politics

A question of Truth

The world runs on the concept of truth. That we believe what people say. We invest in the words that come out of people’s mouths. Governments around the world twisting the truth for their own political gain, brought into power on other untruths whilst the general public look on with their mouths agape. Oh no they did it again. I can’t believe it. Brexit, the great untruth in the UK, a country taken on a ride by arch villains Johnson and Cummings with the support of other despotic individuals and countries. You are told by lying parents to tell the truth. It’s a great aim but one that falls apart quite easily. Small white lies you tell friends so that they are not offended by something. The world of marketing lives in a lying state. Some people are naturally truthful. TV show The Traitors features people blindly telling fibs to fellow humans who have supposedly, instantly become their best friends of all time ever. Only for this lack of truth to come out and their shocked expressions gradually dawn to the realisation that they are on a reality show called The Traitors. It should be the name for all politicians, holding yet another photo opportunity in front of the flag. Boldly lying where someone else has gone before. Selling their country down the river to the highest bidder, not really caring about much other than to line the pockets of themselves and friends. UK politician Jeremy Corbyn told the truth. He couldn’t help himself. No politicking around. Straight out truthfulness which made him a threat for those in power. Football managers lambasting their team after a shocking display, gradually the players will stop performing for him or her. Inside the dressing room the right amount of truth can be told, to motivate and provide direction. Neurodiversity often presents in extreme levels of truth telling. Not being able to cover up the truth. The whole truth, nothing but the truth. We lie to our children, tell them things will get better. The world won’t be destroyed in an almighty fireball due to the carelessness of previous generations, or a nation voting for arch villain Donald Trump. That things will get better. As a musician I prefer it when someone tells me straight out what they think of a performance or a song I have made. Usually it is a family member, outright frank about it. Whatever the situation. My biggest critics. Actually, couldn’t they be a little less upfront with the truth. To develop you need the truth. Record companies telling you exactly what they think, nuanced feedback. Feed forward. Propel you towards improvement, hopefully. You need a thick skin to hear the truth. About you, your personality. God you talk too much. You just seem to always be discussing yourself. Narcissistic. My youngest daughter always tells the truth. God dad, you look old. Thanks there. Hairdressers telling clients how wonderful their new style is. Donald look in the mirror. Outfits that are perceived to flatter. Living in a truthful space, knowing who you are, understanding the self takes strength but is a positive position to exist within.

It is so tiring chasing the truth, unpacking messages from politicians so that actual real information doesn’t have to just drip through social media channels. Truth should be up front and central. We have to tell the truth in our lives. I can’t go into work and start making things up because it suits the position I would like to take. There should be a truth monitor standing beside any political leader when they are talking, interrupting each time lies flow from their mouth. Trump’s speech would be very staccato. Hold people to account, be real, be human. BBC verify is all very well, but it occurs after the fact (checker). We need instant buzzers that sound whenever an untruth is made, although the cacophony would make life difficult to live. Donald Trump, that doyen of truth, announced that there will be no wars now he’s in power. King Canute. King c**t. No Ukraine, Gaza, Syria, Afghanistan. Tell the truth. Challenge the guy, ask him how this is going to happen because we all follow the sentiment but no one else has managed to achieve this. He must have superpowers. Or snorted too much coke. Narrowly missing having his head blown off, a shot grazing his ear so that diehard supporters can copy his Van Gogh left ear plastered image. A cult in charge of one of the most powerful countries in the world. Plus ça change.

The contrast between US presidential candidates Kamala Harris and Trump is quite staggering. On one side there is love, compassion, fun, normality, enjoyment, balance and plain speaking. On the other, lies, deceit, nonsense, chaos and confusion, bizarre behaviour that screams anger. Angry that he can’t be this good person. Angry with himself and the world. Retreating into his bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror and venting. The world’s gone orange, a colour of life and peace. There is great fear of everything around him. Insecurity. Is there a way that someone like Trump can return to normality, be saved from a life of lies, unhappiness manifest in being Mr Angry. Maybe Trump needs some time away from the disunited States, a cultural trip to Europe, France perhaps. Sitting in a café, wearing a beret, smoking Gitanes and pontificating about the latest conceptual art piece. Paris, the city of lights and love. Reach out Donald, don’t hide behind your fracking wall. Maybe it could save him. Grumpy old git. Face not moving due to a lifetime of botox, all sense of normality or expression, the creases of life eradicated from his image, cryogenically frozen although still robotically moving from platform to platform. Terminator 4. The orange one. Symbol of joy and experimentation within Johan Cruyff or Denis Berkamp. He keeps coming back, like a clown on a spring popping up from a box, wobbling around, putting up barriers, retreating within. He’s just scared of his own mortality. Narcissistic c**t.

US President Donald Trump looking angry and facing the camera.

Melancholy

The end of summer bank holiday bookends from late May, a time of freshness and hope to one of remembering, thoughts, placing in time. Arranging big groups of people to get together from all corners of the globe, friends of friends. Your tribe expanding. Connecting to your partners world. Expanding the love. The end of summer August bank holiday has a moving melancholic feel, the end of something. Long days, endless sunshine, warmth, freedom, outside. The first slight chill in the air which catches you, brings up thoughts of future days huddled beside a pitch in multiple layers, a woolly hat pulled over your ears. The smell of cheap burgers and chips as the new football season roars into view. I love those months of silence, away from the constant bombardment of people kicking something round, an old bladder. In the old days it was a solid mass, sturdy boots against immovable object now replaced by soft leather slippers and a beachball. Everything is lighter nowadays which is much better when you are trying to head the thing. Picking blackberries, the garden starting to wilt and weeds grow slightly slower, the lawn has one or two cuts left in it. I often go on holiday in September because it’s cheaper and foreign climbs still retain their warmth without the crowds. There is a melancholic glow to things though, a sadness which feels healthy to indulge. Campsites gradually battering down, a wet dew meeting you as feet exit the tent. A freshness. The sky takes on a pastel consistency, peach, soft yellows. Gentle light overtaking the harshness. This bank holiday, iconic Bristol band Massive Attack played what could possibly be their last ever gig, outside on the downs, rain squalling around the band like usual. The force of staccato synth lines, bass rumblings, ethereal vocals reaching up into the atmosphere, pulling clouds together, hugging the ground. A mass of people worshipping and thinking, political slogans and messaging, vital images. This is more than a concert but a moment in time, remembering the need for action, climate, war, famine raging across the world as we party. The sound of Massive will linger in that space for ever, the Bristol air always containing familiar refrains. The sound of the place amplified. Looking around, seeing old and new friends, familiar faces from the city village in all directions come to be part of the last rights, a collective moment no one will forget. History being made while the current world is centre stage. Groups of people clinging close to each other, providing solace for times ahead. The sounds of the band drift on as the world keeps turning.

Democracy is a two headed thing which never really seems to exist. In the UK we are told that we live in a democratic country, but your choices are so limited. For many, the choice is to tactically vote at an election, to try and not get the person you don’t want to win. The countryside is swathed in traditionally right-wing Tory voting areas, so if you want to get them out then you generally need to vote for the Liberal Democrats or the more extreme right of Brexit/ Reform. Labour generally exists in the metropolis, the city, working people seeking social support. A completely divided country, the cultural and the natural. The have and have nots. Many rich live in cities of course, driving the hands of production. The rednecks out in the countryside. Maybe the divide between urban and rural will be bridged in coming generations, as the grey haired, blue wearing right wingers gradually return to the sky. New blood, original ideas, an urban sensibility restored to countryside domains. Greater cultural diversity rather than the siloed world we live within. An election has been called, oh not another one says Brenda from Bristol. In all honesty, I have been waiting for this one for what seems like an eternity. The chance for the people to finally make a decision to get rid of the Conservative government. Almost a decade and a half in power and people worse off. Everything worse. Just look at homelessness, streets littered with bereft, roofless, unsupported human beings in one of the richest countries in the world. See that and let it sink in. That’s your guide. They really don’t care unless something directly affects them. Let’s see what it is like to have at least a few caring people in charge. It is possible. The world can be a better place where the rich actually support the concept of homelessness being eradicated. Sleeping in parks, loomed over by massive atriums, buildings which just have masses of wasted space just so that they look good, make an impression. If you really want to tackle lack of accommodation, cut down on atriums, reuse that money and space. Simple. Such a strange world we live in, where solutions stare us in the face, greed and malice have control with 1% of the population owning the majority share. The rich getter exponentially richer. How did this ever come to pass? Why do we allow such unfair behaviour to occur on our watch. Vote them out. I hope other planets have managed to develop a more equitable system. Tax the rich. Take unused space. Share to support human life. Aim for a non-hierarchical world, a utopia where everyone is equal. The universal basic wage will be in action at some point so let’s push for it now before the robots have properly taken over, whilst there is still a chance to take control of our future. Proportionally represented by artificial intelligence rather than just human reasoning, compassion and understanding.

Late on 4th July 2024 confirmation arrived that UK Tory chaos was finally pushed into the long grass, out of view, the start of a period of time to rethink. Labour bring hope, compassion, a social sensibility vividly at odds with the last 14 years. Listening to acceptance speeches from the reds, there is humility and respect for fellow humans, whether opponents or constituents. Hopefully a level of humanity has returned, kept in check by an astonishing number of left leaning MPs. That is what is so seismic. Not the scale of Labour’s victory or the unnerving presence of Reform, but the opportunity for the centre to eft in the UK to make change, to rescue politics from the gutter, to respond to human needs, to make a bold and compassionate statement. To bring love back into the equation. Hopefully there is this strength in Labour so it can seep into public consciousness. As a friend has suggested, the victorian undertaker and the lettuce have gone. Thank god.

Conspiracies

Today I heard the latest conspiracy theory. That planes were being flown in the sky to break up the atmosphere through spraying chemicals which then caused rain to occur. Crazy stuff. It has rained a lot this year. The Covid 19 pandemic started off in a wave of beautiful weather in the UK creating a bucolic gorgeous spring where the blossom was richer, the smells more fragrant and the light sharper. Exactly three years it is yet another dank dull day. Dreary me. If planes could cause the weather to change, then surely this is what could happen over drought ridden expanses. It could be the work for Kim Stanley Robinson’s Ministry of the Future. Conspiracy theories provide realism, a connection to world, an ideal that we can change things. Perversely they provide reasoning. Everyone talks about the weather, especially in the UK, where patterns are difficult to follow due to the almost constant variance. In the 1990s I buried myself amongst conspiracy, David Icke the TV presenting goalkeeper who took me into debates about Lady Diana and Dodie, the Twin Towers, and finally that the UK royal family were lizards. Now this just took me too far. The others have intrigue and possibility but amphibian transformation amongst the blue blooded was a step too far. Mayan conspiracies, Graham Hancock’s Fingerprints of the gods, redefining history, challenging norms, great stories. Truth. It has been battered. Donald Trump, that mainstream conspiracy dude, stolen election, Four Seasons Total Landscaping. Covid again. Hopefully, the UK election culminating on July 4th 2024 will provide a break from populism, solutions to real world problems, a sense of care and compassion. Real people creating real world solutions, not just propaganda. No pie in the sky. We can but hope that the stars are aligned this time.

Learning from Vietnam

The US – Vietnam War ended in 1975 with American troops airlifted out of Saigon, ending eight years of another attempt to take aways the country’s independence, it’s freedom to exist, Continuing conflicts in Gaza and Ukraine demonstrate the lack of learning that the human population undertakes. Or maybe it is the people in power who learn. That they can do anything and the fog of information, the lack of a true story deflects attention, confuses the masses. Travelling through modern Vietnam, dodging the mopeds, it is really difficult to fathom the reasons behind the war. Reds in the beds. McCarthyism in America where a communist spread was a frightening position for Republicans and Democrats alike. Vietnam is the most beautiful and friendly country. The people have forgiven. They love Westerners whilst keeping a wary eye on China to the North. War, what is it good for. Absolutely nothing of course and you realise the sheer stupidity of trying to bomb the hell out of a diverse and opaque land where the camouflage of the jungle and the brilliant local knowledge is bounds to defeat the enemy, carpet bombing from above. B52 craters litter the land, now creating objects of war for tourists to take selfies besides or filled in as finishing lakes. Tunnels at various levels where life could go on unhindered, were the enemy could be surprised, passing hidden entrances and attacked from behind. Like in Gaza, finding ways to defeat the over powering superpower, going underground to get out of the jam.

There is the demonstration of collective strength from the Vietnamese people, a common goal to get on with life and make the most of their opportunities and resources. Legendary leader Ho Chi Minh left the country to learn about all aspects of life, from pot washing to gardening, supporting the French Communist party before returning home from hiss exile voyages to support the implementation of collective politics at home. Vietnam still contains a Socialist government with the cracks of Capitalism breaking their way through, but a common understanding and Buddhist leaning life is abundantly clear in the happiness, the joy de vivre of the people. They laugh and work as small groups, spreading out to a vital whole. Vietnam is rebuilding through its people, its verdant growth. Built on the back of a non hierarchical mixed patriarchal/ matriarchal society where women can be seen building houses and men in the kitchen. Wandering through parks and closed weekend streets in Hanoi, the lilting tones of Boney Em to One Unlimited filter through as groups of women dance in step, teenagers hang out on sultry evenings in Hoi An working on routines and theatre sketches, peacefully in each others company, not getting drunk or jacking up. Peacefully, happily together. Strong groups, strong families.

poster of a female soldirer in the Vietnam war

outline of a female solider on a window of the Vietnamese Women's exhibition in Hanoi.

Images from the Vietnamese Women museum in Hanoi, Vietnam