It's that time of year again when we celebrate the patron saint of England, St George, famous for rescuing a damsel in distress by killing a dragon. The fact that St George was far from 'English' (in terms of the modern map of Europe, he would probably be Turkish) and that dragons only exist in the confines of children's story books (and Game of Thrones for the big kids out there), seems to do nothing to dampen peoples 24-hour patriotism-fest each 23rd April. I will admit, even I used to dig out my 'Cross of St George' cuff-links for St George's Day, so I am not immune. Some, however, go a lot further and use it to drape everything in the red and white. There are growing calls each year for the day to be made a Bank Holiday, a day to celebrate national pride, if you will. Is it important that we have such a day in the calendar?
Other countries do seem to have a day that centres on a date with national significance, the day that they see as a defining moment. For the US this is Independence Day (4th July) and for France, it is Bastille Day (14th July). Russia Day (12th June), only introduced in 1994, celebrates the re-emergence of Russia after the end of the Soviet Union, a holiday that is not universally popular as there are many who still yearn for thos good old Soviet days (not least, Vladimir Putin, seemingly). For the diehards in Russia, there is still Defender of the Fatherland Day or Victory Day that date back to the Soviet era. The Italians have Republic Day that celebrates the date when the monarchy was retired, the Spanish have...well, shedloads of public holidays, most of which are regional (including, in Catalonia, St George's Day celebrated on the same date as ours). You get the idea: national days exist in so many other countries, but not here in the UK.
In the UK, apart from Good Friday, Easter Monday, Christmas Day, Boxing Day and New Year's Day, we can't even be arsed to give the others proper names! Instead, we just call them "Early May", "Spring" and "Summer". No, no, no - we don't want to be seen celebrating anything like the Signing of Magna Carta, the establishment of habeas corpus, the discovery of the structure of DNA or the even the first four minute mile. I realise it's not eveyone's cup of tea, but even military victories (Trafalgar, Waterloo, Battle of Britain, VE-Day for God's sake) are not commemorated by a national holiday. When considered in the context of the rest of the world, we come across as a little bit wierd in that respect.
I am not advocating here for a blind patriotism that borders on the jingoistic: a love of country that makes us blind to its imperfections and shortfalls. The US brand of partiotism can seem a little 'strong' for us Brits as it seems to be an over-demonstrative love of one's country that leaves us thinking "Get a room!". The chants of "USA! USA! USA!" at sporting events can feel intimidating for the non-Amenricans rather than being (for the most part) an innocent and total belief in the Land of the Free. Their very upbringing delivers a relationship to nationality and the national flag so different to ours. In contrast, we either shy away from such overt demonstrations of patriotism or else we head to head to the dark side of 'loving' our country, that of jingoism and xenophobia.
There are things in our recent and more distant past that are huge blots on the national copybook - our involvement in the slave trade, our treatment of nationals in countries fighting for independence against the Empire, our involvement in the war in Iraq based on non-existent 'evidence' to name a few - but overall, I still think this is a pretty decent country and I am still proud to call myself 'British/English' (there is another debate!), despite our current 'leaders' who seem intent on destroying the systems that are the source of much of that pride for me. Perhaps we should have a national holiday to have a bit of a crow about how good this country can be. However, rather than 23rd April and celebrating a Turkish dragon-slayer, I would suggest another date - how about the 5th July, the date in 1948 when Trafford General was 'opened' as the first NHS hospital in Britain. Now that is something to be proud of!
Thursday, 23 April 2015
Wednesday, 15 April 2015
Favourite Films 1
Along the way, in no particular order and, of course, liable to added to or amended depending on new releases, day of the week, the side of bed I got out of etc. are my all-time film favourites with a little bit about why I like them. Because I could go on and on (and on) about them, rather than produce a 'Top Five' in one go, I'll just add more from time-to-time. Let's begin...
1. The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp
This film, released in 1943, is a producion of The Archers (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger) who wrote, produced and directed it. It stars Roger Livesey as Clive Wynn-Candy VC, Deborah Kerr in a triple role as the object of Wynn-Candy's affection (to varying degrees) over the course of his life and Anton Walbrook as Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff, a German who Wynn-Candy meets as a adversary in a duel but goes on to be his life-long friend. The story is told, for the most part, in flashback with the start and the end of the film set in the present (1943) and the bulk of the film telling us how Wynn-Candy became the man he is.
It is ostensibly a film about one man's life: from a young, decorated officer of the Boer War who goes on, via the First and Second Wars to be seen as something of a crusty old stick-in-the mud, a man whose sense of honour and decency is no longer valid to be fighting a war against the Nazis, a foe that does not recognise the honour code he still clings to. So, it is a film about the rights and wrongs of holding fast to 'absolute' moral values in a world that has changed dramatically. In effect, the tactics of the Nazis has meant that for some characters in the film, the gloves have come off and there is a need to fight back just as dirtily. But is the this 'the British way'? Should we 'lower' ourselves to their level? It is a question that is still relevant in the face of terror attacks today.
Equally, it is a brave film that, in 1943, chose to portray a sympathetic German character whilst, at the same time, having to keep up morale. Theo starts as Clive's enemy, becomes his friend, shuns him in the wake of Germany's defeat in the First War but is reconciled with Clive when the Nazis come to power in Germany. Theo's rejection of Clive's friendship after the First War seems to echo the resentment felt by Germany as the victors handed down punative reparations that added insult to wounded national pride. However, Theo rejects the 'restore pride at any cost' route taken by the Nazis just as Clive cannot contemplate waging war without 'rules'. In fact, it is Theo who tries to convince Clive that the only way the Nazis will be stopped is by ditching any notion of an 'honourable war'.
As Stephen Fry and others have said, it is a film that looks at "what it means to be English". Clive Wynn-Candy, far from being a dusty relic of a bygone age, is shown to be the man he is because of his experiences and his genuine decency has arisen from his training, his life and his sense of duty. Clive is the history of Britain embodied in one man's life. Add to this gorgeous colour photography and great acting by the leads and I think it results in a film to delight on several levels.
2. A Matter of Life and Death
Another Powell-Pressburger gem (I thought I'd get them out of the way first!). David Niven plays Peter Carter, the pilot of a crippled bomber returning to base after a bombing run in Germany. All his crew are dead and he has no parachute. In the last few minutes before he takes his chances by bailing into the sea (and almost certain death), he talks to June, a US radio-operator based in Britain. Jokingly, he promises to meet up with her when he 'lands'. Against all the odds, he wakes up on a beach having been washed ashore. Somehow, he is alive! Peter meets up with June and they fall in love. However, Conductor 71 (Marius Goring) arrives from the afterlife to tell Peter that he should have died and he (the Conductor), is here to 'collect' him. Peter argues that he cannot go as he has fallen in love and it is not his fault that he was missed for 'collection'. Conductor 71 agrees that Peter should be allowed to argue his case in the afterlife to determine if he lives or dies. Upon revealing these 'visions' to June, she, in turn, tells them to a friend, Dr Reeves (Roger Livesey again) who interprets them as symptoms of a brain injury sustained when he bailed from the stricken bomber. A battle for Peter's continued existence ensues both on Earth (on the operating table as he undergoes brain surgery) and in the afterlife as he argues his case for contiuing to live. Which is 'real'?
There is so much to love about this film. On the one hand it is a brilliantly romantic love story and probably just the sort of escapism that audiences wanted to see in the all-too-real aftermath of the Second World War. David Niven is suitably dashing and terribly British while Kim Hunter as June is a beautiful all-Americal gal and, together, they make a lovely couple. However, there was a little more to the film than just a love story (wouldn't you know!). It was originally suggested that the film might be a vehicle to help smooth Anglo-American relations which had been strained somewhat through the thousands of US service personnel that had been stationed in the UK in the months leading up to D-Day and beyond. There were many stories of US servicemen marrying British women (GI Brides), so Powell and Pressburger reverse this and have the American girl fall for the British boy. In order that Peter's case for continued life is given the harshest possible examination in the court in the afterlife, the 'prosecuting' counsel is an Americal revolutionary killed at that hand of the Brits who tries to argue that no daughter of the Revolution could ever love a Brit. The evidence to prove otherwise is...I won't say - you'll have to watch the film!
It is also remarkable for a couple more things. Firstly, having the newish area of medicine/surgery - neurosurgery - as a central theme. This either 'explains' the visions Peter has or, if we go with the more magical 'reality' (remember, no explanation is ever given for how Peter survived falling from the aircraft), allows an Earthly resolution to the fact of Peter's brain injury. Certainly, there are references to particular things in the film that point to a brain injury (Peter imagines smells which can be a symptom of the injury he has) and care was taken that the medical 'facts' used in the film were correct. Secondly, and my favourite, the afterlife in AMOLAD is in black & white! This is in direct contrast to The Wizard of Oz, where reality is in black & white, while fantasy (Oz) is in eye-popping colour. To me, this kind of makes sense: we live in a world of colour, so 'unreality' should be different and the most straightforward change is to remove the colour. It makes the trial scenes all the better for it, too!
So, there we are: two films by the same auteurs (Powell & Pressburger), both featuring 'Life and Death' in the title and both more than worthy of your immediate attention.
1. The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp
This film, released in 1943, is a producion of The Archers (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger) who wrote, produced and directed it. It stars Roger Livesey as Clive Wynn-Candy VC, Deborah Kerr in a triple role as the object of Wynn-Candy's affection (to varying degrees) over the course of his life and Anton Walbrook as Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff, a German who Wynn-Candy meets as a adversary in a duel but goes on to be his life-long friend. The story is told, for the most part, in flashback with the start and the end of the film set in the present (1943) and the bulk of the film telling us how Wynn-Candy became the man he is.
It is ostensibly a film about one man's life: from a young, decorated officer of the Boer War who goes on, via the First and Second Wars to be seen as something of a crusty old stick-in-the mud, a man whose sense of honour and decency is no longer valid to be fighting a war against the Nazis, a foe that does not recognise the honour code he still clings to. So, it is a film about the rights and wrongs of holding fast to 'absolute' moral values in a world that has changed dramatically. In effect, the tactics of the Nazis has meant that for some characters in the film, the gloves have come off and there is a need to fight back just as dirtily. But is the this 'the British way'? Should we 'lower' ourselves to their level? It is a question that is still relevant in the face of terror attacks today.
Equally, it is a brave film that, in 1943, chose to portray a sympathetic German character whilst, at the same time, having to keep up morale. Theo starts as Clive's enemy, becomes his friend, shuns him in the wake of Germany's defeat in the First War but is reconciled with Clive when the Nazis come to power in Germany. Theo's rejection of Clive's friendship after the First War seems to echo the resentment felt by Germany as the victors handed down punative reparations that added insult to wounded national pride. However, Theo rejects the 'restore pride at any cost' route taken by the Nazis just as Clive cannot contemplate waging war without 'rules'. In fact, it is Theo who tries to convince Clive that the only way the Nazis will be stopped is by ditching any notion of an 'honourable war'.
As Stephen Fry and others have said, it is a film that looks at "what it means to be English". Clive Wynn-Candy, far from being a dusty relic of a bygone age, is shown to be the man he is because of his experiences and his genuine decency has arisen from his training, his life and his sense of duty. Clive is the history of Britain embodied in one man's life. Add to this gorgeous colour photography and great acting by the leads and I think it results in a film to delight on several levels.
2. A Matter of Life and Death
Another Powell-Pressburger gem (I thought I'd get them out of the way first!). David Niven plays Peter Carter, the pilot of a crippled bomber returning to base after a bombing run in Germany. All his crew are dead and he has no parachute. In the last few minutes before he takes his chances by bailing into the sea (and almost certain death), he talks to June, a US radio-operator based in Britain. Jokingly, he promises to meet up with her when he 'lands'. Against all the odds, he wakes up on a beach having been washed ashore. Somehow, he is alive! Peter meets up with June and they fall in love. However, Conductor 71 (Marius Goring) arrives from the afterlife to tell Peter that he should have died and he (the Conductor), is here to 'collect' him. Peter argues that he cannot go as he has fallen in love and it is not his fault that he was missed for 'collection'. Conductor 71 agrees that Peter should be allowed to argue his case in the afterlife to determine if he lives or dies. Upon revealing these 'visions' to June, she, in turn, tells them to a friend, Dr Reeves (Roger Livesey again) who interprets them as symptoms of a brain injury sustained when he bailed from the stricken bomber. A battle for Peter's continued existence ensues both on Earth (on the operating table as he undergoes brain surgery) and in the afterlife as he argues his case for contiuing to live. Which is 'real'?
There is so much to love about this film. On the one hand it is a brilliantly romantic love story and probably just the sort of escapism that audiences wanted to see in the all-too-real aftermath of the Second World War. David Niven is suitably dashing and terribly British while Kim Hunter as June is a beautiful all-Americal gal and, together, they make a lovely couple. However, there was a little more to the film than just a love story (wouldn't you know!). It was originally suggested that the film might be a vehicle to help smooth Anglo-American relations which had been strained somewhat through the thousands of US service personnel that had been stationed in the UK in the months leading up to D-Day and beyond. There were many stories of US servicemen marrying British women (GI Brides), so Powell and Pressburger reverse this and have the American girl fall for the British boy. In order that Peter's case for continued life is given the harshest possible examination in the court in the afterlife, the 'prosecuting' counsel is an Americal revolutionary killed at that hand of the Brits who tries to argue that no daughter of the Revolution could ever love a Brit. The evidence to prove otherwise is...I won't say - you'll have to watch the film!
It is also remarkable for a couple more things. Firstly, having the newish area of medicine/surgery - neurosurgery - as a central theme. This either 'explains' the visions Peter has or, if we go with the more magical 'reality' (remember, no explanation is ever given for how Peter survived falling from the aircraft), allows an Earthly resolution to the fact of Peter's brain injury. Certainly, there are references to particular things in the film that point to a brain injury (Peter imagines smells which can be a symptom of the injury he has) and care was taken that the medical 'facts' used in the film were correct. Secondly, and my favourite, the afterlife in AMOLAD is in black & white! This is in direct contrast to The Wizard of Oz, where reality is in black & white, while fantasy (Oz) is in eye-popping colour. To me, this kind of makes sense: we live in a world of colour, so 'unreality' should be different and the most straightforward change is to remove the colour. It makes the trial scenes all the better for it, too!
So, there we are: two films by the same auteurs (Powell & Pressburger), both featuring 'Life and Death' in the title and both more than worthy of your immediate attention.
Tuesday, 14 April 2015
The Transporter
Which sense is the most powerful generator of memories? Although we might think that sight or hearing would be the most obvious contenders given that we rely so heavily on them on a daily basis, it is in fact smell. Studies have proved that smells are more likely to be evocative of a time and/or a place than either a sound or a picture associated with that place or time. I'm going to stretch this a little to include taste which, obviously, is very closely associated with the olfactory sense. In that way, I can demostrate the power of smell/taste as a transporter back to a point in the past by reference to Proust's 'À la Recherche du Temps Perdu', a spawling work which starts with the narrator's 'involuntary memory' as he calls it being triggered by the taste of a madeline cake: on tasting the cake, he is taken back to his childhood and the madelines served by his aunt. Proust, presumably without the benefit of evidence from research studies, understood the power of the olfactory and taste senses to recreate a time and a place so strongly, in such a real way.
When it happens to you, it is quite spine-tinglingly...'shocking' would be the word I would use: I am so taken aback at the completeness of the memory recreated by a smell or, more likely, a combination of smells. I have three examples - two from the past and one from only a couple of days ago.
Gardening
Just after Elaine and I left University, we found a council flat in Brixton. It was a one bedroom flat in a concrete sprawl called (ironically!) the Angell Town Estate. This place would go on to generate a very mixed bag of memories itself: it was our first 'proper' home and I was playing in a band throughout our time there (good memories) but we were broken into three times and mugged twice, once on the doorstep of the flat (definitely not so good). One day in the summer, I was pulling weeds out of the concrete trough that formed a window box on the edge of our first floor balcony. Elaine was inside putting together some lunch. The windows of the flat were open as it was a warm, sunny day. The weeds mainly consisted of clumps of grass that had taken up residence in the window box and, sometimes, in attempting to pull out a clump of grass, the grass would break off in my hand leaving the roots in place but releasing that unmistakable 'freshly-cut grass' smell in the air. At that moment, the aroma of ham salad sandwiches combined with that of the cut grass and I was taken back to a summer's day when I would have been seven or eight, my dad mowing the lawn of the house in Ealing, me collecting grass clippings and mum making ham salad sandwiches. Everything was there - I could visualise the back of the house, feel the warmth of the sun and hear my mum ask if she should bring the sandwiches out to us.
Hardware
Fairly soon after we moved to Ramsbottom, I was heading into Bury to go the B&Q for something. I can't recall what it was and I also can't recall whether or not I had already tried the hardware shop in Rammy. At Holcombe Brook, as I started to head for Longsight Road, I notice a 'proper' hardware store, the kind that has all sorts of goods displayed outside the shop from galvanised bins and wooden stepladders through to brooms and rakes. I thought I'd drop in and see if they had what I needed. As I approached the door, I noticed a sign on the glass declaring that the shop stocked paraffin. As I stepped across the threshold - boom! - the smells of the wood, of the metal of screws, locks, hasps and so forth, of the dust in the air and, most importantly, of the paraffin, all combined to take me back to Ealing once more. We used to have a paraffin heater at that time and I was often sent to the hardware shop on the high street to collect a gallon of paraffin (no worries about a child buying and handling flammable liquids back in the day!). That shop of my childhood smelled exactly like the shop I was now standing in. Again, the memories - plural - evoked were more than those associated with buying paraffin: it was the wider childhood memories related to that trip to the hardware shop - the coldness of the room that necessitated the use of the heater, trimming the wick on the heater so that it didn't smoke, even the tool used to trim it!
Wholefoods
We went into a whole food store in Brighouse last week. It sold orgainc veg, bread, pulses and grains bagged on the premises (I would guess) as well as non-food items such as 'natural' cosmetics and cleaning products. As we stepped through the door, I was immediately transported back to The Balham Food & Book Co-Operative in 1985, the first place I worked when it became clear that music superstardom wasn't going to happen quickly enough to provide actual money in our lives! That mix of the smells of the veg and the bags of pulses, herbs and muesli combining with the floral notes of the soaps and all mixed with the faint aroma of earnestness dragged me back 30 years in an instant. That sudden arcing of a spark between the 26 year old me in Balham and the 56 year old me in Yorkshire suddenly brought a smile to my face.
When it happens to you, it is quite spine-tinglingly...'shocking' would be the word I would use: I am so taken aback at the completeness of the memory recreated by a smell or, more likely, a combination of smells. I have three examples - two from the past and one from only a couple of days ago.
Gardening
Just after Elaine and I left University, we found a council flat in Brixton. It was a one bedroom flat in a concrete sprawl called (ironically!) the Angell Town Estate. This place would go on to generate a very mixed bag of memories itself: it was our first 'proper' home and I was playing in a band throughout our time there (good memories) but we were broken into three times and mugged twice, once on the doorstep of the flat (definitely not so good). One day in the summer, I was pulling weeds out of the concrete trough that formed a window box on the edge of our first floor balcony. Elaine was inside putting together some lunch. The windows of the flat were open as it was a warm, sunny day. The weeds mainly consisted of clumps of grass that had taken up residence in the window box and, sometimes, in attempting to pull out a clump of grass, the grass would break off in my hand leaving the roots in place but releasing that unmistakable 'freshly-cut grass' smell in the air. At that moment, the aroma of ham salad sandwiches combined with that of the cut grass and I was taken back to a summer's day when I would have been seven or eight, my dad mowing the lawn of the house in Ealing, me collecting grass clippings and mum making ham salad sandwiches. Everything was there - I could visualise the back of the house, feel the warmth of the sun and hear my mum ask if she should bring the sandwiches out to us.
Hardware
Fairly soon after we moved to Ramsbottom, I was heading into Bury to go the B&Q for something. I can't recall what it was and I also can't recall whether or not I had already tried the hardware shop in Rammy. At Holcombe Brook, as I started to head for Longsight Road, I notice a 'proper' hardware store, the kind that has all sorts of goods displayed outside the shop from galvanised bins and wooden stepladders through to brooms and rakes. I thought I'd drop in and see if they had what I needed. As I approached the door, I noticed a sign on the glass declaring that the shop stocked paraffin. As I stepped across the threshold - boom! - the smells of the wood, of the metal of screws, locks, hasps and so forth, of the dust in the air and, most importantly, of the paraffin, all combined to take me back to Ealing once more. We used to have a paraffin heater at that time and I was often sent to the hardware shop on the high street to collect a gallon of paraffin (no worries about a child buying and handling flammable liquids back in the day!). That shop of my childhood smelled exactly like the shop I was now standing in. Again, the memories - plural - evoked were more than those associated with buying paraffin: it was the wider childhood memories related to that trip to the hardware shop - the coldness of the room that necessitated the use of the heater, trimming the wick on the heater so that it didn't smoke, even the tool used to trim it!
Wholefoods
We went into a whole food store in Brighouse last week. It sold orgainc veg, bread, pulses and grains bagged on the premises (I would guess) as well as non-food items such as 'natural' cosmetics and cleaning products. As we stepped through the door, I was immediately transported back to The Balham Food & Book Co-Operative in 1985, the first place I worked when it became clear that music superstardom wasn't going to happen quickly enough to provide actual money in our lives! That mix of the smells of the veg and the bags of pulses, herbs and muesli combining with the floral notes of the soaps and all mixed with the faint aroma of earnestness dragged me back 30 years in an instant. That sudden arcing of a spark between the 26 year old me in Balham and the 56 year old me in Yorkshire suddenly brought a smile to my face.
Wednesday, 8 April 2015
Racing to the bottom....and beyond
I'm begining to wonder if I really 'get' social media.
For a time there, I thought that it was an absolutely fantastic thing. I'd signed upto Friends Reunited (remember that, hey?) and enjoyed looking at photos and stories from my old schools and uni. I wasn't really 'interacting' as such, so I couldn't really say that I was using it as a social tool. That was until someone who I hadn't seen for nearly 30 years posted a message to me asking how I was and wondering if I still had the guitar I used to play when I was in a band at uni (I do indeed still have it!). It was amazing! After all that time, a blast from the past appearing in my Inbox! I typed in a message in reply and waited to get a response. And waited. And waited. And...I'm still waiting. Like a man stranded on a desert island who sees a ship on the horizon, only to realise it is headed away from him, for a brief moment, there were possibilities.
One friend from Uni that I re-established a link with via FR noted that she was using FR less and had moved onto something called Facebook and I determined to give it a go. I dived into Facebook soon after and it proved to be a much more successful adventure in interaction. Lots of to-ing and fro-ing in terms of conversation, interesting things being posted, 'meeting' people outside the local or work environment as well as reuniting with more people from back in the day. After that, I tried Twitter. I set up an account, followed a few famous names and Tweeted my first Tweet (something like "Hello everyone on Twitter!" *cringes*). Of course, I sat around awaiting some interaction with absolutely zero success until, eventually, I connected with a few people that I know in the 'real' world and then, little by little, I found that posting a Tweet would lead to a 'conversation' starting. It was really quite fun and the 140 character limit provided a discipline that made me really think about ensuring clarity in each Tweet.
But (there is always a 'but', isn't there?), things started to change or, more probably, I started to see the downside pretty quickly. Firstly, there are a lot of FB postings and Tweets that still contain mudane information that is seemingly of no interest to the wider world: this is my lunch; I'm going shopping; here is a picture of my cat; *selfie* and so on. Is this merely a 21st Century version of keeping a written diary but utilising the tools and technology of the age, shared with the world but primarily for the benefit of the diary writer? Or is it a way of validating our existence in a an increasingly disconnected life in the 'real' world: as the way we live now - away from the physical community provided by relationships with others in our place of residence, the church, even, for homeworkers, the workplace - removes us from a physical acknowledgement of our existence, so we need to find another way to make ourselves heard in an increasing chaotic and congested world? I'm not really knocking this trend and I have been happy to go along with it: I have posted my share of food/cat/boring items and, no doubt, will continue to do so. After all, it hurts no-one.
Another trend, though, is a nasty development arising from Web 2.0: personal abuse and victimising. Don't get me wrong, as long as the internet has allowed Person A to express an opinion with a view to inviting comment, Persons X,Y and Z have been more than willing to respond by agreeing, disagreeing, counter-proposing or just ignoring them. Originally, it was just like a debate that one might recognise from school or the pub. However, as time has gone on, it seems that two things have happened.
Firstly, comment in many cases has been replaced by personal abuse. It is no longer enough to debate, to argue with someone. Now, it seems to be the norm to start wading in with personal attacks or foul-mouthed tirades almost from the get-go. In some cases this has even been in the form of organised and sustained attackes against individuals who have dared to speak out on a subject, the abuse even spilling over into threats of violence (the case of Mary Beard springs to mind). People feel free to say things that they would never say to their target face-to-face in the real world. The web seems to have become all about 'rights' and screw 'responsibilities'. Personally, I have found myself self-censoring to a greater degree now. I don't post some things I might like to say because I fear the response that it may generate.
The second change is possibly worse. Social media has give platforms to 'professional provocateurs' such as Katie Hopkins to 'say the unsayable'. In the past, when the main media outlets for such 'characters' as Ms Hopkins were TV, radio and newsprint, the rules governing those services would have stopped some of the more extreme views she promotes from reaching us. If she did get something printed or broadcast, we could largely ignore her output by not buying the paper she writes for or not watching programmes in which she appeared. Now, via the facility of Twitter, she is able to promote the most extreme and ignorant views without any handbrake to hold back her juggernaut. The more she provokes, the more column inches she generates and the more TV appearances she gets. Ker-ching! She is not winning friends because, in her view, being 'Britain's biggest bitch' (her description) is a career choice and one that she is successfully pursuing. Unfortunately, she will convince others that this is a viable career path. I, for one, do not want to see any lingering sense of community or decency further eroded by the unthinking, unfeeling "I can say what I like!" brigade.
I thought I 'got' social media. The emphasis was on the 'social' element and all was fine and dandy. Unfortunately, in an age of reality TV where unearned or transient celebrity trumps hard-won and enduring achievement, and in a Britain where the 'haves' now feel free to openly scorn and deride the 'have-nots', the 'media' element is now in the ascendent: Twitter and Facebook let us all star in our very own little reality broadcasts and lets us forget any sense of self-censorship. And, as we become anaesthetised to each new low, what will we need to do to make ourselves stand out from the social media crowd going forward?
For a time there, I thought that it was an absolutely fantastic thing. I'd signed upto Friends Reunited (remember that, hey?) and enjoyed looking at photos and stories from my old schools and uni. I wasn't really 'interacting' as such, so I couldn't really say that I was using it as a social tool. That was until someone who I hadn't seen for nearly 30 years posted a message to me asking how I was and wondering if I still had the guitar I used to play when I was in a band at uni (I do indeed still have it!). It was amazing! After all that time, a blast from the past appearing in my Inbox! I typed in a message in reply and waited to get a response. And waited. And waited. And...I'm still waiting. Like a man stranded on a desert island who sees a ship on the horizon, only to realise it is headed away from him, for a brief moment, there were possibilities.
One friend from Uni that I re-established a link with via FR noted that she was using FR less and had moved onto something called Facebook and I determined to give it a go. I dived into Facebook soon after and it proved to be a much more successful adventure in interaction. Lots of to-ing and fro-ing in terms of conversation, interesting things being posted, 'meeting' people outside the local or work environment as well as reuniting with more people from back in the day. After that, I tried Twitter. I set up an account, followed a few famous names and Tweeted my first Tweet (something like "Hello everyone on Twitter!" *cringes*). Of course, I sat around awaiting some interaction with absolutely zero success until, eventually, I connected with a few people that I know in the 'real' world and then, little by little, I found that posting a Tweet would lead to a 'conversation' starting. It was really quite fun and the 140 character limit provided a discipline that made me really think about ensuring clarity in each Tweet.
But (there is always a 'but', isn't there?), things started to change or, more probably, I started to see the downside pretty quickly. Firstly, there are a lot of FB postings and Tweets that still contain mudane information that is seemingly of no interest to the wider world: this is my lunch; I'm going shopping; here is a picture of my cat; *selfie* and so on. Is this merely a 21st Century version of keeping a written diary but utilising the tools and technology of the age, shared with the world but primarily for the benefit of the diary writer? Or is it a way of validating our existence in a an increasingly disconnected life in the 'real' world: as the way we live now - away from the physical community provided by relationships with others in our place of residence, the church, even, for homeworkers, the workplace - removes us from a physical acknowledgement of our existence, so we need to find another way to make ourselves heard in an increasing chaotic and congested world? I'm not really knocking this trend and I have been happy to go along with it: I have posted my share of food/cat/boring items and, no doubt, will continue to do so. After all, it hurts no-one.
Another trend, though, is a nasty development arising from Web 2.0: personal abuse and victimising. Don't get me wrong, as long as the internet has allowed Person A to express an opinion with a view to inviting comment, Persons X,Y and Z have been more than willing to respond by agreeing, disagreeing, counter-proposing or just ignoring them. Originally, it was just like a debate that one might recognise from school or the pub. However, as time has gone on, it seems that two things have happened.
Firstly, comment in many cases has been replaced by personal abuse. It is no longer enough to debate, to argue with someone. Now, it seems to be the norm to start wading in with personal attacks or foul-mouthed tirades almost from the get-go. In some cases this has even been in the form of organised and sustained attackes against individuals who have dared to speak out on a subject, the abuse even spilling over into threats of violence (the case of Mary Beard springs to mind). People feel free to say things that they would never say to their target face-to-face in the real world. The web seems to have become all about 'rights' and screw 'responsibilities'. Personally, I have found myself self-censoring to a greater degree now. I don't post some things I might like to say because I fear the response that it may generate.
The second change is possibly worse. Social media has give platforms to 'professional provocateurs' such as Katie Hopkins to 'say the unsayable'. In the past, when the main media outlets for such 'characters' as Ms Hopkins were TV, radio and newsprint, the rules governing those services would have stopped some of the more extreme views she promotes from reaching us. If she did get something printed or broadcast, we could largely ignore her output by not buying the paper she writes for or not watching programmes in which she appeared. Now, via the facility of Twitter, she is able to promote the most extreme and ignorant views without any handbrake to hold back her juggernaut. The more she provokes, the more column inches she generates and the more TV appearances she gets. Ker-ching! She is not winning friends because, in her view, being 'Britain's biggest bitch' (her description) is a career choice and one that she is successfully pursuing. Unfortunately, she will convince others that this is a viable career path. I, for one, do not want to see any lingering sense of community or decency further eroded by the unthinking, unfeeling "I can say what I like!" brigade.
I thought I 'got' social media. The emphasis was on the 'social' element and all was fine and dandy. Unfortunately, in an age of reality TV where unearned or transient celebrity trumps hard-won and enduring achievement, and in a Britain where the 'haves' now feel free to openly scorn and deride the 'have-nots', the 'media' element is now in the ascendent: Twitter and Facebook let us all star in our very own little reality broadcasts and lets us forget any sense of self-censorship. And, as we become anaesthetised to each new low, what will we need to do to make ourselves stand out from the social media crowd going forward?
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