Nick Carraway, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s erstwhile narrative conscience in ‘The Great Gatsby’, remarks that he is “the most honest man”. In the context of that novel, that remarkable study of intimate personal feelings and unfathomably large, continental ideologies, he might well be right. J. D. Salinger, however, can surely lay claim to the most truthful remark in modern literature. Again uttered through the author’s choric voice, Holden Caulfield, in ‘The Catcher In The Rye’, tells us to “never tell anybody anything. If you do you only start missing everyone.”
This is significant, I feel, as we fast approach another new year. The world is smaller than it has ever been, split into manageable pieces by modern technology and communications, allowing us near-constant links to every corner of the globe from any far-flung destination. We live in exciting times, a social media revolution that means we are never more than one click, one touch-screen, away from a multitude of communication forms. Of-course, to say that we communicate does not mean the same as saying we connect.
It is interesting how relevant Salinger’s viewpoint is in the final moments of 2010 and the embryonic stages of 2011. We can now “tell anybody anything” across a number of platforms, from Facebook to Twitter, Skype to Foursquare, Blackberry Messenger to Whatsapp. As information disseminates at an increasingly rapid pace, we find ourselves opining, narrating, articulating and displaying our lives to all and sundry, even if that is not the sole intention of our various publications. Go back through your Facebook posts from the past twelve months. You have, whether you wanted to or not, kept a diary. Despite this, it may be that you are able to enter into a dialogue with our modernity without becoming embroiled in the psychosomatic elements of it. I have never been quite so stoic. No. For me, Salinger is correct. The more I tell people, the more I miss them. Yet still I tell and still I miss.
This poses a problem. Does one shut up shop in 2011 and retreat to an earlier, perhaps a more innocent and simpler time? Do we compartmentalise our conscious and subconscious communiqués into the general and random on the one hand, and the specific on the other – Facebook status updates and 147-character Tweets that say very little to many or so much to someone? I’m minded to adopt the stance of Alfieri from Miller’s ‘A View From The Bridge’ and settle for half. Will I like that better?
Would I do it differently if offered the chance? Ultimately that is the wrong question. Could I do it differently? That would be more appropriate. And no, I could not. I like that this year I have taken chances, run risks, stared fate in the face. My decisions and, indeed, indecisions may not have all worked out perfectly. There is, however, in the midst of the paranoia of another year passed and potentially wasted, comfort in our certain uncertains: that everything changes and nothing changes. Nick Hornby had it right in ‘Fever Pitch’: “If you lose the FA Cup Final in May, there’s always the third round to look forward to in January. And what’s wrong with that? It’s sort of comforting when you think about it.”
So how was 2010 for you? Was it everything you wished for? Did the feeling you had this time last year turn in to an impressive premonition of what was to come, or were your hopes and fears misguided and unfounded, arising as they did out of the inevitable emotional firestorm of alcohol and an acute awareness of the rapid passing of time? I’ll look back on 2010 as a year of utter chaos, of dizzying highs and sadly predictable lows. In the space of twelve bizarre months, I’ve started a job of at times oppressing intensity, travelled to the southern United States on what can only be described as a whim and a prayer, watched my sister get married, observed a political revolution in the UK and searched in earnest for an apartment to call my own. The above list, of-course, is hardly indicative of the entirety of a twelve months. You get the general idea. I could delve further here, could provide you with unique personal insights. Without wanting to sound either esoteric or deliberately annoying, what I can tell you is that while the world around us has changed immeasurably in the past twelve months, I remain as I ever was and doubtless ever will be. There is something both monumentally frightening and consoling about that in equal measure.
If Salinger is right, if it is true that opening up to people you care about only results in missing them terribly, is it best to remain closed off and private, despite the near impossibility of this in our world of omnipresent communications? ‘The Catcher In The Rye’ has often reared its head this year, both in terms of its last-line conundrum, but also in its overriding motif: that there are some of us who are lost in the world, not entirely certain of which way we are going or which way we have come, and at times merely wanting, for want of a better thing to do, to stand in a field and catch people coming out of the rye and heading for a fall.
John Lennon, in probably his finest lyric, remarked that “life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”. So, in all honesty, I have not been able to be the catcher in the rye for all that long. Moreover, and perhaps here is the only way that the idea of Holden Caulfield being a catcher in the rye matches up with his epitaph of missing everyone, it seems that to catch people in the way Salinger describes it, the people in question have to want to be caught.
Perhaps that is the greatest lesson of 2010. You can tell people everything in the hope of absolution, of common ground, of love, life and the pursuit of happiness. Such displays of affection, honesty and attempts at the substance of what is hoped for will not always result in mutual understanding, warmth or candour. Neither will they stop you missing those who you communicate such messages to. And they certainly do not turn us into catchers in the rye.
Yet the alternative is not in my philosophy, and so I beat on, boat against an at times bewildering current, continually laying myself open to the dual onslaughts of sentiment and posterity, honesty and nostalgia. After all, you have to try. If you haven’t tried you haven’t lived.
You only live once. Doesn’t it go by in a blink?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.
The country is grey and
brown and white in trees;
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.
It may be the coldest day of the year.
What does he think of that?
I mean, what do I?
And if I do, perhaps I am myself again.
Frank O’Hara, ‘Meditations In An Emergency’.
Friday 31 December 2010
Wednesday 22 September 2010
Social Networking: Liable for Libel?
Living in the midst of a social networking revolution is not without its legal consequences. The rapid advance of our current communications options has made the world smaller than ever before. Communities are linked by electronic immediacy in a new one-click culture of all-consuming information. Facebook, Twitter and Skype are not just internet platforms for cyber fiends; they are populist portals, available for free on computers, phones and e-tablets. They consolidate and disseminate our thoughts and our movements; our lives. Amidst this tsunami of data lurks a new form of litigation. Social media libel may not be at the forefront of an average microblogger's mind, but for media lawyers in the twenty-first century it is fast becoming the defining defamation battlefield. Radio, television and the print media may still be the subject of last-minute super-injunctions and traditional conflicts over libel and privacy actions, but as social networking pulses through the fabric of modern society, so too does the possibility of internet libel on an increasing scale.
Litigation based on social networking has advanced dramatically in the past ten years, creating a number of considerations for legal teams. Issues of publication, jurisdiction and meaning, alongside limitation period reform, are regular themes. This article surmises these key trends and offers a commentary on legal developments.
Traditional libel actions tend to involve conventional media where it is reasonably simple to locate, and bring a claim against, the publisher of the statement. Social media affords publishers a cloak of anonymity, allowing users of networking sites to veil themselves under the guise of usernames and pseudonyms, operating out of web pages run by internet service providers (ISPs) that have little or no connection with the individual. The landmark case of Godfrey v Demon Internet (Godfrey v Demon Internet [2000] 3 WLR 1020) held that an ISP cannot argue a defence of innocent dissemination if it is given due notification that a defamatory statement has been published by a user of its site. It is clear that an ISP can only avoid becoming a party to litigation if it can prove to have no knowledge of the defamatory material, or a reasonable belief that the material was not defamatory, or if reasonable efforts were made to remove the statement as soon as possible upon notification.
While such methods may remove an ISP's potential liability, they remain intrinsic players in identifying the ultimate wrongdoer. Many internet libel actions require the originally anonymous publisher of the statement to be identified through a Norwich Pharmacal disclosure order (Norwich Pharmacal Co v Customs & Excise Commissioners [1973] 3 WLR 164). Such an order compels an ISP to provide details of the potentially offending publisher, including the IP address of the specific computer used to make the statement.
Norwich Pharmacal's relevance is helpfully illustrated by the July 2010 settlement between Orlando Figes (the defendant), an historian and writer, and two rival academics (the claimants), after the defendant posted fake reviews of the claimants' books on Amazon. The defendant originally argued that he had not published the comments. A subsequent Norwich Pharmacal order, obtained by the claimants against Amazon's ISP, traced the statements back to the defendant.
Obtaining a Norwich Pharmacal order can, however, be a lengthy process, and may involve considerable expense. This is particularly the case in relation to the world's most popular social networking sites, often with headquarters in the USA. In October 2009 the High Court gave permission for an injunction to be served via Twitter on an unknown user who had been masquerading as the right-wing political commentator Donal Blaney. Beyond obtaining a disclosure order against Twitter's ISP, this was the only way to make contact with the individual. This followed an Australian case where a court order was served through Facebook. Lawyers now have recourse to both the Norwich Pharmacal approach to identify publishers of potential social media libels, and new opportunities to use the same networking platforms where the statements are made to bring an immediate action.
Social networking is an international phenomenon, crossing borders and continents instantaneously. Identifying the ultimate wrongdoer and enforcing a claim is complicated further by jurisdictional issues. A libellous statement posted on a social networking site could be the catalyst for libel actions in a number of countries simultaneously. The case of Gutnick v Dow Jones (Gutnick v Dow Jones [2001] www.austlii.edu.au/au/cases/vic/VSC/2001/305.html), in the Supreme Court of Australia, held that the Australian claimant could sue the American defendant company in Australia for comments about the claimant published on the defendant's website. The internationalisation of internet defamation has created a myriad of jurisdictional issues for lawyers and potential expenses for clients. Some jurisdictions do not recognise judgments formed in the courts of others. This is most notable in the USA, where UK libel judgments are prevented from being enforced. An interesting development, then, has been the use of the social networks themselves, almost as their own quasi-jurisdictions, as the recent service of claim forms and injunctions on Facebook and Twitter has demonstrated, circumventing the need for multiple service (and excessive legal fees) across a number of courts.
While issues of publication and jurisdiction have posed problems for litigators, successful actions still require the basic elements of defamation to be successfully made out. Courts have been quick to point out a difference between networking frivolity, as evidenced by casual and informal statements on message boards and chat rooms, and more serious statements that 'lower the estimation of the claimant in the eyes of right thinking members of society' (Section 1, Defamation Act 1996). The cases of Islam Expo Ltd v The Spectator (Islam Expo Ltd v The Spectator (1828) and another [2010] EWHC 2011 (QB)) and Sheffield Wednesday v Hargreaves (Sheffield Wednesday Football Club and seven others v Neil Hargreaves [2007] EWHC 2375 (QB)) demonstrate this. In Islam Expo the Court felt that, while words about the claimant were published on the defendant's website over a period of seven months and formed part of general message board discussions, it was important to put potentially defamatory words and statements into their proper context and meaning, and for their seriousness to be judged accordingly. The claimant company helped organise a bi-annual Islamic exhibition, which went by the same name as the company. While some internet message board posts were deemed to be casual and without malice, and hyperlinks in the text of the complained-of statements did not infer anything libellous on their own, the Court felt it perverse not to infer that the complained-of statements were defamatory of the claimant company rather than just the event being organised. The statements were of sufficient seriousness to bring a successful claim precisely because of the context and mode within which they were made.
Message board posts were also critically evaluated in the Sheffield Wednesday case. The claimant football club, who wanted a Norwich Pharmacal order against a fansite's ISP in order to disclose the identity of its posters, were concerned by statements on the site that were allegedly defamatory of the claimant's board of directors. The Court distinguished between informal football colloquialisms and more serious suggestions as to the alleged greed, untrustworthiness and dishonesty of the claimant's board. The order was thus granted only against the ISP for users of the site whose messages were deemed serious enough within the context of the overall manner of the other posts.
In the case of Bryce v Barber (Bryce v Barber [2010] http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/facebook/7912731/Law-student-wins-10000-after-being-branded-a-paedophile-on-Facebook.html) Tugendhat J pointed out that at the heart of the case was the defamatory material, rather than it happening to be on Facebook. Here, the defendant inferred the claimant was homosexual and a paedophile by posting child pornography on Facebook with an accompanying picture of the claimant alongside a comment. The claimant was ultimately awarded £10,000 in damages after it was shown that, despite the relatively short period of time that the material was published for in comparison with conventional media forms, there had been over eleven links to the post, two independent comments and that more than 800 users could have viewed the material. The Court held that the defendant had acted with intent and malice, and ruled that arguments raised by the defence regarding the temporal nature of the material due to it being on Facebook were irrelevant. The material had clearly defamed the claimant, regardless of its form.
Bryce affirmed the landmark decision in Firsht v Raphael (Firsht (Applause Store Productions Limited) v Raphael [2008] EWHC 1781 (QB)), which was the first libel and privacy case to reach trial concerning Facebook. It demonstrated that the level of damages for defamatory material posted online can be substantial, even if the material only remains available to the public for a limited period. The defendant argued damages should be low because the material had only been available for 16 days, but the Court did not accept this. Instead, the Court held that an action could be brought for libellous material in the social media arena and that existing libel and privacy law would be applied. The fact that the material was only available for 16 days was countered by the specific issues caused by it being published on Facebook. While only temporarily available, the nature of Facebook meant the material could be viewed many times over, particularly as the fake profile that formed the crux of the libellous material was signed up to Facebook's London network, and was thus searchable by over 700,000 people at the time.
It is clear that Courts are assessing alleged libels through traditional applications of defamation law whilst acknowledging the complexities of social media: multiple cross-border publications, intra-jurisdictional challenges, and instantaneous electronic reproductions.
The Firsht case encapsulated all such issues into one legal landmark, involving a Norwich Pharmacal order to trace the creation of the fake profile to the defendant's computer, a discussion over publication and damages, and conventional application of the law of intent and malice. Since that decision in 2008, internet defamation has gone from being an unusual precedent to a legal certainty. Looking ahead, debate is likely to centre on limitation period reform. In an era of re-tweets, shared links and virals, a greater degree of regulation is needed when managing the time in which a claimant can bring an action. As social media networks develop apace on personal computers and phones globally, lawyers now find themselves representing clients in libel actions across a multitude of media forms and must strive to keep a step ahead of our socio-technological revolution's rapid advance.
Thursday 6 May 2010
Britain On The Brink: The 2010 Election
A world financial crisis. The constant threat of foreign and domestic terrorism. Controversial immigration. A battle between traditional and modern sources of energy. Troops engaged in battle in far-flung corners of the world. Social and familial breakdowns. This is no ordinary British election.
Every so often the populations of world democracies find themselves standing at a pivotal precipice. In the United Kingdom, on Thursday 6 May 2010, the British public will take part in the most important general election in a generation. Never has politics and democracy been so pertinently relevant to the people of Britain. Rarely has a campaign been so unpredictable, so controversial. For the first time in recent memory, a genuine third choice has emerged in the form of Nick Clegg’s Liberal Democrats. Inspiring in his articulate debating style, Clegg’s rise to fame has been as aspirational as it was unlikely, and with it the political landscape as we know it has been permanently altered.
In 1997, Tony Blair famously uttered that ‘there is a third way’. He referred, of course, to internal Labour party struggles, the divisions between his vision for the future of the party, and the old unionist version that he wanted to consign to the scrapheap of history. Today, in an unpredictable and fragile twenty-first century, the third way is not internalised within a particular party structure, but instead presents itself on the ballot paper; a referendum, if you will, not just on who should become our governing party, but on the future of our politics, of our society. While this writer is not necessarily convinced by Liberal Democrat policies, it is clear that politics has renewed itself, that our ability to choose and be inspired has dramatically increased, that there is cause for optimism amidst the gloom and despair of recent times.
It is of vital importance, then, that each of us takes part on Thursday. Over the course of many centuries, this country has paved a road towards universal suffrage, a world leader in fighting for each person’s right to have their say, to raise their voice, to make a difference. To walk to your polling station, to strike an ‘x’ next to your preferred candidate, is the very definition of a display of individual liberty. At a time when our trust in politicians is at a nadir, it is still important to maintain faith in the overriding values of our democracy, and indeed of our country; ideals of free markets and free people, social cohesion and responsibility, duty and fairness. There is, after all, much to be optimistic about. Despite our financial and social troubles, this is still a wonderful place to live. The political commentator Andrew Marr once said that to be born British is in fact a remarkable stroke of luck. We may have a budget deficit, but this is still a nation with a welfare state, with magnificent cities, famous cultural icons, free access to healthcare, a military to be proud of, and a multicultural haven for people from all over the world seeking opportunity and freedom, strong civic and legal justice and tolerance.
Despite the ideological flavour of the prose, this is not an American-style election, despite David Cameron and Nick Clegg repeatedly using the Obama mantra of ‘change’. In my mind, no candidate in this election is seriously bending the arc of history once more toward the hope of a better day. There is no grassroots movement shaking down the traditionalist walls of the political establishment, despite our obvious annoyance at the behaviour of many politicians. No. This is a very British election. We debate with a civilised politeness. We resist political subterfuge. We travel across half the country to apologise to pensioners. The candidate who preaches most about change, about establishing a new order, is in fact a public schoolboy from the upper middle class. His name is Nick Clegg.
What this campaign has really demonstrated, has really illustrated to our nation, is that in 2010 we are not certain of our place in the world and how we want to be perceived. Should we look solely to Europe? Should we preserve our special relationship with America? Should we retreat completely, bruised and battered by our forays into global politics over many decades of engagement under leaders like Thatcher and Blair? It seems to this author that Britain must somehow strike a balance between all these issues. We are stronger when we engage with Europe, but not to the extent that we pander to its beaurocratic web of confusion. We are more relevant when we work closely with America, though never again should we let the White House dominate Downing Street over where we send our troops without so much as an iota of support when we have our own foreign issues to deal with. We are more stable when we concentrate on home affairs, knowing that we can only really offer a voice of progress in the world at large when we have cohesion and social advancement at home.
Given that these are the issues which both unite and divide us, which party seems most aligned to the obvious solutions? While the partisan amongst you will cling steadfastly to your views and decisions, many of us remain unsure, cautious of pinning our political colours to the mast, preferring to wait until the last possible moment before making our date with electoral destiny. The polls reflect our uncertainty. The make up of our parliament hangs in the balance. Quite literally.
Not every aspect of the Labour party’s thirteen years in power has been bad for this country. Though success has been limited more specifically to the Blair years, the new Labour experiment has, for the most part, been positive. Boom and bust may now be the catch-phrase of our catch-22 economic downturn, but at the least it helped establish the City of London’s Square Mile as the preeminent financial and legal district of the world. Labour liberated the Bank of England, legalised civil partnerships, abolished cruel and archaic fox-hunting, engaged in wars of ethics in Kosovo, Sierra Leone and Afghanistan, brought Northern Ireland towards peace and modern political acquiescence, cut NHS waiting times (just) and got more young people into universities (perhaps too many). Tony Blair, rightly or wrongly, managed to cement Britain’s role in the contemporary arena of international affairs. The Blair-Brown years coincided with a revolution in British cultural sensibilities. ‘Cool Britannia’ dominated the worlds of fashion and cuisine, film and theatre, music and architecture. London grew not just as an economic powerhouse, but equally attracted a global significance last seen at the height of the British Empire, on par with New York as a true city of the modern age.
Whether Gordon Brown clings on to the keys of 10 Downing Street after Thursday or not, it is hard for even staunch critics of New Labour to forcibly argue that the United Kingdom is, at least on a societal level, worse off than it was at the end of John Major’s premiership in 1997. However, a closer look beyond the PR and the spin indicates that Labour have not properly capitalised on three terms of impressive parliamentary majorities. Socially our communities remain divided, caught in a crossfire of claims and counterclaims, mutual suspicion and distrust, waylaid by council beurocracy and paperwork, underfunded or overpaid, too readily interfered with by the meddling hands of the neurotic central government and incapable of reaching out to those in society most in need of help. As a result we have, as Bobby Kennedy once warned, a number of cities that are not communities, of counties that are not locally connected, of ethnic, national and class groups who have been allowed to wallow in their resentment for too long.
No part of this Labour government’s election campaign has inspired any confidence that another five years of Gordon Brown will enhance ordinary life on the streets of our towns and cities. While the big institutions and offices of state may well find themselves basking in the glow of short-term public spending, little will filter through to local councils and youth workers and community activists, the sparks in the engine of our country. Over the past thirteen years, Britain has consolidated and enhanced its position as a world power, yet at the same time has become incapable of mending its own broken society. Gordon Brown’s current politics of fear will not save his party, and nor should it. We need a strong Opposition, a solid and dependable critic to bring the government consistently and appropriately to account. Only Labour’s defeat will achieve this, offering a movement with high ideals and poor execution the chance to undergo its first leadership election since 1994, replacing the static, stoic, stolid and stunted Gordon Brown with a better, younger, idealistic alternative. Labour could become the party for the masses once again if it undergoes an intensive reboot during a much-needed period of time on the other side of the House of Commons aisle. David Milliband would be an exciting and attractive prospect leading Labour into the general election of 2015.
What of Clegg’s Liberal Democrats, the surprise contenders punching above their weight as we head to the polls? No doubt he is a deeply intelligent political player, adept at feeding on populist sensibilities and providing neat soundbites for the media. Skilled at public relations and slick electioneering, Clegg has drilled the Lib Dems into a campaigning machine, full of the slights of hand and subtleties of Tony Blair in his pomp, positioning his party as a new option to replace the old guard of tired policies representing antiquated politicians. These are the natural reactions to Clegg’s outstanding performances in the Prime Ministerial debates, as he neatly sidestepped real scrutiny over a number of dangerous and poorly explained policies by sounding and looking modern and relevant, and by continually articulating a message of difference to his two opponents. The reality, much as it pains this author to admit it, is that Nick Clegg resembles a rather earnest sixth form student, anxious to impress at a Model United Nations conference and to tell us what he would do if he was a Prefect. This writer would love to be a Clegg supporter, and would enjoy his rise to prominence a lot more, if he could match substantive and intelligent policies with his already obviously impressive style of politicking.
However, his positions on Europe, on our nuclear deterrent, on a frankly bizarre system of geographically positioning immigrants into specific skill-set locations, are beyond the acceptable limit of pandering populism. These are the manifesto hallmarks of a group of politicians who simply had not considered seriously the fact that they might be genuine players in this election. Their own wealthy benefactors must be shuddering at the thought of a 50% tax hike. Investors in the City of London who had previously appeared to be supporters of Clegg must be anxiously looking at mainland Europe’s inability to aid Greece, itself a member of the Euro currency club, at a time when the Liberal Democrats continue to make positive noises about the UK joining the single coinage. Moreover, while Clegg’s desire to see a nuclear free Britain taking an active role in a nuclear free world should be lauded, his idealism is dangerous. The complete removal from planet Earth of all nuclear weapons would be wonderful. Never again would mankind stare into the abyss of annihilation at the behest of our warheads. Every serious political player who wants to be the Prime Minister of Great Britain should be forthright and immediate in working hard to prevent the proliferation of nuclear weapons and to gradually reduce the stockpiles of the nuclear club. There are, however, safe ways to do this, and Nick Clegg’s policy of unilaterally not renewing Trident, our own nuclear deterrent, is not only reactionary; it is counter-productive. The sight of a British Prime Minister signing away the UK’s nuclear capabilities at a time when rogue states are continuing to develop their technology of terror and terrorists themselves are closer to getting their warped minds and hands on a dirty bomb will not cause other nations to follow suit. Instead we will be reduced to bit-part players in the vital global struggle to reduce our arms, no longer relevant or significant or even sure of our UN Security Council position and influence to shape the world in the way that we would like to see it become for generations to follow us. Nick Clegg may be the most earnest and hazardous man in Britain.
Which leaves us with David Cameron and the Conservatives. Does anybody want to actually vote Conservative? It seems that every time an ‘x’ is marked next to a Tory candidate it is etched with a heavy heart, a resignation to settle for it in this election. Hardly a ringing mandate. Yet it was never trendy to vote Conservative, and perhaps Cameron has done more than most Conservative politicians to make his party acceptable and relevant and electable once again. Michael Howard, the former leader of the party, ran a campaign in 2005 that played on fear and social divisions and pandered to a hardcore Tory base of right-wing snobs. Thank goodness for the Conservatives and the country at large that Cameron has brought the party kicking and screaming into the modern age, callously cajoling its traditionalist powerbase into abandoning age-old entrenched ideologies and policies that were rooted in aristocratic entitlement and an indifference to change. He may be an Eton toff, but at least Cameron understands modern Britain, how our society has changed so indelibly in the past ten years, and why the voting public are more discerning than ever before. His decision to begin public spending cuts immediately upon winning an election, rather than Gordon Brown’s policy of continued public spending for another year to secure our financial recovery, is the key policy issue and difference at this election, even if other philosophies and national moods dominate headlines. Whether he is right remains to be seen, but there is something persuasive in Cameron’s steadfast commitment to starting the process of managing our budget deficit rather than leaving it for another year. It means, of course, potentially unimaginable hardship for many of us, including rising unemployment and the failure of many businesses. Yet it may be our only hope, and at the very least gets the unfortunate process started faster and sooner than Gordon Brown’s options.
It is also clear that Cameron has forged a new wing of his party, one of social modernity and liberalism, where traditional free-market values are maintained, but this time played out against a more concerted attempt from the party machine to understand the sensibilities of the modern British citizen: compassionate, pluralist, forward-thinking. Cameron’s economic policy seems drastic, but he has skilfully portrayed it as optimistic, as the best option to make the economy, and thus our country, better. At a time of uncertainty, of momentous sea-changes of emotion and practicality, as our city streets reverberate to fearful messages of hard times to come, it is no bad thing, in this election and at this pivotal time, to vote for the candidate and party that has campaigned on optimism and positivity and faith in how great our nation is and can be.
These are but one ordinary voting citizen’s musings. The real beauty in our democracy is that the ultimate decision is down to you. This really is the most important British general election in a generation, and the voting sensibilities of the great British public will secure either a decisive victory for one party above any other, or alternatively deliver a verdict of minority uncertainty, of a parliament balanced in its seat proportions but unbalanced in how it can ever get anything done. Should we be concerned by a hung parliament, by the people delivering a verdict in keeping with the prevalent feeling of simply not being sure? I believe not. Democracy, in its infinite wisdom, will find a way.
Across the world many national populations will be envious of the opportunity before us, of the chance to walk into a polling station and cast a vote, the thrill and honour of taking part in having a say, making a difference, being counted. Politics may bring out the worst in people, but our engagement in the process can still bring out the best in politics, and while so much of the world covets what we take for granted, and while our own future is so delicately poised, it is a near categorical imperative to go out and vote.
We will soon discover what Britain we will live in for the next few years in an already tumultuous century. Have your say. Casting a vote in an election is a gift: it is our present and affects our future. The UK must awake, arise and decide.
“You have a decision to make. Don't vote for us because you think we're perfect. Don't vote for us because of what we might be able to do for you only. Vote for the person who shares your ideals. Your hopes. Your dreams. Vote for the person who most embodies what you believe we need to keep our nation strong and free. And when you have done that you can go back home with your head held high and say, 'I voted.’” Matt Santos in ‘The West Wing’.
Every so often the populations of world democracies find themselves standing at a pivotal precipice. In the United Kingdom, on Thursday 6 May 2010, the British public will take part in the most important general election in a generation. Never has politics and democracy been so pertinently relevant to the people of Britain. Rarely has a campaign been so unpredictable, so controversial. For the first time in recent memory, a genuine third choice has emerged in the form of Nick Clegg’s Liberal Democrats. Inspiring in his articulate debating style, Clegg’s rise to fame has been as aspirational as it was unlikely, and with it the political landscape as we know it has been permanently altered.
In 1997, Tony Blair famously uttered that ‘there is a third way’. He referred, of course, to internal Labour party struggles, the divisions between his vision for the future of the party, and the old unionist version that he wanted to consign to the scrapheap of history. Today, in an unpredictable and fragile twenty-first century, the third way is not internalised within a particular party structure, but instead presents itself on the ballot paper; a referendum, if you will, not just on who should become our governing party, but on the future of our politics, of our society. While this writer is not necessarily convinced by Liberal Democrat policies, it is clear that politics has renewed itself, that our ability to choose and be inspired has dramatically increased, that there is cause for optimism amidst the gloom and despair of recent times.
It is of vital importance, then, that each of us takes part on Thursday. Over the course of many centuries, this country has paved a road towards universal suffrage, a world leader in fighting for each person’s right to have their say, to raise their voice, to make a difference. To walk to your polling station, to strike an ‘x’ next to your preferred candidate, is the very definition of a display of individual liberty. At a time when our trust in politicians is at a nadir, it is still important to maintain faith in the overriding values of our democracy, and indeed of our country; ideals of free markets and free people, social cohesion and responsibility, duty and fairness. There is, after all, much to be optimistic about. Despite our financial and social troubles, this is still a wonderful place to live. The political commentator Andrew Marr once said that to be born British is in fact a remarkable stroke of luck. We may have a budget deficit, but this is still a nation with a welfare state, with magnificent cities, famous cultural icons, free access to healthcare, a military to be proud of, and a multicultural haven for people from all over the world seeking opportunity and freedom, strong civic and legal justice and tolerance.
Despite the ideological flavour of the prose, this is not an American-style election, despite David Cameron and Nick Clegg repeatedly using the Obama mantra of ‘change’. In my mind, no candidate in this election is seriously bending the arc of history once more toward the hope of a better day. There is no grassroots movement shaking down the traditionalist walls of the political establishment, despite our obvious annoyance at the behaviour of many politicians. No. This is a very British election. We debate with a civilised politeness. We resist political subterfuge. We travel across half the country to apologise to pensioners. The candidate who preaches most about change, about establishing a new order, is in fact a public schoolboy from the upper middle class. His name is Nick Clegg.
What this campaign has really demonstrated, has really illustrated to our nation, is that in 2010 we are not certain of our place in the world and how we want to be perceived. Should we look solely to Europe? Should we preserve our special relationship with America? Should we retreat completely, bruised and battered by our forays into global politics over many decades of engagement under leaders like Thatcher and Blair? It seems to this author that Britain must somehow strike a balance between all these issues. We are stronger when we engage with Europe, but not to the extent that we pander to its beaurocratic web of confusion. We are more relevant when we work closely with America, though never again should we let the White House dominate Downing Street over where we send our troops without so much as an iota of support when we have our own foreign issues to deal with. We are more stable when we concentrate on home affairs, knowing that we can only really offer a voice of progress in the world at large when we have cohesion and social advancement at home.
Given that these are the issues which both unite and divide us, which party seems most aligned to the obvious solutions? While the partisan amongst you will cling steadfastly to your views and decisions, many of us remain unsure, cautious of pinning our political colours to the mast, preferring to wait until the last possible moment before making our date with electoral destiny. The polls reflect our uncertainty. The make up of our parliament hangs in the balance. Quite literally.
Not every aspect of the Labour party’s thirteen years in power has been bad for this country. Though success has been limited more specifically to the Blair years, the new Labour experiment has, for the most part, been positive. Boom and bust may now be the catch-phrase of our catch-22 economic downturn, but at the least it helped establish the City of London’s Square Mile as the preeminent financial and legal district of the world. Labour liberated the Bank of England, legalised civil partnerships, abolished cruel and archaic fox-hunting, engaged in wars of ethics in Kosovo, Sierra Leone and Afghanistan, brought Northern Ireland towards peace and modern political acquiescence, cut NHS waiting times (just) and got more young people into universities (perhaps too many). Tony Blair, rightly or wrongly, managed to cement Britain’s role in the contemporary arena of international affairs. The Blair-Brown years coincided with a revolution in British cultural sensibilities. ‘Cool Britannia’ dominated the worlds of fashion and cuisine, film and theatre, music and architecture. London grew not just as an economic powerhouse, but equally attracted a global significance last seen at the height of the British Empire, on par with New York as a true city of the modern age.
Whether Gordon Brown clings on to the keys of 10 Downing Street after Thursday or not, it is hard for even staunch critics of New Labour to forcibly argue that the United Kingdom is, at least on a societal level, worse off than it was at the end of John Major’s premiership in 1997. However, a closer look beyond the PR and the spin indicates that Labour have not properly capitalised on three terms of impressive parliamentary majorities. Socially our communities remain divided, caught in a crossfire of claims and counterclaims, mutual suspicion and distrust, waylaid by council beurocracy and paperwork, underfunded or overpaid, too readily interfered with by the meddling hands of the neurotic central government and incapable of reaching out to those in society most in need of help. As a result we have, as Bobby Kennedy once warned, a number of cities that are not communities, of counties that are not locally connected, of ethnic, national and class groups who have been allowed to wallow in their resentment for too long.
No part of this Labour government’s election campaign has inspired any confidence that another five years of Gordon Brown will enhance ordinary life on the streets of our towns and cities. While the big institutions and offices of state may well find themselves basking in the glow of short-term public spending, little will filter through to local councils and youth workers and community activists, the sparks in the engine of our country. Over the past thirteen years, Britain has consolidated and enhanced its position as a world power, yet at the same time has become incapable of mending its own broken society. Gordon Brown’s current politics of fear will not save his party, and nor should it. We need a strong Opposition, a solid and dependable critic to bring the government consistently and appropriately to account. Only Labour’s defeat will achieve this, offering a movement with high ideals and poor execution the chance to undergo its first leadership election since 1994, replacing the static, stoic, stolid and stunted Gordon Brown with a better, younger, idealistic alternative. Labour could become the party for the masses once again if it undergoes an intensive reboot during a much-needed period of time on the other side of the House of Commons aisle. David Milliband would be an exciting and attractive prospect leading Labour into the general election of 2015.
What of Clegg’s Liberal Democrats, the surprise contenders punching above their weight as we head to the polls? No doubt he is a deeply intelligent political player, adept at feeding on populist sensibilities and providing neat soundbites for the media. Skilled at public relations and slick electioneering, Clegg has drilled the Lib Dems into a campaigning machine, full of the slights of hand and subtleties of Tony Blair in his pomp, positioning his party as a new option to replace the old guard of tired policies representing antiquated politicians. These are the natural reactions to Clegg’s outstanding performances in the Prime Ministerial debates, as he neatly sidestepped real scrutiny over a number of dangerous and poorly explained policies by sounding and looking modern and relevant, and by continually articulating a message of difference to his two opponents. The reality, much as it pains this author to admit it, is that Nick Clegg resembles a rather earnest sixth form student, anxious to impress at a Model United Nations conference and to tell us what he would do if he was a Prefect. This writer would love to be a Clegg supporter, and would enjoy his rise to prominence a lot more, if he could match substantive and intelligent policies with his already obviously impressive style of politicking.
However, his positions on Europe, on our nuclear deterrent, on a frankly bizarre system of geographically positioning immigrants into specific skill-set locations, are beyond the acceptable limit of pandering populism. These are the manifesto hallmarks of a group of politicians who simply had not considered seriously the fact that they might be genuine players in this election. Their own wealthy benefactors must be shuddering at the thought of a 50% tax hike. Investors in the City of London who had previously appeared to be supporters of Clegg must be anxiously looking at mainland Europe’s inability to aid Greece, itself a member of the Euro currency club, at a time when the Liberal Democrats continue to make positive noises about the UK joining the single coinage. Moreover, while Clegg’s desire to see a nuclear free Britain taking an active role in a nuclear free world should be lauded, his idealism is dangerous. The complete removal from planet Earth of all nuclear weapons would be wonderful. Never again would mankind stare into the abyss of annihilation at the behest of our warheads. Every serious political player who wants to be the Prime Minister of Great Britain should be forthright and immediate in working hard to prevent the proliferation of nuclear weapons and to gradually reduce the stockpiles of the nuclear club. There are, however, safe ways to do this, and Nick Clegg’s policy of unilaterally not renewing Trident, our own nuclear deterrent, is not only reactionary; it is counter-productive. The sight of a British Prime Minister signing away the UK’s nuclear capabilities at a time when rogue states are continuing to develop their technology of terror and terrorists themselves are closer to getting their warped minds and hands on a dirty bomb will not cause other nations to follow suit. Instead we will be reduced to bit-part players in the vital global struggle to reduce our arms, no longer relevant or significant or even sure of our UN Security Council position and influence to shape the world in the way that we would like to see it become for generations to follow us. Nick Clegg may be the most earnest and hazardous man in Britain.
Which leaves us with David Cameron and the Conservatives. Does anybody want to actually vote Conservative? It seems that every time an ‘x’ is marked next to a Tory candidate it is etched with a heavy heart, a resignation to settle for it in this election. Hardly a ringing mandate. Yet it was never trendy to vote Conservative, and perhaps Cameron has done more than most Conservative politicians to make his party acceptable and relevant and electable once again. Michael Howard, the former leader of the party, ran a campaign in 2005 that played on fear and social divisions and pandered to a hardcore Tory base of right-wing snobs. Thank goodness for the Conservatives and the country at large that Cameron has brought the party kicking and screaming into the modern age, callously cajoling its traditionalist powerbase into abandoning age-old entrenched ideologies and policies that were rooted in aristocratic entitlement and an indifference to change. He may be an Eton toff, but at least Cameron understands modern Britain, how our society has changed so indelibly in the past ten years, and why the voting public are more discerning than ever before. His decision to begin public spending cuts immediately upon winning an election, rather than Gordon Brown’s policy of continued public spending for another year to secure our financial recovery, is the key policy issue and difference at this election, even if other philosophies and national moods dominate headlines. Whether he is right remains to be seen, but there is something persuasive in Cameron’s steadfast commitment to starting the process of managing our budget deficit rather than leaving it for another year. It means, of course, potentially unimaginable hardship for many of us, including rising unemployment and the failure of many businesses. Yet it may be our only hope, and at the very least gets the unfortunate process started faster and sooner than Gordon Brown’s options.
It is also clear that Cameron has forged a new wing of his party, one of social modernity and liberalism, where traditional free-market values are maintained, but this time played out against a more concerted attempt from the party machine to understand the sensibilities of the modern British citizen: compassionate, pluralist, forward-thinking. Cameron’s economic policy seems drastic, but he has skilfully portrayed it as optimistic, as the best option to make the economy, and thus our country, better. At a time of uncertainty, of momentous sea-changes of emotion and practicality, as our city streets reverberate to fearful messages of hard times to come, it is no bad thing, in this election and at this pivotal time, to vote for the candidate and party that has campaigned on optimism and positivity and faith in how great our nation is and can be.
These are but one ordinary voting citizen’s musings. The real beauty in our democracy is that the ultimate decision is down to you. This really is the most important British general election in a generation, and the voting sensibilities of the great British public will secure either a decisive victory for one party above any other, or alternatively deliver a verdict of minority uncertainty, of a parliament balanced in its seat proportions but unbalanced in how it can ever get anything done. Should we be concerned by a hung parliament, by the people delivering a verdict in keeping with the prevalent feeling of simply not being sure? I believe not. Democracy, in its infinite wisdom, will find a way.
Across the world many national populations will be envious of the opportunity before us, of the chance to walk into a polling station and cast a vote, the thrill and honour of taking part in having a say, making a difference, being counted. Politics may bring out the worst in people, but our engagement in the process can still bring out the best in politics, and while so much of the world covets what we take for granted, and while our own future is so delicately poised, it is a near categorical imperative to go out and vote.
We will soon discover what Britain we will live in for the next few years in an already tumultuous century. Have your say. Casting a vote in an election is a gift: it is our present and affects our future. The UK must awake, arise and decide.
“You have a decision to make. Don't vote for us because you think we're perfect. Don't vote for us because of what we might be able to do for you only. Vote for the person who shares your ideals. Your hopes. Your dreams. Vote for the person who most embodies what you believe we need to keep our nation strong and free. And when you have done that you can go back home with your head held high and say, 'I voted.’” Matt Santos in ‘The West Wing’.
Monday 22 February 2010
"Until Then I'll Spend My Money, Right On Down To My Last Dime..."
There are few sensations more unnerving than flying through the middle of a Gulf of Mexico thunderstorm. Battered and buffeted by storm clouds and pressure systems, swept to and fro by high winds, dodging lightning bolts and encroaching thunder claps, you cannot help but be awkwardly aware of your own mortality. Modern aircraft are designed to survive turbulence of apocalyptic proportions, including even being struck by lightning itself, but this fact, however well-meaningfully articulated by those in the travel industry, fails to strike a chord when ten and a half hours into a flight you are face to face with gathering clouds of rumbling, roaring significance.
I have, you may remember, blogged before about fun and frolics at 36,000 feet. Being not the most confident flyer in the world, I was obviously a little concerned that the thunderstorm landing into Houston, Texas, was laced with both a literal and metaphorical symbolism, an ominous, portentous harbinger of troubles brewing. On reflection, and leaning heavily on my ability to recite the Desiderata by heart, I am now confident that such fears were borne of fatigue and/or loneliness (delete where applicable). It can be disheartening to spend the duration of a long-haul flight on a half-empty plane with nobody to talk to, while the time-lapse and journey duration were obviously contributing factors to a high dosage of fatigue. Such rumblings of negative emotional thunder dissipated as swiftly as the real storm and, once customs had been dealt with the standard clash of cultures that inevitably emerge when the least subtle security nation in the world collides with weary and sarcastic British folk, soon it was time to enjoy the ultimate in travelling experiences, the airport reunion.
Richard Curtis has made many mistakes during his career as sit-com writer, rom-com creator and charity commissioner for the entire continent of Africa. The Boat That Rocked, for example, really sucked. He is, however, responsible for a wonderful little speech at the beginning of Love Actually, a film so perfectly simple in its scope and ambition that it is bewildering as to how it engenders such vociferous debate between film fans as to its merits (or lack thereof, depending on your point of view). I am firmly in the ‘pro’ camp, seeing it not only as a perfect Christmas treat, but a love song to my home city, not to mention the fact that the film was released during a particular moment and time in my young life that seemed to align cleverly with how I was thinking and feeling at that precise moment. With that in mind, the opening speech, delivered against a backdrop of real CCTV footage of genuine travelers greeting each other at the arrival gates at London Heathrow, has always struck a chord. However, beyond the obviously happy instances of greeting family members at the airport, and one or two other occasions that I have no need to go into detail about here, I had not enjoyed the happy circumstance of my own Love Actually moment until I landed in Houston. While not the arrival gates at Heathrow Airport, they were still arrival gates, and being face to face with someone that you have spent so much time talking to, and so much emotion thinking about, helps affirm those beautiful Curtis words: ‘It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s there.’
Baton Rouge, Louisiana, is itself an interesting place to spend some time. It has all the quintessential Southern values and charm that I mentioned when previously blogging on my travels through the Deep South of America, but, as a college town, there is also a sense of urban Bohemia, a point enhanced at this particular moment by my current typing location in an independent-run coffee shop, populated by students with laptops and Ipods and time. There is, therefore, a pleasant juxtaposition between the general feel of student openness and acceptance, and old-fashioned traditions synonymous with this region, from the food to the politics. Here in America, this weekend sees the main celebrations for Mardi Gras, a pageant of huge proportions in this part of the world, with food, drink, carnivals, dancing, music, and a general celebratory spirit that may now be some way from the original religious sensibilities behind the festival, but nonetheless entrenching a positive feel of community. New Orleans is the world centre for Mardi Gras. It is already a city that lends itself well to street parties, with its roadside music culture already deeply ingrained, and during a holiday where much emphasis is placed on colour and vibrancy and a love of life, the entire region dials up this sense of spirit even more. This year, Louisiana is also celebrating their first ever Superbowl triumph after last Sunday’s win for the New Orleans Saints, a victory which has already prompted a huge ticker-tape parade through the French Quarter before Mardi Gras even properly started. After the travesty of Katrina and the damage done to the whole region both socially and economically, it was not just an ordinary Superbowl win for the Saints. More than just a sporting victory, it helped symbolize the recovery of the city of New Orleans and Louisiana in general, a sentiment enhanced going into this weekend’s frivolities also.
The UK does not celebrate Mardi Gras in the same way, save for a few of us belatedly flipping a few pancakes on Shrove Tuesday. I suspect that a New Orleans-style carnival atmosphere through the streets of London would be sensational, but no doubt the rigid powers that be would place such stringent health and safety embargoes on the entire event that it would be pointless. London has never been that sort of city, and probably never will be, save for the impromptu street parties that greet momentous national events like coronations, jubilees and English footballing success. Regardless of the UK’s own standpoint, as a Londoner of Jewish ethnicity it would not be unfair to argue that attending the once Pagan, now Christian celebration of Mardi Gras in New Orleans will place me a considerable way out of my comfort zone, but so far I am on the right side of excited.
I have, you may remember, blogged before about fun and frolics at 36,000 feet. Being not the most confident flyer in the world, I was obviously a little concerned that the thunderstorm landing into Houston, Texas, was laced with both a literal and metaphorical symbolism, an ominous, portentous harbinger of troubles brewing. On reflection, and leaning heavily on my ability to recite the Desiderata by heart, I am now confident that such fears were borne of fatigue and/or loneliness (delete where applicable). It can be disheartening to spend the duration of a long-haul flight on a half-empty plane with nobody to talk to, while the time-lapse and journey duration were obviously contributing factors to a high dosage of fatigue. Such rumblings of negative emotional thunder dissipated as swiftly as the real storm and, once customs had been dealt with the standard clash of cultures that inevitably emerge when the least subtle security nation in the world collides with weary and sarcastic British folk, soon it was time to enjoy the ultimate in travelling experiences, the airport reunion.
Richard Curtis has made many mistakes during his career as sit-com writer, rom-com creator and charity commissioner for the entire continent of Africa. The Boat That Rocked, for example, really sucked. He is, however, responsible for a wonderful little speech at the beginning of Love Actually, a film so perfectly simple in its scope and ambition that it is bewildering as to how it engenders such vociferous debate between film fans as to its merits (or lack thereof, depending on your point of view). I am firmly in the ‘pro’ camp, seeing it not only as a perfect Christmas treat, but a love song to my home city, not to mention the fact that the film was released during a particular moment and time in my young life that seemed to align cleverly with how I was thinking and feeling at that precise moment. With that in mind, the opening speech, delivered against a backdrop of real CCTV footage of genuine travelers greeting each other at the arrival gates at London Heathrow, has always struck a chord. However, beyond the obviously happy instances of greeting family members at the airport, and one or two other occasions that I have no need to go into detail about here, I had not enjoyed the happy circumstance of my own Love Actually moment until I landed in Houston. While not the arrival gates at Heathrow Airport, they were still arrival gates, and being face to face with someone that you have spent so much time talking to, and so much emotion thinking about, helps affirm those beautiful Curtis words: ‘It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s there.’
Baton Rouge, Louisiana, is itself an interesting place to spend some time. It has all the quintessential Southern values and charm that I mentioned when previously blogging on my travels through the Deep South of America, but, as a college town, there is also a sense of urban Bohemia, a point enhanced at this particular moment by my current typing location in an independent-run coffee shop, populated by students with laptops and Ipods and time. There is, therefore, a pleasant juxtaposition between the general feel of student openness and acceptance, and old-fashioned traditions synonymous with this region, from the food to the politics. Here in America, this weekend sees the main celebrations for Mardi Gras, a pageant of huge proportions in this part of the world, with food, drink, carnivals, dancing, music, and a general celebratory spirit that may now be some way from the original religious sensibilities behind the festival, but nonetheless entrenching a positive feel of community. New Orleans is the world centre for Mardi Gras. It is already a city that lends itself well to street parties, with its roadside music culture already deeply ingrained, and during a holiday where much emphasis is placed on colour and vibrancy and a love of life, the entire region dials up this sense of spirit even more. This year, Louisiana is also celebrating their first ever Superbowl triumph after last Sunday’s win for the New Orleans Saints, a victory which has already prompted a huge ticker-tape parade through the French Quarter before Mardi Gras even properly started. After the travesty of Katrina and the damage done to the whole region both socially and economically, it was not just an ordinary Superbowl win for the Saints. More than just a sporting victory, it helped symbolize the recovery of the city of New Orleans and Louisiana in general, a sentiment enhanced going into this weekend’s frivolities also.
The UK does not celebrate Mardi Gras in the same way, save for a few of us belatedly flipping a few pancakes on Shrove Tuesday. I suspect that a New Orleans-style carnival atmosphere through the streets of London would be sensational, but no doubt the rigid powers that be would place such stringent health and safety embargoes on the entire event that it would be pointless. London has never been that sort of city, and probably never will be, save for the impromptu street parties that greet momentous national events like coronations, jubilees and English footballing success. Regardless of the UK’s own standpoint, as a Londoner of Jewish ethnicity it would not be unfair to argue that attending the once Pagan, now Christian celebration of Mardi Gras in New Orleans will place me a considerable way out of my comfort zone, but so far I am on the right side of excited.
----------------------------------
A few days later
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Mardi Gras has now been and gone, and I sit and type this back home in London, amidst swirling sleet and snow, that perennial illustration of the bleakest winter in recent memory. Dark, portentous clouds loom overhead as February closes out with its usual dismal fare, a fitting epitaph to a gloomy meteorological season. It is without question that I love London - my city, my home, my people. Recently, and perhaps connected to seeing more of the world than I could have anticipated, the feeling of excitement at returning to one of the world's great cities has lessened. Cynicism, complacency, tedium, perhaps all contribute to this. More likely is the great lifestyle change I am about to undergo, taking place in the heart of the capital, as I begin the daily commute and the weekly grind. In a few days time, I will be swapping a Fred Perry polo for a well-tailored suit, leather shoes in place of Puma canvas. Like the millions around me, I will take the train into work, praying I do not need an umbrella for the walking part of the journey, subconsciously hoping the gentle sounds of my Ipod can last just a few moments longer before I walk in through curved, glass doors into a curved, glass building. The times they are a-changing.
All the more important, then, that I have been lucky enough to enjoy my time off after finishing Law School. In this time I have learnt much about myself, and the world around me. I have travelled extensively, adventuring across a great continent, meeting new people, expanding my horizons and challenging my previous preconceptions. Had there not been a recession, a credit-crunch that caused major businesses and companies to hold back their intakes of new employees, I would not have enjoyed my American sojourn, and consequently not had the recent opportunity to return there.
Mardi Gras, then, became symbolic to me, not just as a holiday and series of festivals in the South of America, but because of its position at the start of the Lenting season, a time when those of Christian faith are compelled to give something up, or make some kind of positive change for the better. In many ways, I will be giving up a lifestyle, a way of being that I have grown accustomed to, but which ultimately, and like so much of our formative years, must come to pass. With this in mind, I was determined to enjoy my final moments of freedom.
New Orleans was a perfect place to start, with its one-of-a-kind community spirit, intense musical culture and intricate ethnic history, combining in a kaleidoscope of noise and colour and vibrancy. The Endymion parade through St. Charles was a real sight, with marching bands and floats, flying beads and decorations, not to mention the continued celebratory chanting of New Orleans Saints football fans. Spending the first day of Mardi Gras there alongside close friends was a unique and enjoyable experience, and a million miles from what I am used to back home.
This feeling of difference was heightened in the following two days, firstly in a town called Thibedaux, Louisiana, and then the even more remote Mamou, Louisiana, home to a Mardi Grass street-dance that has to be seen to be believed. Thibedaux is close to what I picture to be old-school America, with neat town squares and houses with railings, shutter-windows and ornate gables, peering over the streets below with decorative balconies. The Thibedaux parade featured some fairly hostile throwing of Mardi Gras beads from the travelling floats, causing yours truly to have to duck for cover on a number of occasions, but the spirit of this part of Louisiana, and the celebrations they put on, were far from hostile. Instead, I found a welcoming, community-driven locality, and was overwhelmed by the generosity of our hosts for the parade, with an endless supply of food, drink, music, sunshine and unparalleled balcony views courtesy of Kyle to enjoy the proceedings.
Similarly, the Mamou street dance opened up my eyes to an entirely new level of appreciation for Southern values. Here, in the midst of rural Louisiana, a small town takes to the streets to enjoy real Cajun music (guitar, accordion, snare, vocals), beer and three-step dancing. I arrived in polo t-shirt and skinny jeans, looking more Shoreditch than shoreline, and found myself deeply out of place from a sartorial point of view. Most of the men in Mamou take to the street-dance in hunting garb, with large army-style jackets, combat trousers and boots, often with traditional baseball-cap as a complimentary addition. Nonetheless, although a clear out-of-towner, I was once again welcomed to this fiercely local tradition with warmth and friendliness. My good friend Ashli's family were kind and polite, hospitably making me eat fresh catfish (delicious, I might add) and seeing to it that Sam and I were well looked after. In Mamou, we met all kinds of interesting folk, from the old high-school sweethearts dancing arm in arm in the exact same style that they must have perfected decades earlier, to the single wedding planner, drinking his troubles away in the bar, and happy to talk to me about The Beatles and to Sam about the Louisiana State University dance programme. Many suggest that rural Deep South backwaters are set in their ways and suspicious of outsiders. I found, both in Thibedaux and Mamou, communities deeply committed to their ideals and traditions, but proud of them in a positive and engaging way, with the overwhelming majority of the people I met eager to show me a good time and welcome me into their world. In a city as vast and disconnected as London, we could learn a lot from these displays of local and regional solidarity.
Back in Baton Rouge, I began to mentally prepare for the long drive into Texas, towards Houston, the airport and home. Is there anything harder than an airport farewell? If meeting someone special at the Arrival Gates is an uplifting experience, the complete opposite is true of parting at a Departure Lounge. What can I tell you about this particular Departure Lounge experience without resorting to sycophancy and hyperbole? Well, let's say that the world can move in mysterious ways. I have been, for a while now, a cynical sort, one who questions those who place emphasis on the whims of serendipity. Even now I am not certain if the series of events that led me to Baton Rouge, and subsequently back to this wonderful part of the world just a couple of months later, can be attributed to fate or some sort of masterplan, or if indeed we are, as John Lennon once put it, merely 'molecules bouncing around', and thus purely part of a random circumstance, a happy accident. I am, however, less cynical than I was, illuminated as I am by a new adventure, exciting and scary in equal measure, but offering a sense of hope, of idealism, of faith, amidst uncertainty and intrigue.
It is, at the last, a quiet thing, hard to surmise in cold language on a screen, yet eloquent enough in more silent parts of my heart. For many months now I have noticed two roads stretching out before me. I could have, as Robert Frost put it, saved one for another day, 'but knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back'...
"I shall be telling this with a smile,
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood,
And I...
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference."
Robert Frost, 'The Road Not Taken'.
Thursday 28 January 2010
iPad. Therefore I am.
Truly we live in exciting times. Forget, for a moment, the doomsday economic downturn, threatening the very fabric of our financial services industry and ultimately the entirety of western capitalism as we know it, and consider this brave new world in which we inhabit, a society constantly changing and progressing to an entrepreneurial, enterprising beat. We may have a weaker pound, rising inflation and worrying levels of unemployment, but as of yesterday afternoon we also have the iPad.
Granted, I am not overwhelmed with certainty as to exactly what purpose the iPad serves. Is it a gigantic phone, created to make us all feel like we are in a new series of The Borrowers? Is it a lighter, more efficient laptop, designed to liberate us from the shackles of office tedium, prompting a revolution of pedestrianism, letting us work not just from home, not just in the office, but in fact practically anywhere at any time? Not that the iPad is limited to business-related tasks. This is a model designed to improve gaming experiences, open up a whole industry of e-books, and collate together an already burgeoning world of iPhone applications into one portable tablet. It's the technological form of NurofenPlus, minus the layered codeine.
The emergence of the iPad is both a tangible, physical stage in the technological revolution happening right now across the world. It is also deeply symbolic. With Apple's computerised tablet, the internet is closer, more accessible, faster and easier than ever before. Knowledge, information, progress is just a touchscreen away. Compartmentalising every single aspect of world-wide social networking, entertainment and communications into one movable device may seem, at first glance, to be a great opportunity to collate what we feel, think and know, what we do and how we act, into a singular entity. The reality, however, is that while the iPad can bring these literal and metaphorical elements together, we are in essence still working through an immeasurably large pool of detail. It may be all on one machine, but modern man still has himself (or herself) spread thinly over vast expanses.
We Facebook, Tweet, and blog. We surf, game, read and listen. At the moment, many of us do all these acts many times a day, through a variety of sources. I may play Football Manager on my laptop, reply to emails via Blackberry, and tweet about how mind-numbingly boring/fascinating (delete where appropriate) these actions are on my Nokia NSeries. The iPad would let me do all of this on one device, wherever I may be in the world, but my specific actions are still broad. It calls into question what levels of knowledge we really have in a new decade, and whether it is a help or a hindrance to our future careers.
Which is better: to have an in-depth level of knowledge regarding a specific subject or industry or, alternatively, reasonable information over a wider area? Modern business seems unsure of itself, unable to confirm whether focused study of a singular area is more beneficial than nuggets of knowledge spread thin. In the legal profession, for example, City law firms are adapting to the credit crunch by having to focus more on corporate restructuring, rather than the mergers and acquisitions of yore. Should solicitors, and their firms, focus on training staff to deal stoically with the challenges of commercial law in a recession, and therefore limiting skills and training to very specific corporate recoveries, or should trainees have a broad spectrum of knowledge in a number of fields, ready to adapt to a changing economic landscape and the varying needs of their clients. On the one hand, very specific knowledge will be invaluable to clients in desperate need of certain advice in absolute situations. Alternatively, some firms may profit from their lawyers being able to respond with merely a modicum of ability to a range of issues.
Technology is driving the second of these possibilities, by providing us with mechanisms and devices through which we can find information, but not necessarily knowledge. Our technological revolution aids communication, but perhaps not ability, intellect and expertise. Ben Macintyre, writing in today's edition of The Times, illustrates this most modern of conundrums by focusing on the differences in intellectual thought as set out by the 1950s philosopher Isaiah Berlin: some thinkers are foxes; some are hedgehogs.
Which are you? A fox, knowing many things, or a hedgehog, knowing one big thing? Macintyre argues that today, 'feasting on the anarchic, ubiquitous, limitless and uncontrolled information cornucopia that is the web, we are all foxes'. The vast, unfathomable torrents of information that are now, thanks to devices like the iPad, just a touchscreen swipe away, have changed the way we think, act, communicate and, ultimately, do our jobs. As the world gets smaller than it has ever been, our ability, almost by osmosis, to seep in information gets larger. As Macintyre states, 'we can go on instant mind-journeys that once would have taken years'.
I feel a little bit like Arthur Miller's choric character Alfieri, in his sublime 'A View From The Bridge'. Alfieri argues that we now 'settle for half'. The vast societal changes in his world, he feels, can be bridged by a sensible complimenting of what we knew and what we will go on to know. In the rapid currents of an at times unstable and ever-changing world in 2010, it is no bad thing to find a via-media between the foxes and hedgehogs. Indeed, there is no reason why both cannot cohabit the same iPad. We need the foxes to streak ahead, scavenging their way through the multitude of possibilities and applications that a work of art such as the iPad can both provide and collate. We also need the hedgehogs, the big thinkers in microcosmic areas. Without the symbiosis of these two, our technological revolution will crumble and with it modern society as we know it. There would be no iPad without the hedgehogs at Apple. There would be no use of an iPad without the foxes of modern society.
We go about our business, our day-to-day lives, with little thought or concern for the vast happenings around us. I will most probably purchase an iPad. I like its sleek design, its modern urgency. However, stopping for just a moment, pausing and reflecting over our societal sea-change, I am inclined to be feel both excited and a little apprehensive, caught as I am (and amongst many who are in similar positions) between being a fox and being a hedgehog.
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