Friday, 26 May 2017

Bombing for Peace : Manchester & The Middle East

It’s sad that I need to open this with a disclaimer, but unfortunately we seem to have lost the art of nuance in discourse; that being said, I am in no way condoning what happened in Manchester. If by the end of the piece you fail to see that, then I have failed in conveying my message, or you’re thick as fuck.(I’m also open to the idea that they may not be mutually exclusive categories)

I’ve tried to avoid adding another ‘Manchester hot take’ to the pile, but after catching a couple of quotes from an article in the DailyMirror, I couldn’t help myself. The piece in question was an incredibly brief bit on the motivations of the recent Manchester bombing as told by Jomana Abedi, the suicide bomber’s sister.



Ms. Abedi’s described her brother as ‘kind’ and ‘loving’, descriptors not taken well by Mark Session who dismissed the comments, claiming there was no place for them. It’s not an easy thing to hear those gentle labels attached to someone many see as a monster, it’s incongruous; how can someone capable of such evil be described in such a complimentary way? The reality is we have a simple ‘good versus evil’ narrative, with everyone the hero of their own story. While the suicide bomber’s final act was one of a malevolence unfortunately becoming all too common, we need to remember that before the bomber, there was a boy – a brother and son, one who doubt expressed the same love and devotion to his family, that we do ours.



There was also offence at the suggestion the attack was carried as retribution for the children killed in Allied air strikes. While Session claims there is no justification for the taking of a child’s life, the entire quote makes it clear that while it may not be justified, it’s different for Allied air strikes, because those kids weren’t purposefully targated. It’s the curse of the simplistic narrative striking again – look guys, there’s no justification for targeting children, I know we’ve maybe hit one or two in our air strikes, but we’re trying to wipe out ISIS. So...maybe cut us some slack? You should just accept that we might accidentally kill a kid or two, but that’s no reason to retaliate, it not like we done it on purpose! We’re bombing for peace in the Middle East!

To outright dismiss Jomana Abedi’s comments regarding her brother is irresponsible and myopic, if we continue to accept the same simple narrative we’re going to go round in ever exploding circles. We need to understand the motivations of those who carry out such barbaric acts if we are to ever have any hope of changing the course of future retaliation. We must also accept, as we were warned, our actions in the Middle East would have repercussions. We are reaping what was sown. Responding with more violence only plays into the hands of ISIS recruiters; the sight of civilians, especially children, getting caught in the crossfire is one of the key tools used to recruit potential violent and suicidal extremists, you don’t wake up one day and suddenly decide you want to blow yourself up, monsters aren’t born, they’re made -and we need to stop shipping the materials required.

If we escalate our actions in response to what has happened we can expect more of same, if we go down the route of internment, we can expect the same. It’s easy to call for internment when you know you have no fear of being detained, (i.e. you’re not Muslim), but it doesn’t work. It’s a sticking plaster solution, it hasn’t worked in the past, and it won’t work now; the injustice suffered by those innocently interned will only drive more recruits into the arms of the enemy.

Our ‘War on Terror’ isn’t working, you can’t fight an abstract concept, or at least, you can’t bomb it out of existence - and if we continue air strikes which kill innocent civilians, we will only move further towards more attacks on home soil. Violence only begets more violence, it’s a never ending downward spiral, there are no exceptions to the rule – the particulars may be different, but the generalities are the same. We need a new plan.

Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster...


         - Nietzsche 

Monday, 22 May 2017

Homophobia Did Not End With Marriage Equality

Just the other day it was the 50th anniversary of the Sexual Offences Act 1967, a piece of legislation decriminalising sex between consenting men aged 21 or over. Just for a moment, especially if you’re straight and happen to be reading this, think about that. The state went from criminalising all sex acts between men at any age, to only criminalising sex acts to those under 21. This what is meant when someone throws about the phrase ‘policing our sex lives’. And yes, while you can make the case of state policing in all sex lives, it was not the heterosexual population which were held to a different standard, or discriminated against.

We’ve come quite a way since being judged criminals in the eyes of the law, but let’s not forget how we got here; those responsible for the rule of law did not have miraculous Damascene moments throughout their lives...It was only through the brave efforts of those who came before us, the drag queens, the people of colour, the camp queens, and the muscle Marys, all taking a stand, and a great risk, in demanding equality. The next time you scoff at the idea of a pride parade, pause and consider the riots and beatings of those who came before us, and have a little respect. We all know the parades of today are a different beast to those of the past, that happens, things change, and while it’s a commercialised day of drinking – the point is, for all the leather and boxer-briefs, 8 inch heels, and toned torsos contorting to Kylie, we are visible and we’re not going away.

The south of Ireland can get married, as can the rest of the UK, but the gays of Northern Ireland cannot – we’re forgotten by the Republic, and ignored by Westminster. This isn’t to say marriage equality is a panacea, far from it – if you can get married, that’s great, get down on one knee, but try falling asleep on a train while holding your husband’s hand, or resting your head on his shoulder. (http://www.standard.co.uk/news/crime/police-hunt-men-over-horrific-homophobic-attack-on-londonbound-train-a3480886.html) LGB people are twice as likely to attempt suicide as heterosexual people, a quarter of homeless people are LGBT, and 80% of us have experienced bullying in school because of something we have no control over. The word ‘gay’ is still used as a pejorative. Nazi symbols are still spray painted on our bars. Marriage equality has not fixed that.

Those fortunate enough to live in bustling big cities can forget what it’s like, a cruel irony, given that most of us flock to those big cities to escape the everyday homophobia or ‘micro-aggressions’ that small town living can bring.

Let’s not forget that winning the right to marry was only one more milestone, another battle won, not the end of the war. We must continue to fight for the little things - being able to walk hand-in-hand without fear of abuse or embarrassment, to part ways with a kiss free from retribution, and for what we are to not be used as a playground insult. I am thankful we are in a position that these are the troubles we face, and I am saddened that our brothers are still being rounded up by states, tortured, and even killed.

We must continue to speak out and fight for equality, to exist as we are without conforming to what others deem acceptable, whether that’s from within or without. It is bad enough when the rest of the world rally against our existence, we do not need it from our own. That internalised homophobia only serves your oppressors, you can be as masculine as you like, but at the end of the day you still like dick. I’ve seen gay people say camp queens and effeminate men ‘give the rest of us a bad name’ - no, they don’t – you do. It was those queens that took a stand so that we may take for granted all that we’re afforded today. The effeminate guys have bigger balls than all those bro-for-bro fellas put together, they aren’t trying to blend in, they live their life as they like, with not an ounce of fear.


We must continue our fight for equality, and we must make sure that it is equality, not assimilation.  

Sunday, 14 May 2017

Why You Can't Vote Corbyn

We all know there’s an election coming up, and it’s the most important election since Theresa May can remember. With Brexit coming up, we need a strong and stable government, not a coalition of chaos. A thumping Tory victory will give Theresa May the mandate she needs to strengthen her negotiating hand (not sure what’s going to happen to her other hand) during Brexit negotiations; if Theresa May wins, we’ll get whatever we want, if Corbyn wins, Brexit will be a disaster. This election is about choice, the choice of who you want to see at the negotiating table – Theresa May, a woman received by the EU with the same warmth as a call from a telemarketer, or Jeremy Corbyn the man without a tie? Make no mistake, if Corbyn is at that negotiating table he will be fighting for best deal available for ordinary working folk, which is a total mistake. If it’s the ordinary person on the street getting the best deal, then who the fuck is going to look after the banks and big businesses? No one, that’s who. Then who’s going to donate to the Tory coffers? No one, that’s who. We need big business, without their unpaid tax we’d have nothing to chase them for.

The Labour party wants you to think they have the NHS’ best interest at heart. Well they don’t. All this talk of bringing back bursaries for student nurses, and giving them a long over due pay rise is all a bunch of nonsense. If we have enough nurses at home then the NHS wouldn’t be in a crisis, and we need that crisis. If the NHS isn’t in the papers then people will forget it’s there. We also need those foreign nurses (that are paid agency rate and cost the NHS more money) because without them we’ll have no one to deport when we’re trying to reach those unrealistic immigration targets. A vote for Labour is a vote for well funded NHS and Social Care, and frankly, who wants to be seen in A&E in under 4 hours anyway? Half the fun is wondering if you’re going to bleed out or get better before you’ve been called. If you wanted a bed in a ward, you should have phoned ahead. (Or be foreign, they get everything, right?)

We could talk about the loony left all night – rent caps and making sure homes are fit for human habitation (come on guys, let it go, the Tories already voted that down in Parliament). Again, just more short-sightedness – if MP landlords have to spend money to do up their properties and make them ‘fit for humans’ (PC gone mad), then they’re going to have less money, and those poor MPs are just about managing as it is.

Not to mention abolishing tuition fees, providing free school meals, and and this really fruity hesitation at nuking the fuck out of people (bet he’s a friend of Dorothy). No, we can’t be having any of that. What we really need is a strong and stable woman who can dodge the fuck out of real people and real questions. A woman who wont shy away from avoiding a national debate, a woman who puts in the hours, often holding rallies in factories long after they’re shut and the workers have gone home. A woman who refuses to look stupid and will only accept pre-approved questions. We need a PM so health and safety conscious she’ll only enter and exit a building through the fire doors.

We need a strong and stable woman, one who appreciates there are lots of complex reasons for why nurses and others are using food banks. It’s all too easy to throw about phrases like “pay freeze” and “benefits sanctions” and “stagnating wages”, we really need someone willing too look at all the other causes of poverty, besides not having enough money.

At this election there’s a choice to be made, Remain/Leave May, or the Labour Party. It’s a vote for strong and stable U-Turns, or the weird vegetarian who wont wear tie, and wont just drop nukes willy nilly.

Remembering the Past, Seeing the Present, Imagining the Future

What time is it?
Time, what is it?

It’s amazing the difference word order can make; from a simple spare-no-thought response, to an existential wankfest. Thankfully I’m not trying to answer that particular question, so you can put your emotional jizz rag back where it belongs.

Before we had tools to measure discrete units of time, it was all pretty simple stuff – if the sun was up, it was day, if it had set, it was night. There were of course other methods depending on what you wanted to know – the phases of the moon, the tracking of the stars, and the procession of the seasons to name a few; but the thing they all have in common is change. Time is change by another name.

12PM isn’t just lunch time, it’s also the relative positions of the Sun and Earth (the seasons are the same thing only on a bigger scale). Time is great conceptual tool, it lets us measure and more importantly, categorise, the world around us - two things we really love doing.

Unlike other measurements, our perception of time is easily influenced by our emotional state. If someone appears to be roughly 6’ tall, they will look that way whether you’re bored or having the time of your life. Now, if you happen to be talking to this 6’ fella, and he just so happens to be quite the conversationalist, chances are the encounter is going to be over in the blink of an eye. But, if he’s duller than Theresa May’s lifeless eyes, it can feel like you’re chatting for an eternity, or is more likely the case, being chatted at for an eternity. This is of course time experienced at the level we’re all familiar with, what Richard Dawkins called, 'the middle world'. It’s the perceptual space we inhabit – it’s measuring lengths in centimetres and distances in kilometres, it’s weighing by the ounce and moving by the mile; it’s having a solid grasp on a crowd of 100 people, but not really comprehending the weight of an atom or the distance between planets. We’ve adapted to become good at dealing with sizes in the middle, but anything on the micro- and macro- scales, well, they really become meaningless outside of being very very big or very very small.

Our perception of time is something else entirely; it’s a figment of our imagination. Without getting all Downward Dog, when it comes to time, the only thing we really have is ‘the moment’, the second just gone exists only as ghost in the mind, while the second to come is phantasm of the future. Our memories are ghost stories of the past, tales passed on like a game of Telephone – minor details changed on reach repetition. Ask two people to recount the same experience and you’ll get two different version of events. Our memories are retellings, but not of the original day in question – they’re a repeat of the retelling, so when I tell the story of the time I was banned from appearing on the BBC, I’m actually telling the last version of the story I told – the real story is gone, vanishing the instant it moved from happening to happened.

It’s easy to think of memories as being analogous to a file on a computer, ready to be clicked open at a moment’s notice, but it’s not quite the same – in computing terms a memory is really a collection of symbolic links, and in reality it is a story, one that is pulled into active memory when you’ve been given enough cues to remember it. The story you’re hearing sets off all sorts of neural connections, until eventually there’s a connection to a story that you simply must tell. Oh, that reminds me of the time I...

The more we tell our stories and share our memories, the stronger they become, and so the easier they are to recall – there are all sorts of bits and pieces of a memory floating about our heads at any one time, some will hide for years before they surface, they’re the stories you never really tell, never replay in your minds eye, but, ten years down the line, someone will say something, and like a magician pulling an 18-wheeler from the hat, you’ll be floored by something you thought you’d forgotten. Not that we ever really forget, we just don’t always remember.

How many times have you recanted a tale only to be told you’re telling it wrong? It didn’t happen that way! I didn’t say that! No two people will have the same version of events – it’s impossible, not only because two people can never have the same vantage point of the same event (can’t occupy the same space as someone else), but our vision is a precellular mix of top-down and bottom-up processing; all of which is a fancy way of saying your learned experiences play a role in how you perceive things - just as much as the physical stimuli streaming in through your eye. How you see and what you remember are two life-long processes, starting way back before your eyes were even open.

We use assumptions all the time – where shadows fall, how edges meet, these are short cuts in visual processing, and they’re the reason why we’re so easily fooled by optical illusions, and continue to be fooled by them despite knowing their true nature. More often than not the assumptions are right, and the trade off between accuracy and efficiency is usually worth it. These assumptions are called heuristics, they’re ‘rules of thumb’ - quick and dirty brain cheats that allow for rapid data calculation, calculations which may not always be correct, but may not always matter if it’s wrong.

We use heuristics when we try and imagine the future, we take a frame of reference and extrapolate. Today and tomorrow and yesterday, all pretty similar with only small differences between them, but over the course of years, those tiny deviations can lead to massive change. The other things that can lead to huge changes are the big life events – no, not your wedding, or birthday, or graduation – they are expected, it might feel like a big event, but it’s one we are aware of, it is planned. The real big events are the unexpected – the proposal, the letter of acceptance, the unexpected death, the car accident, the lottery win. Trying to imagine the future is like trying to forecast the weather, the further from today you venture, the less sure you are of the results.


 And while imagining the future is unreliable, remembering the past is no better. I can tell you what I was doing five minutes ago, but 5 years ago? Not a chance. You’d have to settle for the vague story of where I was in life – a location and an aim. The only difference is those who keep a record of the past – a daily journal, but for the rest of us, it’s guess work.  

Monday, 3 October 2016

Queer Conservatives Confuse Me

The introduction of gay marriage in 2014 was the death knell of the gay rights movement, and rightly so; now that we can finally get married, just like our SBFs (straight best friends) what is there left to fight for? We can all settle down in our little right-to-buy, with our cat familial, debating the pros and cons of adopting a Korean vs Hungarian orphan, while sipping premium brand artisan gin & Fever Tree tonic.

Antipathy to our cause has naturally been on the rise after the activism of the late 20th century waned – as social attitudes towards homosexuality changed, there was less need to be so vocal, or radical; in short, we no longer needed to be so angry. Pride parades today are less about the struggle, and more about the party; angry marches demanding rights replaced by gyrating hot pants and dancing all night. We can’t be sacked for being gay, and now we can marry – but two thirds of of us are likely to experience mental health problems, LGBT youth are still more likely to find themselves homeless compared to straight counterparts, with 77% believing the family rejection and violence was because of their orientation or gender identity.

There have always been gays in the Tory party, some secret, some out, but through the ages they’ve been there – they had their hypocritical hands on levers of power, and they worked against their own because they themselves were protected. Brian Coleman writes in the New Statesman that droves of gay men flocked to Thatcher, which I find hard to believe given Section 28. But then, the gays do have a tendency to idolise strong women, and as we internalise a lot of homophobia, we’re not above acting against our own interests – so it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that he’s right. Is it once again another strong woman in power and pearls which attracts our kind to the nasty party?

I’m not old enough to have seen the introduction of Section 28, and neither are the young gays flocking towards the Tories, but that doesn’t mean it should be ignored – it is apart of our history. An Act introduced by then PM Margaret Thatcher, prohibiting local councils from ‘promoting’ homosexuality or ‘pretended family relationships’ cited by many to be responsible for high level of homophobia. Of course Section 28 was repealed in 2003 (but only after Baroness Young [Tory Peer] died, leaving no one to lead the opposition). In fact, Tory-led Kent Council has its own version of Section 28 still on the books.

When it comes to the 80's AIDS epidemic the Toy government were slow to start in offering their help with the epidemic, some even going so far as to say they were indifferent to the scores of men dying from the disease. Mrs Thatcher even denied a ministerial broadcast on the matter, despite the idea having cross-party support. By this point, ‘quite enough’ had already been done because of a few PSAs. Tell that to the dead.

Maybe it’s a side effect of the vapid and vacuous narcissistic era we find ourselves in, the notion that if it doesn’t effect me, it doesn’t matter. Let history be resigned to the books, they say, the world’s no longer like that, they say, after all, we can marry now.

Maybe history is irrelevant for these young new Tories, perhaps it was the great moderniser, David Cameron that brought them to fold - he managed to more than double the their youth vote (10% to 20.5%). Because of this great and glowing Tory, we have same-sex marriage, hooray! Of course, it would be unfair to give the PR PM all the credit for gay marriage, after all, more than half his party opposed the move, with the motion passing only because of Labour votes, but still, with just one of many policies picked from the Labour manifesto, he will be remembered as the PM who introduced gay marriage, or he would be, if it wasn’t for that other thing...no, not that one, the other thing.

It seems that for every bit of equality we get, we become more homogeneous. We will get married, we’ll emulate the whole straight thing. We’re going to be gay, but we’ll do it on your terms, because you were nice enough to let us get married it would be a shame if we all didn’t settle down, get a dog that can fit in a carrier bag, and resign ourselves to the same dreary existence as our straight brothers and sisters.

It seems strange that after what is usually a torturous adolescence, there would members of our own ranks that would seek out the opposition (at worst) or apathetic (at best). Is it a weird manifestation of Stockholm Syndrome, or is it an extension of this modern need for constant validation and approval? We always want what we can’t have and always crave that which kills us.

Perhaps, dear reader, I am simply bitter and holding firmly to a grudge I should let die. But I can’t easily reconcile recent history and a reluctant reception to the party. A fiscal outlook, it isn’t enough for me to betray the years or hardship caused by a nasty party.


Years or hardship still caused, only now they're directed at someone else.

Friday, 26 August 2016

Defending *that* Homophobe

In defence of the homophobic gay guy.

If you’re gay you’ve probably seen that article from Gay Times- or at least the headline in all it’s baited glory. You’ll also no doubt have seen the comments, or the quoted retweets. Scum! Get into the sea. Shut the fuck up! Umm, no! Etcetera etcetera etcetera. (If you haven’t already read it,click here and give it 5 minutes of your time.)

The headline itself does what its supposed to do; evoke a response, in this case anything ranging from disbelief to rage. Perhaps it made you feel a bit too much, commenting or retweeting your disdain without having read past the byline, but read on and you’ll find things aren’t quite as they appear…

The article starts as you would expect, the questions one faces when coming out, nothing shocking there. We’ve already been prompted by the headline to expect homophobic themes throughout – they’re blatant, but you don’t need two thirds of a psychology degree to spot the confusion staggering from start to finish. This confusion, or cognitive dissonance, gives us context and an insight in the mind of a gay guy with some internalised homophobia.

It’s important to note that when we talk of homophobia regarding this GT article, we’re talking about casual homophobia as opposed to outright homophobia. The latter is your bog standard ‘kick the queer’s head in!’ kind, while the former is more ‘I don’t have a problem with gay people, I just don’t want them rubbing it in my face’. (Rubbing it one’s face usually means ‘please don’t kiss in front of me, two men kissing is gross’ - more on that later)

Cereal Killer (CK) lets us in on the fact he was a victim of homophobia during school – just as many of us were. He freely admits it left its mark, and yet towards the close of the article he reveals that in a recent interview he claimed homophobia never had much of an impact. How does he explain this cognitive dissonance? He doesn’t. He probably isn’t even aware he said the two conflicting statements, but he has admitted this homophobia confuses him. The mental disorientation doesn’t end there - after telling us he accepted being gay when he was sixteen, CK then confides that eighteen years later he still hasn’t accepted it 100%. Again, the disparity is addressed by neither CK nor interviewer – again probably slipping under the gaydar.

There is another telling bit where he refers to his sexuality as forced – what this means I do not know. Is it an act? Can one feel pressured into being gay? I’m at a loss.

And as if this isn’t enough, the home run comes at the end -

“Am I happy in my sexuality? Yes. If I could shake a magic wand and make myself straight tomorrow would I? Yes. Am I happy about that? NO.”

Stop. Look. Read. In one sentence the man tells us he’s happy in his sexuality, then in the very next breath he tells us he would alter his sexuality if he could. Are these really the words of a man happy and comfortable in his sexuality? One could argue that he couldn’t really be in love with his ‘amazing boyfriend’ if he truly thinks this, but people in love (gay or straight) do stupid things all the time, and shocker, they also do things that are selfish and to the detriment of their partners.

This isn’t the interview of someone who deserves to be branded scum, or told they’re harming the gay community, this is the outlook of someone who is realising that Dale Winton and Julian Clarey, tank tops and Kylie, are not the four corners of the gay community. This is someone who needs a cup of coffee and a weekend with The Velvet Rage.

Internalised homophobia is a thing – it has reared its ugly head in all of us at some point – some still have it – from the masc4masc guys who hate queens to the closet cases who can’t understand why we even need Pride. Some of us get over it, some of us don’t – but it does take time, and an understanding of others and ourselves.
I’m tempted to paraphrase Mean Girls and I’ve yet to resist temptation, so I shan’t start now – We have got to stop calling each other names, it only tells straight people that it’s okay to call us names. This is the interview of a clearly confused individual, one who has yet to become comfortable in their own skin. Accepting who and what we are is never easy, and the problem is only compounded when you’ve got a world telling you you’re not quite right – we should be helping and supporting others, not raining down righteous condemnation.

Let’s put this in perspective, CK never called for the stoning of fags, nor banning the mention of us in school, his biggest crime was saying he’s still not comfortable with other gay guys showing affection in public – just as he is not comfortable showing gay affection in public. Yes, gay affection, because I have no doubt he’d have no issue kissing a girl in public.

There’s enough hate directed at us from the outside, let’s not start attacking from the inside too.

Thursday, 18 August 2016

Coming Out(?)

Coming Out.

For as long as your parents have told you they love you, society has told you it hates you – you’re not quite right; you look like a regular human, but you’re not really deserving of the same rights, perks or privileges, or the same easy life granted to your straight friends and family. Instead, you go through school carrying your school bag, PE bag, art folder, and what seems like something you'll never tell anyone...

When the word gay appears in an English text, you pray no one looks your way, that no one’s going to pass comment or make a joke. Every jib, joke and verbal salvo avoided is a personal victory. You watch as the effeminate guys, and the boys whose voice has taken a little longer to break, get called faggot or queer – you say nothing. You know they’re not gay, they’re just unfortunate to be late bloomers, have little interest in football, or have a naturally higher-pitched voice. Either way it doesn’t matter, the attention isn’t focused on you. The changing room after P.E. is a minefield, get in, get out, don’t make eye-contact, don’t let your gaze linger on anything, foot, towel or football boot, it doesn’t matter. If you aren’t facing the wall, boring holes, they’ll know. Accidental eye-contact? You’ve just outed yourself. They’ll know there’s a faggot in the changing room; letters will be sent home to parents, you’ll have to get changed somewhere else, for their own safety of course.

You navigate your way through the day, mostly with ease, until you need to take a particular corridor or stairwell, and at a time you’d rather not. You missed any bother on your own lunch period, but now you need the toilet and you’re stuck in a geography classroom at the back of the school, and unlike the girls, you’ve gotta go alone – that’s when you get the names, and the smugness – don’t bother coming this way, we’ve got our backs firmly to the wall, so mince on. It’s unpleasant, you think to yourself, but at least it’s not physical, And at least you’re alone – there are too many red faces when you’re with friends, they're flush with embarrassment, you're scarlet with shame.

Despite the odd name calling, you hide it well enough, you think. You’ve had girlfriends for the early part of secondary school, but you only hold hands and kiss, and go to the cinema, and debate buying one of them a ring from the Argos catalogue. Eventually that stops as you come to realise you can’t keep stringing girls along, it’s not fair, and to be honest, you just can’t be bothered. You know eventually it’s going to have to come out.

You dance around the issue for a while- until you build up the courage to tell your friends. I’ve got something to tell you – and they reply, as they wave invisible placards - “Are you gay? We support you.”. They laugh and smile and they say it like they’re joking, but you know they mean it – they already know. (They’ve probably known a lot longer than you give them credit for – but they’re your friends, and they’ve let you come round in your own time.)

It’s out, and suddenly you feel lighter, it's a different sort of smile, a happiness that you can’t feign. And for what it's worth, it's one that belongs only to us. You don't get to smile with that sort of relief if you're straight.  You’ve made the first steps towards coming out and the world still turns. Gradually you tell your other friends, of course some try and make it about themselves, “He went out with me/It’s my fault/I turned him gay” but none have a problem with it – in fact, quite the opposite. You’re the hottest new accessory, thanks for Will & Grace. You’re the gay best friend, and bonus points for being the socially acceptable Will. (Also great, because being offended when someone says you’re more like Jack...who needs that?)

It becomes something of an open secret at school, until one night you meet your first ever real-life, fellow gay. This isn’t chat over Faceparty, or email, or MSN, this is real, in-the-flesh, friend-of-a-friend gay. Of course you kiss - you’re gay, he’s gay, it’s taken you 16 years to meet one, who knows when the next one will come along. For the first time you feel what it’s like to have teenage stubble rub against your face and bring to your face the red flush of excitement and rawness of stubble rash. This of course all happens outside, behind a wall, near school, on an Irish autumn night – which is very much like a harsh English winter’s night; it’s dark, and it’s very windy, and you’re both wearing awful denim jackets that provide no insulation at all. But you can feel the heat of a guy’s torso against your own for the very first time.

While it’s taken you 16 years to get your first real kiss, you can only savour the intimacy for an evening, because the next day in school, everyone will know. How? Who told them? Was it not only friends there that night? Well, the genie’s out of the closet now and suddenly what used to be your favourite thing in the world – suddenly becomes the worst. The history teacher wheels the tiny 24” CRT TV to the front of the room and makes a hasty retreat to the staff room for a fag of his own. Suddenly, something that never happens in fourth period history - there’s an engaged and inquisitive class, unfortunately the topic this week is Contemporary Homosexual History, very contemporary in fact.
You try to avoid the questions, pretend you haven’t heard them, but the colour of your face tells everyone you have. Your eyes dart around the room, looking for an ally. There are none. You don’t know how to respond until suddenly from across the room, like late the entry of the USA into WWII, someone comes to your aid. It’s the girl who sits beside you in Spanish class, o-fucking-le, indeed. And she’s right, it’s none of their fucking business, and so what if you did kiss a boy? I wasn’t doing anyone any harm. And why are you so interested anyway? Are you jealous? At least I was getting some. Now turn round and shut the fuck up before she makes you. The class goes wild, there is laughter, there are cheers, but most importantly, there is relief.  

Gradually you come to realise the whole world isn’t against you, it just looks and feels that. You have friends that support you, classmates who defend you, and parents of friends who accept you.

You slowly start to come around to the idea of telling your own parents, you painstakingly start to build up the courage, to find a way to bring it up in conversation, but you’re ambushed! They ask you – well, your mum does, dad doesn’t want to know the answer, or rather, he doesn’t want it confirmed.

And so you tell her, you tell your mother. And you know what? You were right all those years ago, and still continue to be right today. They’re your parents, and they love you unconditionally. That’s not to say coming out didn’t have awkward conversations or hurtful, ignorant comments, you may not have been allowed to work with children (!!) but at least you weren’t disowned.

Friday, 24 June 2016

Whether you agree with the outcome or not, whether you think it’s fair or not, we are now in a position wherein the majority of those who voted in England, have decided the United Kingdom should no longer be apart of the EU.

As the Prime Minister falls on his sword, the people fight amongst themselves; all the while the markets drop faster than a decent pill, the Tories continue their battle royale for supreme leader, and the Labour party decide to up the infighting and go for all out mutiny. (And never forgetting to mention the other half of this arrangement...the EU) Like one of those old couples that threaten to leave each other until they day they die, they’re both shocked when the divorce papers actually arrive.

Yes, the referendum itself may not be legally binding, and Article 50 of the Lisbon treaty needs to be invoked in order to start proceedings, but we can’t go on thinking there’s a prolonged timetable on the matter. The heads of the EU want our heads gone as quickly as possible. It isn’t likely to be a mercy killing – it’s not in the best interests of the key players to make it painless – we must serve as an example to other nation states: our estranged partner may not want us to talk about where we went wrong, as we slowly pack up our things and decides who gets what. They may just prefer to dump our shit on the street and be done with it.

What’s even more sinister about the entire thing is David Cameron never wanted a referendum – despite his claims of being Eurosceptic a public vote on membership was not something he wanted. Just as he never wished to go down as the Prime Minister who destroyed the Union, he similarly did not want to go down as the Prime Minister who took us from the EU. Claiming to campaign for a Brexit if renegotiations over membership had failed, to claiming that a Brexit would trigger WWIII, we see either Duplicitous Dave, or a myopic statesman.

Euroscepticism has long been a thorn in the side of the Conservative Party, and often used as either a way to score political points, or used as a plastic carrot and wooden stick. So while the leader of the Tories pads out his premiership by using Europe as a bargaining chip, he fashions his own noose, while Bungling Boris plays along – again another politician using a situation of huge importance to further their own political gain. By playing up to the Eurosceptics of the party, he carves himself a well of political capital – support the Leave campaigners, and the leave campaigners will support you.

Strange, that a former Mayor of London, who is by no means ignorant to the importance of the City, should choose lead a campaign that could cause so much damage and disruption – and yet, when the verdict is announced, he says there is no reason to hurry into anything, except the resignation of his dear friend, Dave. (Because it’s not hugely guarded secret that Boris has always had his eyes on a seat in Downing Street)

Of course, if Boris were to ascend to supreme leader, there is little doubt he could win a general election- personality politics would naturally kick in, and right now there isn’t anyone on the left that comes close a match. But that’s irrelevant, if he were to be elected as Prime Minister, there’s always the very real possibility that he couldn’t lead a government. Will pro-European Tories support him? How many little Swiss army knives has he stuck over the years? Could a leading figure of the Brexit campaign, whose political machinations are no state secret, unite the divided party and command enough loyalty to govern with stability? 

Bombing for Peace : Manchester & The Middle East

It’s sad that I need to open this with a disclaimer, but unfortunately we seem to have lost the art of nuance in discourse; that being said...