while running today, i was listening to this - president clinton’s speech to the “slate 60″ conference of the world’s top philanthropists.

i haven’t been able to find a transcript online, but the speech is a testament to why he was such a great president. he understands that our political problems and social issues of today occur within a global framework – one which is underestimated or ignored to our detriment. he points out that in a today’s post-9/11 world, it is cheaper and more effective to make more partners and fewer enemies. as he says, “in an interdependent environment, by definition, you cannot kill, jail, or occupy all your adversaries. doesn’t mean you should be naive and renounce security. it just means that security will never be enough.”

he speaks with the gravitas of someone who knows a little something about how the world works, and as a former president, he (obviously) does a lot of name-dropping. and yet, his dedication to helping the poorest of the poor still rings absolutely true. the caring just shines through, as does his charisma. you’ve got to love someone who says about Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, the new president of liberia, “i’m crazy about her, i think she’s really somethin’.”

he doesn’t speak in soundbytes. he doesn’t have to. he can delve into a complex side issue, then bring the speech back around to the focal point in such a way that the context of that side issue becomes enfolded within the overall whole. the kyoto treaty, security issues, public health, personal freedom and development in african countries – they all become part of a vision for changing the world through private philanthropy.

i suppose that the reason this speech seems so remarkable, is that it offers a striking counterpoint to the quality of leadership currently on offer. because no matter what you thought of his policies, you never doubted his fundamental ability to conduct the duties of the office with profound intelligence, thoughtfulness and steadfast capability.

so if you’ve missed these qualities as i have, let a real statesman remind you how it’s done. worthwhile listening to be sure.

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philanthropy, statesmanship, speech, president clinton, slate 60

i recently met up with a friend of mine for some drinks. it was the first time we’d caught up since my return from travel, and she had previously done a rtw trip herself, so there was a lot of reminiscing about places and experiences, comparing notes on memories and fun. eventually we got round to the topic of what it is like to come back to the u.k. after so long away, a process which, for lack of a better term i have been calling “re-entry”. like an astronaut coming back into earth’s orbit, readjusting to the weight of gravity, and having such an extraordinary experience but landing with a thump back into everyday life. in particular, getting used to being an expat again – a permanent foreigner rather than just a strange tourist passing through.

i’m eligible for british citizenship in just a few more months. it’s really astounding how quickly time has passed – seems only yesterday that i started this blog after finally getting a work permit that meant i could stay. but in march 07, i will have been here for 4 years – longer than i ever imagined, yet shorter than i could’ve thought possible. in particular, having this blog has enabled me to really explore my own experience, from a variety of different perspectives. but i’ve never stopped feeling like an expat.

the u.k. government says that i have proven myself sufficiently british to become a citizen. but even if i lived here 20 years, i’d never feel like a brit. is it right to avail yourself of the benefits of a system you don’t believe in?

what i have discovered, upon re-entry, however, is that i’ve entered a new phase in my london life. something i really never expected to feel – genuine affection for a lifestyle and culture which i can now claim as my own. in talking with my friend (whose husband is a kiwi) we came to the conclusion that there are several distinct phases an expat goes through.

first there’s the initial honeymoon phase – everything new is fascinating or quaint, exciting or curious. from learning to cross the street to becoming familiar with local brands, to figuring out the money and transportation, it’s all one big adventure where evry day you discover something new. my first trip to a grocery store was a revelation – all the novelty, all the choice! i thought i’d never tire of it.

the second phase is one of frustration – all the things you initially thought were charmingly quirky begin to grate on your nerves, and all the obstacles there are to surmount with living in a new country just wear you down. new lingo, new customs, new life – it’s all a lot to get used to, and constantly having to navigate your way in uncharted territory is so tiring. getting used to being paid monthly, trying to learn metric, not knowing where to buy pie tins or even if they have them here. you struggle to understand and be understood. the prevailing sentiment is one of “this country is so backwards/inefficient/confusing/generally stoopid” and it’s at this point you being to wonder just what the hell you’re doing here anyway when it would be so much easier to go home. and a lot of people do.

but if you make it through that phase, you enter into what i call “the uneasy truce”. sure some things about the country and its people are great, and some things will drive you mad. but you begin to see there’s real merit in how things are done on both sides of the atlantic, and you’ve decided, for better or worse, that this is where you will be for the forseeable future. you may not love it, but you’re part of it – and it becomes part of you. so you grumble about the weather and kvetch about the tube like a proper londoner. you settle in for the long haul and make your peace with the fact that there is no “dunkin’ donuts” coffee to be had, and that doing laundry takes 3 hours. you adapt and survive and even flourish where you’re planted. you make some friends and find yourself explaining to people back in the states that air-drying clothes *really is* more eco-friendly. you have your routine, you have your circle, you have your life. and it’s only when you find yourself surrounded by new people that you remember you are still a novelty, still have to explain your background and how/ why you’re here. you may fit into your everyday world, but the minute you’re out of your element, you are reminded you’re still a stranger here. and always will be. it’s a suspended state of tension, but you get used to it.

and finally there is (what i hope is) the final phase. one of a warm fondness and almost protective feeling toward those attributes and characteristics which you’ve come to embrace as a part of your home. it caught me off balance, this feeling of devotion upon returning. for all my moaning, it seems i have come to cherish this place in spite of myself. in hindsight, of course, it was bound to happen – you can’t voluntarily remain someplace without immersing in it, becoming permeated by it. or even more accurately, engaging with it as a part of your personality, as a friend, as a comfort. but that means acknowledging that it is a part of my happiness – and that brings a loyalty and responsibility to care for it. a willingness to give of myself, in return for what has been given. much like a marriage, i may always have a love/hate relationship with it – but i miss this place when i am not here.

to my utter surprise, i find i have an allegiance to this country, these people. and it took leaving to figure that out.

so i will take up british citizenship when it is offered. i may always be an expat, always an outsider looking in, but i have as much stake in this place as any “real” brit does. it’s become part of who i am, even without fanfare or ceremony.

really the oath and passport are just secondary.

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my friend diana [aka "benal"], (CEO of the Business Improvement District Council for san diego, ca) takes on evil giant wal-mart. you go girl!! give a listen here.

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it’s jordan and peter andre singing. and acting.

let the hilarity ensue. because, y’know, nothing says “class” like black and white bath scenes. it’s like casablanca as done by porn stars.

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jordan, video, peter andre, "a whole new world"

i’m watching a re-run of “america’s next top model” for the sheer comedy factor.

the girl on the television is starting a cat fight because someone touched her special dietetic no-carb brownies. She says, “Don’t put your finger in my brownie!!”

j and i turn to each other and laugh.

jonno then turns that phrase into a hilarious double-entendre and spends the rest of the evening working “finger” and “brownie” into the conversation wherever possible.

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“as good as it gets” is on. i love this movie, and at the same time, it makes me a little sad. they filmed huge chunks of this on my old street in windsor terrace, park slope, brooklyn. in fact, we watched them film the early morning bakery scene at the next corner from our apartment building, and the bar scene at the pub across from our door. the outside scenes of helen hunts house were around the corner from us.

so it makes me incredibly nostalgic. i loved that neighbourhood, that apartment, more than anyplace else i’ve ever lived in my life. it’s what i still think of when i think of some of my happiest, most comforting moments. my park, my bagel place, my pizza joint, my movie theatre. that was *my* neighbourhood. that was *me*. it was a perfect fit, as good as it gets – and even 8 years later, i regret having moved away.

but at least i get to see it on t.v.

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thanksgiving dinner was lovely – amity made a wonderful dinner with all the traditionals (gorgeous turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole and glazed carrots) and I brought pumpkin and apple pie for dessert. good company, good food – it really felt like home away from home.

the only downer was having to keep the wine to a minimum, as i had an interview this morning for my old post and didn’t want to be muzzy-headed. i got the job (hooray!) so, (sadly) i’ll soon be back in the world of gainful employment. j will be thrilled – i think there must be nothing worse than having to get up early and face the cold wet morning while your spouse gets to stay snuggled up warm in bed. let’s just say he’s not been entirely successful at hiding his bitterness.

i’ll be back at work just in time for the department christmas ‘do, as my boss pointed out. i’ve been blocking the creeping approach of christmas from my mind, but now that thanksgiving is past, the merry season is well and truly underway. it started far too early here, with lights, decorations and adverts beginning weeks ago now. i’m even less enthusiastic than usual because this will be a rather spare christmas – the “family” are all headed off to snowboard or see relatives, and since we still haven’t got our financial feet back under us just yet, we’re not buying presents for each other. so it’ll be just the two of us with our thin cup of cheer. that sounds so very lonely.

i’ll also be another year older. 34 sounds dangerously close to “mid-thirties” and with each passing birthday, my mirror and mind are increasingly at odds with each other. add to that my usual patina of end-of-year wistfulness, and you begin to understand why i’m not looking forward to the next few weeks.

but even in the face of my determined maudlin musings, there is this: the annual blooming of my beloved christmas cactus. Like clockwork, its buds arrive to burst into vibrant colour just when it is greyest both outside and in. defying the clouds milling about in my head. tracey cared for it while we were away and proudly returned it to us when we got back. i love that little plant and it makes me happy to see that even in the winter bleakness, there are signs of renewal. something i need to bear in mind these days, and there’s nothing better than a beautiful flower as a reminder.

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a bit of a different thanksgiving for us this year. in past years I’ve done a big thanksgiving dinner for as many family and friends as i can gather together. as our new flat is not yet kitted out for real cooking, and quite a bit smaller, this year we’re going to spend t-day at amity’s house instead, and then have a dinner later in the week with kim and andy. so even though i *know* amity will be the hostess-with-the-mostess and i’m so glad to be able to share in her generosity, it does feel a little strange this year.

and even more so because it’s been over a year since last seeing the folks back home. i’ll admit i’m a little homesick these holidays. but i’ll be thinking of everyone stateside, and know they’re thinking of me.

i’m often called upon to explain the traditional american holiday to people over here. and it’s interesting to talk about. it’s not religious, it’s not commercial – it’s the only “pure” holiday left. and no matter what the history books say, the essence of it boils down to this: it’s about people coming together, relying on each other to get through the hard times, and being thankful for those whose presence makes it all possible. usually that’s family and friends – and perhaps that why it’s an even more important celebration for those who find themselves far away.

so thank you to all those near and far who give me strength. those both here and there who are so important to my life. may you all feel as lucky as i do.

happy thanksgiving!

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as much as i am enjoying our new flat and new neighbourhood, there is one thing, however, which it is noticably lacking: a good local.

for my american readers:

i’ve written a little bit about the pub culture and etiquette before, but i’ve not yet explained the uniquely british icon which is “the local”. as you’ve no doubt seen in movies, the pub serves a very important function in the daily life of the british. it is a gathering point for much of the community, a place to meet friends and neighbours, a hub of information, and a ritualised social club. the neighbourhood pub (or “local”) is most often frequented by the same people day after day, who build bonds over pints, develop unique personalities and become well-known and respected patrons of the establishment. people often frequent “the local” several times a week, as a matter of habit – but it’s important to point out that this is usually less about the drinking, and more about the interaction. in many ways, a good local is much like “cheers” on t.v. – where everyody knows your name, and the beer is secondary to the comraderie. people often while away many hours at a time, nursing pints, gossiping, sharing a laugh, and generally hanging out. and this time is also an investment – there’s a definite proprietary feel towards a good local, a sense of ownership that the regulars foster. because it is, after all, *the people* that make a good local. in many ways, a local is a clique – like gravitating towards like. it’s a community relationship, and when it works well, it is a lovely thing to belong to.

and there are many different types of locals. posh locals with cream and oak tones, fancy food (duck and scallion pancakes anyone?) and pinstriped businessmen. old man locals with dim lighting, dark panelling, worn carpets, a thick blue smoke curtain, and a down-at-the-heels air. hard drinker locals with burly publicans, rough customers, cheap lagers, and lots of fruit machines. quirky locals with funky music, young bartenders, offbeat beers on tap, and loungey furnishings. and if you’re lucky enough to have more than one in your immediate area, you can take your pick. find something that feels right. much like your bookshelf or movie collection, where you choose to drink says a lot about who you are – so you want to choose something that reflects your taste, your attitude. a place where you feel you fit in.

the locals at my last two flats have been of the quirky kind, and that really suits me because i’m kind of quirky myself. a relaxed vibe, sofas, good music and a decent beer puts me in the right frame of mind – comfort is key when you want to gather with friends, or need to unwind. our last local was called “hoochie mamas” – a tiny little hole in the wall that played rock and reggae, served giant pizzas, and had hoegaarden, guinness and san miguel on tap. we loved it – spent many a birthday, new years, and friday night there. and even though it’s still only a 15 min walk away from our new place, it’s just a little too far to be our local anymore. we will miss it.

and sadly, the local pickings around our new place are pretty slim. there’s “the wheatsheaf” across the road, which leans toward the “hard drinkers” side. there’s “the rose and crown” towards tooting bec common, which is definitely an “old man” place. as is “the kings head” on upper tooting road. there’s “smoke”, a posh bar/diner at the corner of our street which tries too hard to be trendy to be comfortable. and that’s really about it in the immediate area. the other decent options (”the hope” on wandsworth common, the nicer pubs at balham high road) are all still a 10 min walk. which doesn’t seem that far – until you have to make your way home after a few too many. a local should ideally be a place you can easily stumble back from.

so all this is to say that i’m not sure where we’ll end up making our “other home” at yet. but given the amount of time we’re likely to spend there, it’s an important decision that shouldn’t be rushed.

just ask “norm”.

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Scientists believe they have worked out a formula to calculate how "beer goggles" affect a drinker’s vision.

The drink-fuelled phenomenon is said to transform supposedly "ugly" people into beauties – until the morning after.

Researchers at Manchester University say while beauty is in the eye of the beer-holder, the amount of alcohol consumed is not the only factor.

Additional factors include the level of light in the pub or club, the drinker’s own eyesight and the room’s smokiness.

The distance between two people is also a factor.

They all add up to make the aesthetically-challenged more attractive, according to the formula.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KEY TO FORMULA

An = number of units of alcohol consumed

S = smokiness of the room (graded from 0-10, where 0 clear air; 10 extremely smoky)

L = luminance of ‘person of interest’ (candelas per square metre; typically 1 pitch black; 150 as seen in normal room lighting)

Vo = Snellen visual acuity (6/6 normal; 6/12 just meets driving standard)

d = distance from ‘person of interest’ (metres; 0.5 to 3 metres)

 

it’s just an *expression* people!

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beer goggles

just saw an advert on telly for this christmas item:

scene it – “friends” edition

“It’s the ultimate Friends trivia game with clips from your favorite episodes! From foosball matches and Central Perk to Marcel and Smelly Cat, you’ll find all of your favorite Friends moments in Scene It? Friends Edition. It includes real show clips, trivia questions, and on-screen puzzlers from ALL TEN seasons! So how well do you really know Rachel, Ross, Chandler, Monica, Phoebe and Joey? You’re about to find out!”

considering that “friends” is on here 4 times a day, every day, (more often on weekends), i predict wildfire sales of this game. the show has been off the air for years, yet brits still watch it every. single. day. the u.k. is a “scene it” marketeers wet dream. it’ll be the christmas toy craze taking the nation by storm. just you watch.

and i’m just sour grapes because i didn’t think of it first.

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it’s been a bad week to be gay in america.

while i don’t usually quote editorials here, derrik z. jackson of the boston globe has written a piece about “the antigay obsession” that’s too good to ignore. when will people stop promoting homophobia for political ends and start putting time and attention into the things that really matter?

The antigay obsession

By Derrick Z. Jackson, Globe Columnist | November 18, 2006

ALL IN THE same week, Governor Mitt Romney, the US Catholic bishops, the Baptist State Convention of North Carolina, and the Presbyterian Church USA drove themselves nuts over homosexuality.

Here in Massachusetts, despite ample evidence that two years of same-sex marriage have not destroyed straight life in the Commonwealth, Romney is helping plan a rally tomorrow for a statewide referendum to ban it. A month ago, in one of his sky-is-falling speeches, Romney said “activist judges struck a blow to the foundation of civilization, the family.” He went so far as to say, “The price of same-sex marriage is paid by the children.”

In Washington, the bishops passed a bizarre set of guidelines called, “Ministry to Persons with a Homosexual Inclination.” In the same breath, they claim to be “welcoming” to gay and lesbian people, then tell them to be chaste and stay in the closet about their sexual orientation. The bishops remain resolute that being gay or lesbian is “disordered.”

The Baptist State Convention of North Carolina voted to expel congregations that affirm homosexuality period, let alone gay marriage. “In our day and time, no other sin marches so defiantly across our national landscape,” expulsion proponent Mark Harris was quoted as saying in The Washington Post. The Presbyterian Church was so fearful of this “march” of “sin” that it was going to put the Rev. Janet Edwards on trial for marrying a same-sex couple. Charges were brought too late and were dropped.

If you ask me, Noah should load up all these folks in the ark and drop them off in South Africa.

While all this nuttiness was going on here, the South African parliament this week voted 230-41 to legalize same-sex marriage. This vote came after South Africa’s highest court ruled that existing marriage laws discriminated against gay and lesbian couples. The post-apartheid South African Constitution passed about a decade ago was noteworthy for being the first in the world to explicitly outlaw discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation.

South African Defense Minister Mosuia Lekota was quoted by the Associated Press as saying, “The roots of this bill lie in many years of struggle. . . . This country cannot afford to be a prison of timeworn prejudices which have no basis in modern society. Let us bequeath to future generations a society which is more democratic and tolerant than the one that was handed down to us.”

The tone of affirmation in South Africa had been set years before by the likes of former South African President Nelson Mandela, who lost a son to AIDS, and Nobel Peace Prize laureate Desmond Tutu, who has repeatedly criticized homophobia in the church. “This is crazy,” the retired archbishop said eight years ago. “We say the expression of love in a monogamous, heterosexual relationship is more than just the physical but includes touching, embracing, kissing, maybe the genital act. The totality of this makes each of us grow to become giving, increasingly God-like and compassionate.

“If it is so for the heterosexual, what earthly reason have we to say that it is not the case with the homosexual, provided the relationship is exclusive, not promiscuous?”

John Allen, Tutu’s former press secretary and biographer, last month said Tutu “found it a little short of outrageous that church leaders should be obsessed with issues of sexuality in the face of the challenges of AIDS and global poverty. Too many South Africans remember that homosexuals were imprisoned for their sexual orientation, alongside Mandela. Tutu’s successor as archbishop, Njongonkulu Ndungane, has continued to voice a similar message.

Referring to the consecration of Episcopal Bishop V. Gene Robinson in New Hampshire in 2003, Ndungane told The Washington Post last spring, “The Anglican Communion should be on the forefront of fighting social ills and not bothering about what Gene Robinson may be doing or not doing.” Ndungane, himself a former political prisoner at Robben Island, added, “One of the key things that we have learned both as a country and as a church is the principle of nondiscrimination, because the people who were discriminated against (under apartheid) were judged on things they couldn’t alter.”

Compared with that kind of thinking in South Africa, Romney and American church leaders who are trying to lead a backlash seem more like they have too much time on their hands. Romney is known for saying gay marriage would turn Massachusetts into a Las Vegas for such events. It is time to stop judging things he cannot alter.

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after watching the bbc’s planet earth (as we do every sunday evening) he’s spent the entire evening dancing around imitating the bird of paradise mating ritual just to make me laugh.

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as often as i rail against the appalling record on women’s rights by the u.s. and u.k. government, there are times when i am confronted with just how much worse it really can be. when i realise how grateful i am that a capricious and random stroke of luck determined my citizenship in a modern, westernised, developed country.

because i could have been born in nicaragua, where women’s lives are considered so expendable that they are allowed to die rather than have access to an abortion.. their real, actual lives as daughters/mothers/wives/sisters are less important than the potential (yet dependent) life of a fetus which may kill her. women are so often on the very lowest rung of society’s ladder – and now, in nicaragua, they come even lower than a fetus which has yet to be even a baby. how many women will this government kill through deliberate medical neglect? women have been relegated to the role of vessel – their lives are of no consequence if they have a risky or dangerous pregnancy.

what should be our greatest source of strength – the ability to bring life into the world – instead becomes our potential death sentence. it’s abhorrently misogynistic – and sadly, not the least bit surprising. because on the last rung of the ladder, who ever notices when you finally fall off?

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nicaragua, abortion, women's rights

we finally have our cable/phone/internet connected! life is good.

in other news, there’s something wonky going on with my web server – sorry if the site has been down at all

i’m so thrilled to be able to get my podcasts once again! i love podcasts and am quite addicted to them. to me it’s like being able to read a newspaper, flick through a magazine, watch a television programme, or tune into radio. and the best part is it’s all completely portable, customised, and i can do it while i’m running, on the tube, or falling asleep. my favourite podcasts are:

newsweek on air – the weekly podcast based on the news magazine

espn’s “pardon the interruption” – i love the t.v. show and this is it, in podcast form. lets me get my daily sports fix.

slate’s political gabfest and daily explainer podcasts – really, just love anything and everything slate.com churns out. always insightful, even when i vehemently disagree.

npr’s “wait, wait… don’t tell me” – the most hilarious newsquiz you’ll ever hear.

e! answer bitch – all gossip all the time.

science friday – great overview of interesting and serious science news

and finally, in celebration of connectivity, here’s a playlist – haven’t been able to put one out there for a while, so enjoy. just some fun, catchy tunes.

MP3 playlist (M3U)

feel good hits of the fall

podcast is here.

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pet peeve: when newspapers (and I use that term loosely since what i really mean is gossip rags and “the metro”) “quote” american celebs using terminology that would never in a million years come out of their mouths. like christina aguillera using the word “row” instead of argument. or paris hilton saying “disco dolly”. whenever i see very decidedly british words (”bloke” and “mate” are two more biggies) purportedly being attributed to an american, it’s an immediate tipoff that someone has (shock, horror!) made that quote up. and it irks the hell out of me. not that they would fabricate quotes, mind you, but that they can’t even be bovvered to make it sound quasi-realistic.

c’mon people. a little linguistic credibility so I can suspend disbelief for just a few minutes – is that really too much to ask?!?

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i’ve written before about my disdain for the “hate speech” laws in this country. they’re completely ineffective at protecting people, they only serve to smooth the surface by covering up the extent of racism that really exists, and they’re completely and utterly subjective in application.

take, for instance the following two examples which occured within days of each other.

BNP party leader Nick Griffin was cleared of charges of “inciting racial hatred” after being caught on tape as calling Islam a “wicked, vicious faith” and saying Muslims were turning Britain into a “multi-racial hell hole”.

Mizanur rahman, was convicted of charges of inciting racial hatred after participating in a protest march on the danish embassy (during the mohammed cartoon furor) carrying placards reading “Behead those who insult Islam” and “Annihilate those who insult Islam”.

in comparing the two instances, what appears to be the critical difference? is it the word “behead”? is it the difference between writing something down and just verbalising it? is it the fact that even though Mr. Griffin’s target audience was 90% of britain, and mr. rahman’s less than 10%, there is a perception that muslims are more easily swayed to commit violence? is it the fact that it’s more widely acceptable these days to insult the islamic faith? if you were muslim, wouldn’t you chafe at the inequity? and if you were a muslim predisposed to violence, wouldn’t you find this ample fuel for your fire?

what exactly differentiates one message from another from a legal standpoint? i can’t pinpoint it, and i doubt that your average citizen could either. in which case, how are we to know exactly what’s allowable by law, and what’s not? what good is a law that the public can’t understand? and how can it possibly be enforced in an equitable manner?

lord goldsmith calls it a “gap in the law” that needs to be looked at. i call it a hole in common sense big enough to drive a truck through. Chancellor Gordon Brown said stronger laws might be necessary to include religious as well as race-related offences. I say, let’s do away with this ineffective and unequal law, before it causes more harm than good.

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islam, bnp, , racial hatred law, hate speech

In yesterday’s news: british prisoners have sued the government, and received monetary compensation for being forced to go through heroin withdrawals when taken off their methadone whilst in jail. this has caused quite a stir, particularly at the allegations that the prisoners had their human rights violated.

Former Conservative prisons minister Ann Widdecombe said the settlement was “an insult to every victim and every law abiding person”.

“As far as I’m concerned there is no human right to continue a drug habit when you go to prison.”

and at first blush, this claim *does* seem rather ludicrous. after all, if you don’t want to suffer the pains of withdrawals, a) don’t get addicted to illegal drugs in the first place and b) definitely don’t get your ass thrown in jail. there is little public sympathy for the drug-addled heroin user who lands himself behind bars, because as a society we’ve chosen to criminalise addiction – and ignore that this directly contributes to forcing addicts into other crime to support their habit. but that’s the way the law currently stands, and therefore, as the saying goes, “don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time”. jail is not meant to be a rehab facility, and tough luck to those who end up in the slammer and can’t get their fix. right?

but hold your indignation just a minute, because on further examination, it’s not quite so cut and dry. the claim of “human rights violation” has real teeth – and that’s not such a bad thing because it protects us all. consider, for example, the nhs. the rationale behind socialised medicine, and the reason all residents of britain receive free health care courtesy of the national health service, is because we support the belief that access to medical care is a human right. it is available to everyone who lives in the u.k., free of any eligibility criteria or financial obligation, because there is a common belief that caring for one’s personal health is not a luxury tied to a socio-economic class system. it is an *entitlement* of being human. it is not a “freedom” which one can be stripped of simply by virtue of having their physical space restricted. it is not something which can be either voluntarily or involuntarily surrendered. it is not even something limited to the boundaries of great britain. it is a *right* of one’s being as much as breathing. and that’s why we’ve decided to legally protect access to health care for all, regardless of personal circumstance. you can be rich, homeless, or incarcerated – and you’re still *entitled* to the same medical treatment.

“Prisoners have the right to receive exactly the same type and standard of healthcare in prison as they would receive in the community,”

And this is as clear as it gets. while we have decided we have the right to deprive criminals of their liberty, we have no right to deprive them of needed treatment. we’re not allowed to shortchange them of addiction help just because they’re in jail – because it’s the same entitlement you or i have as non-criminals. if we start imposing differing criteria or quality for prisoners, we must re-examine the entire philosophy the system is based upon. and that would spell bad news for those of us who’ve ever been unemployed, or ill with what could be considered “pre-existing conditions”. if we start changing the principle of “equal access to all”, it is no longer a human right, but a conditional priviledge. i’ve lived under that system for most of my life in the states – and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. the fear of not being able to access care is a horrible feeling.

so we should be thankful for this decision – because it means someone is still watching out for the interests of even those whom society views as repugnant. those same safeguards that protect the human right to proper health, protect all of us. and for that, i am personally extremely grateful.

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addiction, treatment, settlement, prisoners' rights

in the run-up to “remembrance sunday” the annual poppies have been everywhere you look, and no more so than on television. i recently asked j, only half in jest, “are you even *allowed* to be in front of the camera without a poppy on?” turns out, I was closer to the mark than i’d guessed.

for my stateside readers, a little explanation: here in the u.k., the holiday equivalent of the u.s. memorial day and/or veteran’s day is armistice day (on the 11th November) and the following “remembrance sunday” – a day to reflect upon the losses of war and thank those who have given service to the country. the annual campaign which accompanies this holiday is known as the “poppy campaign” – a fundraising drive to support veterans’ charities, where support is signified by wearing a red felt poppy on one’s lapel. the poppy, of course, refers to the famous “flanders fields” poem, as well as the symbollic colours of red for shed blood, and black for mourning.

in recent years, however, the red poppy has become something of a symbol of political correctness. much like the big “support the troops” bumper stickers which have become ubiquitous in the states (aside: on an interesting cultural note, brits do not, as a rule, decorate with bumper stickers of any kind – but that’s a topic for another post), it seems that almost everyone wears one. whether this has been on the rise since the start of the iraq war, i can’t say, but i have definitely noted a sharp increase in the few years i’ve been here to see it.

but this year in particular, along with the blooming lapels, there has been a blooming controversy. because when almost every person you see is wearing one, it’s those who *aren’t* who begin to stand out. most notably, the t.v. newsreporter jon snow was called to task for refusing to wear one on camera. in his defence against “poppy fascism” he’s said he doesn’t believe newsreaders should make political statements of any kind while on air.

Mr Snow said: “I am begged to wear an Aids Ribbon, a breast cancer ribbon, a Marie Curie flower… You name it, from the Red Cross to the RNIB, they send me stuff to wear to raise awareness, and I don’t. And in those terms, and those terms alone, I do not and will not wear a poppy.”

and i absolutely agree. the poppy furor has also widely encompassed: outrage at those from the black community who refuse to wear one because black contributions to the armed services have not been historically recognised; outrage at those who choose to wear a white poppy as a symbol of peace; and Camilla’s failure to wear a poppy on her visit to pakistan. the poppy pother is out of control.

at what point did being politically correct become mandatory? it reminds me very much of the recent stance taken by so many americans in supporting the iraq war – the idea that “if you’re not with us, you’re against us”. dissent by omission is not an option. and i wager that if the british only realised how closely this “poppy fascism” resembled the wave of blind “yellow ribbon” conformity that overtook the u.s. post-9/11, they would drop those lapel pins in a heartbeat.

personally, i will never wear a poppy. as a pacifist, i cannot in any way, shape, or form condone war or violence. whilst i am saddened that so many people have needlessly lost their lives, i cannot tacitly acknowledge the presumption that their deaths had meaning or served a purpose. to my mind, they didn’t. they don’t. and i won’t.

but it seems that i’ll have to beware the poppy police. and thank god i’m not on television.

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poppy controversy, remembrance sunday

i’ve written about this before here, but yesterday’s article on the bbc website just underscores what i was trying to say:

It seemed at first that they had got off to stretch their legs, while their driver argued with another vehicle coming in the other direction about who should give way. (Reversing is not something you undertake lightly on a cliff edge.)

It transpired instead though, that the bus driver was dying. Blinded by the dust, he had run into the back of a truck. The bus’s steering column had gone through him – severing his legs.

There was nothing anyone could do. Mobile phones do not work here. In any case, who would you call? There are no emergency services.

And no way of getting help through, even if any were to be found. The bus driver bled to death.

…

High in the Andes, they are building a new road. A by-pass, to replace the old one. But this is Bolivia, and already it has been 20 years in the making.

so much in bolivia goes unnoticed by the rest of the world, and it’s just so tragic that lives continue to be lost at an alarming rate – if only there were something more that could be done.

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bolivia, road safety

knowing sleeping with your cold-infested germy wife is voluntarily consigning yourself to illness and misery – and getting in the bed anyway.

sorry i made you sick, baby!

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