one local producer that does not use palm oil in any of his soaps. Alex's Handcrafted Soaps proudly states that
out of respect for the endangered Orang-utan and their habitat I do not use palm oil in any of my productsEcolateral is the closest supplier. Upon arrival I was dismayed to see that the majority of other soap products in the shop contained palm oil, but Alex's Handcrafted Soaps were also available. Having expressed my concern at the presence of palm oil soap (and pointing out why sustainable palm oil is anything but sustainable), I made my purchase of a couple of bars to try.
As it turned out, a second option turned up unexpectedly: at my local Oxfam shop I spotted a palm oil-free soap whilst purchasing some Fair Trade palm oil-free chocolate - Sindyanna Olive Oil Soap, produced in Israel and the West Bank by Arab farmers. Excited as I was by this discovery, trying to explain to the friendly woman behind the counter that there was an additional benefit beyond fair trade ended up being a frustrating (and ultimately futile) exercise. As much as I tried to explain, she appeared to be incapable of appreciating that there could be a second benefit. Oh well.
So far, so good with Alex's soap. It lathers and washes well, but the first variety is a little soft, meaning that it is disappearing at a far faster rate than I would like it to. Tomorrow will be the first test for the Palestinian olive oil soap.
Saturday 24 July 2010
Baking soda and baking powder are not the same.
Today's lesson, following on from yesterday's discovery, is that baking soda and baking powder are not the same. Whilst the latter may contain the former, it also contains other ingredients.
At least the baking powder hasn't dissolved my face off or made my hair fall out, but I may need to get some baking soda.
At least the baking powder hasn't dissolved my face off or made my hair fall out, but I may need to get some baking soda.
Friday 23 July 2010
Palm oil-free personal hygiene: alternatives.
As I blogged a few days ago, finding personal hygiene products that are free of palm oil is not always an easy task. Indeed, after spending maybe twenty minutes reading the labels of every single line, I failed to do so at my local supermarket.
In searching for alternatives that are available locally, I stumbled upon a solution that had not occurred to me: DIY. Nothing like a little improvisation to rid oneself of palm oil.
Shampoo: Hardly a significant issue for somebody with hair of my length, but nonetheless an experiment to try. A quick searched revealed that others have also considered going down the shampoo-free path before I did (not really a surprise). Having a lemon tree makes the lemon juice idea appealing, and having baking soda in the cupboard is also convenient.
Soap: More difficult to improvise. Again, a quick search revealed palm oil-free soap recipes, but these require ingredients, time and facilities that I do not have to hand at the moment. Whilst making my own soap will be a longer term aim, it isn't an option now.
In searching for alternatives that are available locally, I stumbled upon a solution that had not occurred to me: DIY. Nothing like a little improvisation to rid oneself of palm oil.
Shampoo: Hardly a significant issue for somebody with hair of my length, but nonetheless an experiment to try. A quick searched revealed that others have also considered going down the shampoo-free path before I did (not really a surprise). Having a lemon tree makes the lemon juice idea appealing, and having baking soda in the cupboard is also convenient.
Soap: More difficult to improvise. Again, a quick search revealed palm oil-free soap recipes, but these require ingredients, time and facilities that I do not have to hand at the moment. Whilst making my own soap will be a longer term aim, it isn't an option now.
Wednesday 21 July 2010
Clean and palm oil-free living.
Never one to shy from a challenge, commencing with soap and cleaning products seemed like a sensible choice - not least due to the lack of body wash and laundry detergent in the household.
A trip to my local supermarket of choice (a locally-owned Foodland, rather than corporation owned Woolworths or Coles) was both productive and frustrating:
1. Laundry detergent: surprisingly easy. For a product that is not eaten, labelling on laundry detergents surprised me, as ingredients are clearly listed. Of course, as is usually the case for palm oil-derived ingredients, deciphering names was going to be necessary.
Or so I thought: third item I picked up, Aware Eco Choice, prominently states on the front of the packaging that it does not contain palm oil:
A visit to the product's FAQ makes it even clearer:
In contrast, other laundry products that claim to be good for the environment use palm oil-derived ingredients and are therefore very bad for the environment. Avoid them at all cost.
2. Body wash/soap: not a single product. Every single item contained palm oil. I am clearly not going to be able to purchase soap at a supermarket. This is going to require some more research.
A trip to my local supermarket of choice (a locally-owned Foodland, rather than corporation owned Woolworths or Coles) was both productive and frustrating:
1. Laundry detergent: surprisingly easy. For a product that is not eaten, labelling on laundry detergents surprised me, as ingredients are clearly listed. Of course, as is usually the case for palm oil-derived ingredients, deciphering names was going to be necessary.
Or so I thought: third item I picked up, Aware Eco Choice, prominently states on the front of the packaging that it does not contain palm oil:
A visit to the product's FAQ makes it even clearer:
Do the powders use any PALM OIL derived ingredients?
No - we are happy to announce, that we now source the primary Surfactant (detergent agent) used in the Aware laundry powders from coconut oil. While Aware Environmental Ltd (Orange Power and Aware’s parent company) and Planet Ark currently support the intentions of the ‘Round Table on Sustainable Palm Oil’ (visit www.rspo.org for more info) it is our opinion that the production of palm oil will never be sustainable. Should large international companies, who chair the RSPO, demonstrate the responsible sourcing of palm oil in the future, it will not work to decrease the total demand for the product. Even if a sustainable palm oil product was developed the demand for it would continue to grow and place additional pressure on forests in Indonesia and Malaysia, not to mention new supply countries like Columbia. Coconut Oil is a sound alternative to use as a base for surfactants as it does not represent the same immediate and critical threat to rainforest habitats.
In contrast, other laundry products that claim to be good for the environment use palm oil-derived ingredients and are therefore very bad for the environment. Avoid them at all cost.
2. Body wash/soap: not a single product. Every single item contained palm oil. I am clearly not going to be able to purchase soap at a supermarket. This is going to require some more research.
Sunday 18 July 2010
Where to start with the palm oil purge?
The goal is easy: eliminating palm oil from my life. The path to doing so is not as easy. The challenges that I face:
- Identifying palm oil as an ingredient. As outlined previously, this isn't as easy as it ought to be. However, lists of products that are free of palm oil do exist;
- I currently share a house with two other people, neither of who is passionate about the issue. Whilst I can control what is bought collectively whilst I am shopping, I have no say over what they buy for the three of us;
- Working out where to buy palm oil-free products. Whilst palm oil-free chocolate is easy to find (hint: avoid Nestle as a starting point), finding cleaning products and personal hygiene items is more of a challenge; and
- Deciding what to do when I have no control over what I consume or any way to determine what path I should take.
- I am not throwing anything away that I purchased previously because it contains palm oil. Whilst the goal may be a palm oil-free lifestyle, unnecessary waste along the way is not acceptable. I shall use up what I have purchased previously and vow to never buy said product again (unless it also makes the transition to a palm oil-free form); and
- Dining out: it is not necessarily possible to always determine beforehand whether a restaurant uses palm oil; in cases in which it is known, such places shall be avoided. When it is not known, highlighting the issue with the staff will be done, and if there is no interest in the matter, then the restaurant will not be frequented again in the future. I accept that this will not always be possible to control and that being completely rigid on this will be impossible (especially when travelling), but for local restaurants that I choose to frequent on a regular basis it is a realistic option.
Friday 16 July 2010
Why avoid palm oil?
Palm oil consumption worldwide is expected to double from 2000 to 2030, and triple by 2050. Currently over 70% of palm oil is used in food products, but the demand of biofuels is likely to drive demand further.
But why avoid it? Here's why:
But why avoid it? Here's why:
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| (Forest converting to palm oil, source: bosf_uk) |
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| (Smoke from peat fire, source: bosf_uk) |
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| (Starving female found in palm oil plantation, source: bosf_uk) |
Wednesday 14 July 2010
Identifying palm oil: not as easy as it sounds.
It may not sound difficult - to remove palm oil completely from one's life. But it is. One has to first identify as what it is listed in the ingredients of a product. More often than not (in Australia, at least), palm oil is not labelled as 'palm oil'. Due to the bad publicity that palm oil receives, it is usually not listed as such. Instead, ingredients such as:
Some organisations estimate that up to 40% of all supermarket items contain palm oil (or its derivatives) and that Australians each consume, on average, 10kg annually.
Everything from chocolate to cooking oil, biscuits to washing powder, and soap to fruit juice may contain palm oil. When palm oil is hidden behind so many names, spotting it is not always an easy exercise. This is the challenge.
- Vegetable oil;
- Vegetable fat;
- Emulsifier E471;
- Sodium laureth sulphate;
- Sodium lauryl sulphate;
- Sodium dodecyl sulphate (SDS or NaDS);
- Palmate;
- Palm oil kernel;
- Palmitate;
- Elaeis guineensis;
- Glyceryl stearate;
- Stearic acid;
- Steareth-2;
- Steareth-20;
- Sodium lauryl sulfoacetate;
- Hydrated palm glycerides;
- Sodium isostearoyl lactylaye;
- Cetyl palmitate and octyl palmitate; and
- Anything with palmitate in the name.
Some organisations estimate that up to 40% of all supermarket items contain palm oil (or its derivatives) and that Australians each consume, on average, 10kg annually.
Everything from chocolate to cooking oil, biscuits to washing powder, and soap to fruit juice may contain palm oil. When palm oil is hidden behind so many names, spotting it is not always an easy exercise. This is the challenge.
Monday 12 July 2010
Living without palm oil.
It's been a while, but I'm back (as if anybody has noticed).
For the last couple of months I have been endeavouring to rid my life, once and for all, of one of the most evil of ingredients used in so much of what we consume, palm oil. In the past, I've noticed that palm oil has even made its way into fruit juice, all in the name of health, and whilst I have sought to avoid purchasing anything that contains it, to completely avoid it takes a lot of effort - and planning.
Inspired by my involvement in the World Tapir Day activities at the Adelaide Zoo, I have now undertaken to remove palm oil completely from my life.
For the last couple of months I have been endeavouring to rid my life, once and for all, of one of the most evil of ingredients used in so much of what we consume, palm oil. In the past, I've noticed that palm oil has even made its way into fruit juice, all in the name of health, and whilst I have sought to avoid purchasing anything that contains it, to completely avoid it takes a lot of effort - and planning.
Inspired by my involvement in the World Tapir Day activities at the Adelaide Zoo, I have now undertaken to remove palm oil completely from my life.
Wednesday 31 March 2010
A riot of my own
Libya. Land of the Colonel. Soon to be my home for the next couple of days.
I'm sitting in the Lufthansa lounge at Frankfurt Airport, waiting for my flight to Tripoli, capital of Libya, and showpiece of an African dictator that makes the majority of other uniform-wearing, crazy hat-wearing meglomaniacs look positively sane and balanced. That's not to say that Colonel Gaddafi does not get it right on some occasions - it is just that those occasions in which he does succeed in making a valid point have more to do with the laws of probability than with any insight on his part.
This morning I departed one state - the United Kingdom - that, whilst ostensibly democratic, has become a surveillance state. Cameras dominate the landscape, pointing down from every vantage point, recording the minutae of life. All in the name of security and safety. Yet, as the suicide bombings on the Moscow subway system have made accutely plain, no amount of video footage makes a difference. Just as it made no difference one day in July a few years ago in the British capital.
And so I sit here, in the Lufthansa lounge, weissbier standing alongside my laptop, knowing that I am being filmed. From somewhere. I cannot see the camera, but I'm at an airport, so there must be a camera watching me. I just cannot see it. Or does having access to the business lounge of Germany's largest carrier remove one from the scrutiny of the all-seeing eyes?
Either way, I bet that there aren't many cameras in Tripoli. I may be about to travel to a country in which I will understand very little, have about as much comprehension of daily life as I will its language, but I will not be filmed in most locations. And will, inevitably, most likely be a lot safer than I ever was in London during the last few days.
This isn't to say that I felt particularly unsafe in London - being a 6'2" skinhead probably means that I am not an obvious candidate for a mugging or stabbing - both of which apparently occur with fantastically high frequency, if the free daily paper is to be believed. A teenager was chased and stabbed to death at Victoria Station last week, I have read. And nobody prevented it from occurring. Not even the surveillance cameras. But fear not, British population, the perpetrators were caught on CCTV and some of them have now been arrested. Including at least one teenage girl. Look how the world has deteriorated - even teenage girls, dressed in school uniforms, are involved in the bullying and murder of an immigrant teenager.
None of this means that the North African dictator, head of state of my intended destination, has got it right either. But on the other hand, has he got it so completely wrong? I don't know. Maybe I will by the end of Thursday.
And that message circles in my mind. White riot, I wanna riot. White riot, a riot of my own.
I'm sitting in the Lufthansa lounge at Frankfurt Airport, waiting for my flight to Tripoli, capital of Libya, and showpiece of an African dictator that makes the majority of other uniform-wearing, crazy hat-wearing meglomaniacs look positively sane and balanced. That's not to say that Colonel Gaddafi does not get it right on some occasions - it is just that those occasions in which he does succeed in making a valid point have more to do with the laws of probability than with any insight on his part.
This morning I departed one state - the United Kingdom - that, whilst ostensibly democratic, has become a surveillance state. Cameras dominate the landscape, pointing down from every vantage point, recording the minutae of life. All in the name of security and safety. Yet, as the suicide bombings on the Moscow subway system have made accutely plain, no amount of video footage makes a difference. Just as it made no difference one day in July a few years ago in the British capital.
And so I sit here, in the Lufthansa lounge, weissbier standing alongside my laptop, knowing that I am being filmed. From somewhere. I cannot see the camera, but I'm at an airport, so there must be a camera watching me. I just cannot see it. Or does having access to the business lounge of Germany's largest carrier remove one from the scrutiny of the all-seeing eyes?
Either way, I bet that there aren't many cameras in Tripoli. I may be about to travel to a country in which I will understand very little, have about as much comprehension of daily life as I will its language, but I will not be filmed in most locations. And will, inevitably, most likely be a lot safer than I ever was in London during the last few days.
This isn't to say that I felt particularly unsafe in London - being a 6'2" skinhead probably means that I am not an obvious candidate for a mugging or stabbing - both of which apparently occur with fantastically high frequency, if the free daily paper is to be believed. A teenager was chased and stabbed to death at Victoria Station last week, I have read. And nobody prevented it from occurring. Not even the surveillance cameras. But fear not, British population, the perpetrators were caught on CCTV and some of them have now been arrested. Including at least one teenage girl. Look how the world has deteriorated - even teenage girls, dressed in school uniforms, are involved in the bullying and murder of an immigrant teenager.
None of this means that the North African dictator, head of state of my intended destination, has got it right either. But on the other hand, has he got it so completely wrong? I don't know. Maybe I will by the end of Thursday.
And that message circles in my mind. White riot, I wanna riot. White riot, a riot of my own.
Tuesday 30 March 2010
101 Walterton Road
A couple of days ago I spent the afternoon walking around West London, through an area that I don't really know the name of - Croydon, Putney, something along those lines. The name is irrelevant. Walterton Road, Elgin Avenue, Chippenham Road. I knew why I was there.
34 years ago, the area was replete with urban decay, squats dominating the streetscape. The Westway, the A-somethingorother motorway, races through the middle of it, as it did in the mid-1970s, and the district is home to immigrant communities, as it was back then. To the south, the areas of Chelsea and Kensington stand in stark contrast to the district to the north of them.
In the mid-1970s, a call went out from one of those squats - I wanna riot, a riot of my own. The squats have long since gone, demolished to make way for gated, semi-gentrified estates and council tenancies. The call to action has long since passed - as has the agitator calling for British youth to stand up. Its echo remains in the back catalogue of a multinational record label, making money for faceless corporations.
As I walked those streets, under the watchful eye of the camera, I wondered where the spirit of 1976 had gone. Me, a non-working class skinhead from Australia in his late thirties and employed in a well paid, white collar job, on a nostalgia tour of something to which he has no direct connection. Hardly a stellar example of the message that eminated out of the squats of Walterton Road.
Yet, as I walked through this area of West London, I was surrounded by people and locations that had even less of a connection with the message of 1976 than did I. the all-seeing eye peers down on them, they grumble, in the best of British tradition, about the weather, the economy, unemployment, the cost of living. Oblivious to the legacy of the area in which they live, and unwilling to challenge their lot in life.
Joe, you are sorely missed.
34 years ago, the area was replete with urban decay, squats dominating the streetscape. The Westway, the A-somethingorother motorway, races through the middle of it, as it did in the mid-1970s, and the district is home to immigrant communities, as it was back then. To the south, the areas of Chelsea and Kensington stand in stark contrast to the district to the north of them.
In the mid-1970s, a call went out from one of those squats - I wanna riot, a riot of my own. The squats have long since gone, demolished to make way for gated, semi-gentrified estates and council tenancies. The call to action has long since passed - as has the agitator calling for British youth to stand up. Its echo remains in the back catalogue of a multinational record label, making money for faceless corporations.
As I walked those streets, under the watchful eye of the camera, I wondered where the spirit of 1976 had gone. Me, a non-working class skinhead from Australia in his late thirties and employed in a well paid, white collar job, on a nostalgia tour of something to which he has no direct connection. Hardly a stellar example of the message that eminated out of the squats of Walterton Road.
Yet, as I walked through this area of West London, I was surrounded by people and locations that had even less of a connection with the message of 1976 than did I. the all-seeing eye peers down on them, they grumble, in the best of British tradition, about the weather, the economy, unemployment, the cost of living. Oblivious to the legacy of the area in which they live, and unwilling to challenge their lot in life.
Joe, you are sorely missed.
Monday 25 January 2010
26 January, Australian Nationalism Day.
Tomorrow is Australia Day, the day on which Australians commemorate the arrival of the First Fleet in 1788 at Sydney Cove, and with the arrival, declaring British sovereignty over the eastern part of the continent. Two hundred years later, the first Invasion Day protests occurred, coinciding with the celebrations to mark the 200th anniversary of the First Fleet's arrival.
Tomorrow, at the Adelaide Oval, Australian cricket fans will be out in force, wearing the flag as capes, bandannas, boob tubes, or however else takes their fancy. Heaven forbid if anybody should show disrespect to the flag, mind you. Said cricket fans will be wearing the flag just as the crowds of yobs did in December 2005 in Cronulla at the height of the unrest between the so-called 'Australian' and Lebanese communities in Sydney.
Tens of thousands will gather tomorrow for the annual ritual of tuning into Triple J's "Hottest 100" songs of the previous year, gathering to barbecue and booze throughout the day, again dressed up in flags, clothing with the Australian flag emblazoned across it, replica uniforms of the Australian cricket, rugby - perhaps even hockey - teams. Anything to show just how 'Australian' one is. In a similar fashion, the Big Day Out festivals around the country will be replete with people 'reclaiming' the flag for 'real' Australians.
As I rode around the city today, it was impossible to not notice the number of vehicles with Australian flags attached to them - be it to the antenna, hanging out of the window, or on flagpoles precariously mounted on the bonnet and boot corners. The only other country in which I have ever seen such over the top expressions of 'patriotism' of this manner on cars was in Chile - hardly a world centre of healthy, positive patriotism.
Last week, Croatian 'fans' caused disturbances at the Australian Open tennis tournament in Melbourne. Invariably Australians of Croatian descent, rather than being born in Croatians, the Australian media was quick to condemn the loutish behaviour in which they engaged, highlighting the fact that they were Croatian 'supporters'. However, little is ever made of the sporting allegiances of the Australian 'fans' who are ejected from cricket grounds around the country every summer. Indeed, it is quickly pointed out that such troublemakers are a very small minority and are not reflective of the true cricket 'fan'.
In recent weeks, Australia has been - unfairly, in the opinion of many - been targetted in the Indian media about the allegedly racist nature of the country, following a small number of supposedly racist attacks on Indian nationals living in Melbourne.
No country is devoid of racism and nationalism. Croatia has centuries of nationalistic conflict behind it; India is a caste-based system, in which discrimination is blatant, widespread and perfectly acceptable by societal norms. Is Australia so bad?
Perhaps I am becoming more radical, slipping further left, with my advancing years, but it appears to me that Australia has been sliding further to the right for some years. Perhaps the shift began before the John Howard years in 1996, perhaps it didn't. Either way, having ousted the Coalition in 2007, the right wing party that calls itself Australian Labor Party shifted the centre point for 'left' and 'right' when it came to power, much in the same manner that Tony Blair's 'New Labour' did when it came to power in the United Kingdom in 1997. What once used to be right wing quite often falls well within the philosophy of what is nominally 'left'. Even the Australian Greens were happy to agree to an exchange of preferences with the Citizens Electoral Council for the 2007 Federal election. So much for principles and morals.
The tolerance for overt displays of nationalism that now abound in Australia is generally acceptable (acceptable to the populace, that is) - providing it doesn't bring Australia's international reputation into disrepute. Even when it does, such displays are dismissed as not being representative of the wider Australian population, not being harmful - let alone nationalistic.
Australians have (rightly) a lot to be proud about. The nationalism that now envelopes its National Day and many aspects of its society and culture is not one of those things.
Tomorrow, at the Adelaide Oval, Australian cricket fans will be out in force, wearing the flag as capes, bandannas, boob tubes, or however else takes their fancy. Heaven forbid if anybody should show disrespect to the flag, mind you. Said cricket fans will be wearing the flag just as the crowds of yobs did in December 2005 in Cronulla at the height of the unrest between the so-called 'Australian' and Lebanese communities in Sydney.
Cricket fans or racist louts? (source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/warrenhudson/72304412/in/set-1554165/)
Tens of thousands will gather tomorrow for the annual ritual of tuning into Triple J's "Hottest 100" songs of the previous year, gathering to barbecue and booze throughout the day, again dressed up in flags, clothing with the Australian flag emblazoned across it, replica uniforms of the Australian cricket, rugby - perhaps even hockey - teams. Anything to show just how 'Australian' one is. In a similar fashion, the Big Day Out festivals around the country will be replete with people 'reclaiming' the flag for 'real' Australians.
As I rode around the city today, it was impossible to not notice the number of vehicles with Australian flags attached to them - be it to the antenna, hanging out of the window, or on flagpoles precariously mounted on the bonnet and boot corners. The only other country in which I have ever seen such over the top expressions of 'patriotism' of this manner on cars was in Chile - hardly a world centre of healthy, positive patriotism.
Last week, Croatian 'fans' caused disturbances at the Australian Open tennis tournament in Melbourne. Invariably Australians of Croatian descent, rather than being born in Croatians, the Australian media was quick to condemn the loutish behaviour in which they engaged, highlighting the fact that they were Croatian 'supporters'. However, little is ever made of the sporting allegiances of the Australian 'fans' who are ejected from cricket grounds around the country every summer. Indeed, it is quickly pointed out that such troublemakers are a very small minority and are not reflective of the true cricket 'fan'.
In recent weeks, Australia has been - unfairly, in the opinion of many - been targetted in the Indian media about the allegedly racist nature of the country, following a small number of supposedly racist attacks on Indian nationals living in Melbourne.
No country is devoid of racism and nationalism. Croatia has centuries of nationalistic conflict behind it; India is a caste-based system, in which discrimination is blatant, widespread and perfectly acceptable by societal norms. Is Australia so bad?
Perhaps I am becoming more radical, slipping further left, with my advancing years, but it appears to me that Australia has been sliding further to the right for some years. Perhaps the shift began before the John Howard years in 1996, perhaps it didn't. Either way, having ousted the Coalition in 2007, the right wing party that calls itself Australian Labor Party shifted the centre point for 'left' and 'right' when it came to power, much in the same manner that Tony Blair's 'New Labour' did when it came to power in the United Kingdom in 1997. What once used to be right wing quite often falls well within the philosophy of what is nominally 'left'. Even the Australian Greens were happy to agree to an exchange of preferences with the Citizens Electoral Council for the 2007 Federal election. So much for principles and morals.
The tolerance for overt displays of nationalism that now abound in Australia is generally acceptable (acceptable to the populace, that is) - providing it doesn't bring Australia's international reputation into disrepute. Even when it does, such displays are dismissed as not being representative of the wider Australian population, not being harmful - let alone nationalistic.
Australians have (rightly) a lot to be proud about. The nationalism that now envelopes its National Day and many aspects of its society and culture is not one of those things.
Friday 1 January 2010
"Safety Pin Stuck in My Heart" - Patrik Fitzgerald
I don't love you for your graveyard eyes
I don't love you for your shaven thighs
I just love you for that
Beat-beat-beat-beat-beating
I don't love you for your tattered tie
I don't love you, and I don't know why
I just love you for that
Beat-beat-beat-beat-beating
I've got a safety pin stuck in my heart
For you, for you
I don't love you for your professed hate
I don't love you for your cards of fate
I just love you for that
Beat-beat-beat-beat-beating
I don't love you for your painted shoes
I don't love you for your friends you never choose
I just love you for that
Beat-beat-beat-beat-beating
I've got a safety pin stuck in my heart
For you, for you
I don't love you for your many reasons
Propagandas, doctrines, treasons
All I know's that
Beat-beat-beat-beat-beating
I've got an ear inflamed on my dog chain
Painted faces, painted names -
My shirt - it's all that
Beat-beat-beat-beat-beating
I've got a safety pin stuck in my heart
For you, for you
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