I woke up late yesterday. More specifically, the baby woke up late, having fallen asleep on me. Almost as soon as she stirred, the window shutters started rattling. Someone was outside, and they wanted my attention. There are three main doors to our home, any of which could be taken to be a ‘front’ door, so there was an awkward exercise in chasing the knocks around the house, as they migrated from one shuttered door to another. Eventually I gave up chasing and just started shouting ‘bonjour’ from one of the doors, in the home the knocking might come to me. They did, in the form of one of my neighbours, who happens to also be a hunter. In his hand, he held aloft a foot. My French, after four months, is still not very strong at all, but I understood enough to tell that this was a deer leg, hunted on our land, and was now being presented as a gift. It was not just a leg, for once I found the time to butcher and freeze the huge amount of meat that had been presented, I discovered a whole rack of ribs (and potentially less useful complete spine) hidden underneath the leg. This, oddly enough, is normal. I’m still discovering the full joys of rural France, and, after nine days of constant rain which flooded out one of our fields, and various portions of the roof, it’s certainly not all a walk in the park. However, the generosity of our local community has been consistently surprising, through to astounding. I tried to work out the relative cost value of the amount of meat that now sits in my freezer, and it must be upwards of €60-70, and that is probably a conservative guess. The same neighbour had also turned up on Christmas day with a brace of pheasants. In the time between the pheasants and the deer, we have had pastries, parsnips, and diet sensitive gluten free crackers delivered (same neighbours have got to grips with the household dietary restrictions better than others), all with cheerful expressions of interest into our well-being with offers of help with various activities. I have no grounds for comparison, having lived nowhere else in France prior to where we are now in the Parc naturel régional Périgord Limousin, so I don’t know if this is just the norm for rural France, or if we are just exceptionally lucky. That being said, our general wanderings in the surrounding villages and small towns near to us, seems to suggest the conviviality of our southern rural communities tends to be reasonably consistent. I do know that I am incredibly grateful for who we have found as neighbours. It’s one of those unknown quantities. You can fall in love with a house, and a landscape, but you have no way of knowing who your neighbours are. We tried our best to find out. Having settled on a home in France, we committed to revisiting the area for a week, prior to making any final decisions, or signing away every penny that we had at our disposal, and plunging into the unknown. This involved attending an inter-village games in the community. Here we met the bulk of two rival villages, and we engaged in conversation with French, Dutch and Anglo residents. There was a warmth enough to convince us that there was a community which we could thrive within. So far, we have only been reassured by that decision. Community – something lamented by so many today as being a concept lost. The idea of being able to ask your neighbours for help seems alien, but even just knowing who your neighbours are seems an abstract concept. It certainly was when we were living in Wales. Here, that is so different. Here, if we don’t see our neighbours for a few days, they get worried, prepare some food, and come knocking at the door to make sure we are okay – it is a remarkably heartening experience. There are no doubt many pitfalls yet to be seen, and climbed out of. Winter, for instance, is, we are told, particularly heinous here in February. There is a slightly macabre story about the funeral of the previous resident of our home. When he was due to be buried, the ground temperatures here had dropped to -18 degrees. It was as if the ground was rejecting him, and the heavy duty JCBs were called in, where normally hand and shovel might suffice. So, -18…that’s something to look forward to when it comes. Should it happen though, I think we can take solace and confidence from the fact that our neighbours will be on hand, to dig us out and keep us fed if the worst comes to the worst. All I can say, is that France and it’s people have been remarkable good to us, and we hope that can, in some small way, be good to it in return. Here’s to the next four months!
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Just a quick post to draw attention to the coming of the Llanfihangel Tor y Mynydd, Mari Lwyd. Taking place in and around The Star Inn (Llansoy, so it is branded) on the 6th of January, the Llanfihangel Mari Lwyd is now in its eighteenth year. I was giving a talk on the Mari Lwyd tradition last autumn, when it dawned on me just how long we have kept this ‘revival’ going. It might not be an ancient Mari Lwyd [none of them are] but it is certainly well established. Over the years, the Llanfihangel Mari Lwyd has grown, contracted, grown and contracted again – the contractions seem to have a direct correlation to our insistence on keeping the Mari on the 6th, which, more often than not, falls on a week day work night. Either way, regardless of how many turn up, the Mari Lwyd has not failed to stride out on the 6th since its’ first appearance in 1999. One year, when the community was snowbound, the Mari failed to reach the pub, but it could still be spotted wandering around the lanes and footpaths. So, a warm welcome is extended to all. No guarantees as to what exactly will take place, but it is in a pub, so there will be drink, and at least a song or two! The Mari Lwyd is an entertainingly bizarre, macabre and enjoyable example of Welsh intangible cultural heritage, and well worth experiencing at least once if you can. It’s been a slightly surreal start to the year. Looking beyond my finite, personal bubble (within which everything is going pretty well), there is no sense of optimism or hope. Those ideals which you like to scrabble for in the illusory nature of the re-birth of the year, are missing. Instead there is just a succession of ticking clocks – a countdown to Trump, a countdown to Article 50, and, if you really want to be bleak about things, a countdown to a General Election. That all being said, depending on which side of the political fence you find yourself on, this is actually a glorious period where all is well, and the giant heap of shit which was 2016 is actually a stockpile of fertilizer which will be used to herald in the rose bushes of 2017. It is optimism built on negligence, self-interest, and wilful ignorance. In the first few days of 2017 I’ve spotted some of the more degenerative voices of the political spectrum hailing 2016 as a ‘glorious year’. Douglas Carswell and, my local MP and general attention seeking xenophobe, David Davies both spouted on about how wonderful 2016 was. Davies went so far as to describe this as the greatest political period since the fall of the Berlin Wall. Yet, even the most hard-Brexit inclined, historically naïve and, again, xenophobic of elected representatives must surely reflect on 2016 as one of the worst political years since the 1980s, namely because an MP was gunned down and murdered. I wondered at the time of the death of Jo Cox, how long it would take for her loss to be forgotten. Granted, the most divisive of Prime Ministers had the gall to quote Cox in her Christmas message to ‘the people’ [a phrase which I presume now only applies to Leave voters, the rest of us all being ‘lefty commies who can jump off a bridge’], but it felt like a ghastly shadow, words of meaning rendered hollow by the grim spectre now uttering them. Generally though, those on the right, even the centre-right, have seemingly allowed the brutal murder of a sitting MP to just slip out of the consciousness. Even a passing mention by the likes of Carswell and Davies would do, an acknowledgement that even in their festival of triumphalism, that something utterly terrible had been inflicted on the political community. Yet, it was not the political community that was attacked, it was the left. More specifically, the murder of Jo Cox was an attack on a woman, a mother, and a single elected representative. The symbolism though is inescapable, both in the moment of the crime and in its treatment come the New Year. This was a clear attack on a left inclined politician. That her death has been so consistently ignored and forgotten by centre-right and beyond should be at the very least a cause for concern. In this new “post-Brexit” Britain [always remembering that Brexit is not even close to happening yet] where we are all being encouraged to reconcile our differences, it is perhaps worth dwelling on who, specifically is being asked to reconcile. From where I sit, these calls are very much focused on the left and the Remain voters, those who have been pushed, barged and barracked into the background. It is we who are being asked to ‘reconcile’; otherwise known as ‘giving up’. Let me phrase it another way, if the centre-right and beyond are comfortable in their selective ignorance of Jo Cox in their reflections on the political year, what else might they be willing to ignore? The banner tops are circulating on social media, hailing the democratic expression of 17 million voters supporting a cause, the greatest demonstration of support for a cause in British parliamentary history, so they say. Equally, the reverse narrative, of 16 million voters opposing a cause, the greatest demonstration of opposition for a cause in British parliamentary history, is of no consequence. While 17 million votes being cast for an as yet undefined entity should not be ignored, neither should 16 million voices who oppose supporting something which isn’t really a thing, and shows no sign of being something any time soon. Brexit was not so much a case of Turkeys voting for Christmas, but Turkeys voting for something that might be Christmas, or it could be Easter, or something altogether secular, we’ll let you know once we get there. The only certainty is that there is a loud, political, right wing collective of voices, who are determined to shout down any opposition, and it should scare us. It should scare us that the same cabal can turn a blind eye to the radicalisation of the white, working classes that is being perpetrated by the likes of the Daily Mail. It should scare us that the most educated in society are being ridiculed because they have earned a position of respect in their chosen field based on years of dedication. It should scare us that, for many, Jo Cox may as well not have existed. I’m happy in my bubble, because beyond the bubble, I see very little reason for optimism and hope. The divisions are there, and they will not go away when the mood of one side is to shout down and mock the voice of the other. I suppose the long and short of is this. While leading political voices and the most popular papers of the day wilfully overlook the worst extremes of right wing politically expressed anger, violence and extremism, just remember and reflect on this, 2016 was the year in which an MP was murdered. 2016 was not glorious, it was not successful. It was sad, and very scary. There have been some notable buzzwords and phrases in 2016. ‘Brexit’ and ‘Trump’ are likely to be the ones to have the longer-term impacts, but let’s give due acknowledgment to the presence of things being ‘great’ and ‘beautiful’, while never forgetting that what we are always trying to do is to ‘take back control’ of something from someone (though the someone tends to be ambiguous to amorphous at best). Somehow, the conflagration of the above terminologies have all come to be associated with success (or fear, depending on how you voted). The one jargon phrase or description, however, to become most closely associated with something bad, out of touch, sinister even, is ‘liberal elite’.
I’ve been wrestling with the idea of the ‘liberal elite’ for some weeks now. As I rattle around on a train bound for London, to participate in an international conference on the role and importance of ‘memory’, I am forced to ask, am I the liberal elite? The evidence does not stack up favourably against me. After all, in my day job I am a university lecturer. I teach on a history degree, Early Modern stuff mostly (though I do moonlight on archaeology and heritage from time to time) – what in other countries would be loosely described as a liberal arts degree. Holding a PhD with a growing publishing record, I imagine I fall into that much-maligned category of expert – so two strikes against me. Of course, I am also about to attend a humanities conference, on a weekend of all things, so surely I am doomed – I must be the living embodiment of the liberal elite. That being said, I rarely feel elite; certainly, not in terms of fiscal considerations. Having lost one job (well, my liberal elite university was closed down by financial manager types, so it wasn’t really my fault), I had to give up the home I could no longer afford to run and move back to the old family home (three generations under one roof, that’s some 1960s style quality of living). I now conflate a variety of part time teaching jobs to sustain myself, but that is what I do, I am sustained, I exist – and before you ask, the only way I can do this conference and cover travel is through research funding. Based on my own financial status, I would not be able to afford it. So, I’m definitely not a financial elite. So perhaps I derive my power, as a liberal elite, over the political spectrum. Over the years I have voted for the Lib Dems (still feeling hurt), Greens (worth a shot, once), Plaid Cymru (still in hope) and there was even a time when I voted for Labour (I was young, and in south Wales – where you did as you were told). In all that time, I have never, not one single time, seen a candidate I voted for returned into power. In Wales, we have regional ‘top-up’ proportional representation seats, and I have been ‘proportionally represented’ in that regard, but otherwise, I am still in want of a voice in political power. The same might be said of the island wide referendums of late – AV = failure, Remain = failure. Indeed, if I try to find a period in my entire life when there was a ‘liberal’ voice in the ascendance, it must have passed me by (the coalition governments featuring Lib-Dems serving as a very poor substitute). So, no sense of the elite in terms of national politics. Is it in the media perhaps? Well, as I walk past newsstands, I tend to see a flurry of prominently placed, bold black type, statements of hate and isolationism, as the dominance of the right-wing print media squeezes the sector. I find television newscasters falling over themselves to promote the voice of the far right in popular politics, while anything centre left and beyond, appears to be a comic irrelevance. If the liberal elite control the media, then they are doing a remarkably good job of disguising the fact. Ultimately, I can only conclude that when the ‘liberal elite’ are cited, what people are actually citing, are struggling academics whose voice are not represented at any prominent level of government and who barely make an impact in the media. Heck, I can say confidently that, as a lecturer, the last decade has suggested to me that us lecturers are not always particularly welcome in the university sector either. I am liberal, but in no way practical way am I an elite. The other popular definition, most recently reinforced by our unelected Prime minister, is that the liberal elite pour scorn on those whose views conflict with their own – namely, spouting derision at those to have voted for Brexit. Well, you know what, I suppose this is where I really am guilty, because I consistently pour scorn on those who voted for Brexit. I had the displeasure of an evening in the company of a Brexiter a few nights ago. He could not contain himself in saying the national courts should back off [specifically stating that ‘that was democracy’, seemingly blissfully ignorant of his own hypocrisy] and that within ten years Britain would be entering a golden age (perhaps Golden Dawn would be more appropriate) of prosperity by being ‘out’…before citing that we would always be travelling freely in Europe and that ‘they’ would always trade with us on our terms because ‘they need us more’…I was on best behaviour. I could have ruined the evening, but I held my tongue – what a well behaved liberal elite I was that night… But no, his conflation of being ‘out’ with a classic retention of rights regarding all the things that the EU have cited could not be retained, is the exact sort of moronicry (yes, I am that much of a liberal elitist that I am creating my own words) that I can’t stand. The rationale presented to me that night, during the campaign, and beyond, has felt nothing short of moronic, isolationist and damaging. I’m yet to be convinced that not being willing to accept spurious through to stupid arguments makes you in some way a bad person, yet that is what the liberal elite are, in this instance, made out to be. Should I care about the consequences? Well, because as a member of the ‘liberal elite’, I am also held to account over being concerned about the well-being of others. Yes folks, that is part of the definition, that the liberal elite profess to care about others beyond themselves – what terrible people we are! Surely it would be much better if we got on board with the popularist rages of the day, that solutions are only to be found in the punishing of, or demonising the ‘other’, that all societal ills can be rectified by a symbolic withdrawal from a union that our politicians are now scrabbling to retain trading links with. No, I do not believe in any of that. I believe in the exact opposite, and I will not compromise my views to appease a vocal right wing media. And yes, I do care about others. However, I’ve done my days on constructions sites to earn a living, I’ve served food to wealthy (no doubt members of the liberal elite) shoppers in Cardiff when I lost my teaching job, and I’ve gone through the shame inducing punishment laden benefit system when employment opportunities dried up – yes, I’m liberal in my politics and yes, I’m elite in my judgement of stupid voting decisions, but my care for others is informed not by long distance ‘liberal preconceptions’, but by my own experience of being in the same position of poverty that so many others in this country find themselves today. I was lucky – I had the support of family and, in the end, a job in a field where I can actually use my knowledge and skills. That does not render worthless the experiences I went through when times were not so good. I know what it is like at that end of society, I care about those in it, and I will not support a political mandate that will, indeed can only result in the increased marginalisation of those worst off now. So, you know what, screw it, I am the liberal elite. If you voted for Brexit, I do judge you and I, categorically, do not respect you and question your judgement and, in part, morality. Yet, unless the unelected leader of this country decides to formally dispense with the thin veneer of democracy that remains on this island, I am well within my rights to have these feelings, to express these sentiments and to not be cowed by the, what is it, ‘minority…minority’? Is that the opposite of the ‘liberal elite’? Put to one side, I suppose, the fact that the ‘minority minority’ run government, run the media and have dictated the future economic course of the country for the foreseeable future, essentially, running everything outside of contemporary art prize funds (though it is only a matter of time). No, I will speak, and I hope and pray that the rest of the ‘liberal elite’ embrace what they are, and keep speaking and keep judging. The second we stop, then there really will be no opposition, and the demonising of immigrant/foreigner/disabled/poor will only continue to the point when we really would need an insurrection to re-set the country. That, perhaps, is a thought for another time…if there is another time…as a historian, and as part of the liberal elite, one wonders how long we have left, before the black shirts come knocking. Having survived at least three television debates of such lethal cunning, Dave and Boris finally emerged together in a dark, vacuous cavern. A 129 year old Joseph Bech greets them with a tweak of his moustache and a tip of his dusty fedora. “You are strangely dressed for knights” he remarks. “We’re not knights yet”, Dave replies, “but we will be the second we retire”.
Toward the rear of the cavern stand some thirty glittering, golden cups, each one full of more promise than the last. Boris can barely contain himself, his eyes reflecting the inviting shine of gems and a golden future [ed. shouldn’t that be “Golden Dawn”?]. “Which one is it, which future do I choose?” There were many options for Boris to choose from, but he could not seem to make a firm commitment to any of them. Bech tries to offer advice, whilst munching on a potato pancake. “You must choose a future. But choose wisely. For as the true grail will bring the UK economy to life, the false grail will take it away.” Boris ponders for a moment. He takes a breath, tousles his own hair, and after stuttering for fifteen to twenty minutes says “well as you all know, I am a historian, but I have no idea what the future looks like, and frankly, I’m prepared to apologise if I pick the wrong one. Now, which one is it?” An Austrian bureaucrat steps out of the shadows and says “let me choose, I have a PhD”. For a moment Boris looks relieved, the pressure is off of him. But then, a voice calls from far away, faintly resembling Michael Gove, “don’t listen to her, she’s a goddamn expert!” Remembering that his entire expedition was funded on the proviso that expert advice be shunned at all times, Boris ushers the Austrian away. “If I’m going to lead” announces Boris “I must do so in total isolation”. Striding forward with a new sense of purpose, whilst waving a miniature Union Jack, Boris reaches for the heaviest, most jewel encrusted cup he can find. Through watering eyes Boris gushes “this future is more beautiful than I’d ever imagined.” It seems implausibly pretty, as if this one cup can solve all of the problems in the UK with one swig. Without a second thought, that is exactly what Boris does, and drinks greedily from the goblet of promise. “Here’s to everlasting economic growth and migrant free trade deals.” There is a glow of satisfaction, Boris knew he had won. But then he is struck by a crippling pain in his chest. Burdened by the weight of unrealistic economic and immigration promises, Boris begins to age rapidly, his body thins, the fat literally falling from his face. Within seconds he is transformed into his father, Stanley, and suddenly his views on this whole EU situation instantly change. Bech smirks “he chose…poorly.” So it is left to Dave. He steps up, pensive, but channelling the spirit of Churchill, whispers to himself “I’ve come this far on Europe, I won’t give up on it now.” Surveying all of the options in front of him, Dave concludes “the future won’t be made of gold.” In the midst of all the shining and attractive promises, stands a single, bland goblet. The cup is worn around the edges, dented in places, with a couple of chips in the glaze. “That’s the cup of the status quo” states Dave confidently. The Austrian expert quietly agrees. “Only one way to find out”, and Dave drains the water from his battered cup. Turning anxiously back to Bech, Dave asks pleadingly with his eyes. Bech smiles, “you have chosen wisely. But the grail cannot pass the great seal, now that you’ve got it don’t go running off to Turkey with it or anything daft like that.” “And immortality, am I immortal now?” Dave asks with a genuine sense of anticipation. “What?” An incredulous Bech responds, “immortal, no, of course not. Frankly I think your position was going to be pretty much untenable however this played out.” “But, I don’t feel any different, I don’t feel any better…” Dave whimpers with disappointment. “Well, you wouldn’t, nothing has changed. You’ve chosen the status quo, so things will be pretty much as they were.” “Well, that’s not very exciting”, Dave mutters whilst looking down, lazily kicking out at a pebble. “No”, Bech responds, “but economic stability, maintaining close working relationships with existing partners and collectively working on resolving problems together is not exciting, but it’s better than making a choice that would tear this room in half, cause massive earthquakes and risk losing our shared wealth down a massive chasm.” “We’re not talking about grails anymore, are we?” “This was never about grails Dave, grails are exciting and dynamic, the prospect of changing something always gets the heart rate up, but you’ve got to ask yourself, is that change for the better?” “So, have we ditched the Indiana Jones metaphor?” “Yes, Indy has served his purpose, we’ve taken it as far as it can go, plus, an extended 1989 film reference might be lost on a lot of people reading this.” “It’s lost on me, I mean, I’m a cool cat an’ all, I’ve certainly heard of Indiana Jones, and he was great in Star Wars…” “Shut up Dave, frankly, nobody wanted to hear from you on any of this in the first place. The important things to take from this, if you’ve stuck with it this long, is that all that shines with glitter and gold, is rarely something of substance. We have been given gold plate covered promises. Scratch the surface, and commitments from the Leave camp on the economy, immigration, the NHS, funding for subsidies, heck, even regarding sovereignty (there being all sorts of other international organisations to whom we [sorry, “you”, I forget I am voicing a deceased politician from Luxembourg] defer our laws to, can all be shown to be built on rusted tin. There is no substance to the Leave arguments. The EU is far from perfect, but it’ a heck of a lot better than the reality facing the UK without it. Do the sensible thing on the 23rd of June. Vote In, and make Europe better from within. There is so much that is positive about British involvement within the European Union, and too much to be gambled on an ideological whim.” End credits – ride into sunset (or overcast conditions if filming in the UK). For reference sake, Farage was going to be cast in this as a support role Nazi officer, but I felt the script would be too long with his inclusion. Suffice to say, Farage is a bit of a Nazi, and we don’t like him. The Slippery Slope: British Society and Media, the loss of Jo Cox, and a frightening future.6/20/2016 This blog was first written on the 18th of June, prior to the use of the word "traitor" by the man charged with the murder of Jo Cox. I felt it was perhaps of greater significance to retain the use of the word, following the courtroom announcement. This country stands on a precipice. The death of Jo Cox, a mother and a well-respected, politically engaged, Member of Parliament, was a shocking tragedy. That we have returned to an age when our elected public representatives are seen as legitimate targets for brutal attacks, should shake us all to our core. Yet as horrific as what happened on the 16th of June might have been, it is not some symbolic end to anything. Jo Cox’s death cannot be considered as our society having reached the bottom of the slippery slope. Instead, we collectively stand at the top of it, facing a choice of whether we pull back or slide down, and face whatever oblivion might be at the end. In instances like this, there is always a window of time in which it is deemed inappropriate to make what is described as “political capital” out of the death of a public figure. Equally, there is a point in time when the opportunity to address something toxic in our society, that which led us to the tragedy in the first place, is lost. In our digital media age, where the white noise of talent shows and ninety minute patriots dominate our attentions, it is all to possible that the loss of Jo Cox will fade into memory, and the window which reveals the ‘why’ of her tragedy is closed to us. This cannot be allowed to happen. Put simply, the death of Jo Cox, is an indictment on our political leaders, our national press, and our collective nationwide disregard for the toxicity levels which we expose ourselves to. In short, we are all responsible for the death of Jo Cox. Much will be made in the coming days regarding the motivations and mental state of Thomas Mair, the man apprehended for the fatal attack on Jo Cox. Some newspapers will come to focus on so far tenuous connections to the far-right and pro-apartheid groups (evidenced by a lapsed magazine subscription), while others will choose to emphasise the questionable mental state of the assailant. Editors from left and right publications will be spinning, as subtly as they can, narratives which aim to undermine the growth of the far-right in Britain today, or weaken any narrative which might allow for the Leave EU Referendum campaign to be tarnished through association. The scrabble to associate/disassociate will be messy, poorly disguised and merely contribute to the undercurrent of poison which flows through our media. It is they who can be held responsible. Whether Thomas Mair is shown to be mentally insane, politically disinterested, politically motivated, or any of the above, it is impossible to ignore the wider cultural context in which this murder occurred. Mair, as with almost everyone in Britain today, could not have escaped one of the most brutal propaganda campaigns we have ever had to endure in British media history. Every day we receive narratives which demonise those most vulnerable and least responsible for societal ills. In turn, those narratives go on to demonise those who might stand by them. It used to be the case, indeed it almost became a British tradition, to hammer hard on a native white population claiming benefits. These were the scum of our society, bringing us all down. Today, in the wake of the noxious EU Referendum, it is migrants. Migrants, we are told by a certain cabal of hate mongering publications, are responsible for the (apparent) weakness in our economy, the lack of jobs for good British people, NHS waiting times, an overcrowded prison population, the housing crisis, the rape and murder of British citizens, and, of course, terrorism. The list could easily go on. These bold claims are consistently and easily dismissed in most instances. The narrative that current migrations levels are critical to the sustainability of the British economy is well established and argued, yet this is not the theme which will find its way onto front pages. Instead, what appears on our front pages, are sensationalist narratives which place collective blame on all migrants, regardless of background, ethnicity or circumstance. Our national newspapers, throughout the referendum campaign, have been shown to consistently exaggerate and lie. The lies are picked up, and retractions forced upon the papers, yet those retractions and apologies appear buried away in the small print of the inner pages, hidden underneath the latest round of incendiary bile. It is a rare day in British media for a publication to run their front page with the headline “Sorry, we lied”. While the narratives of fear are spun, regarding the terrible consequences for British society in the light of (so called) uncontrolled migration, those that might defend migration are portrayed as traitors. How could they not be? The London media is awash with warnings that British culture could be eroded within a matter of years, that the EU is about to disappear under a tsunami of economic migrants, while within their ranks come armies of terrorists set to launch attacks of insurmountable savagery on citizens – how could you not be a traitor if you try to defend these consequences? Indirectly of course, this is what Jo Cox, and anyone defending the position of migrants within our society, was being accused of; Cox was a traitor. Her beliefs would, indirectly of course, lead to the destruction of British civilisation as we know it, the deaths of your grandparents in a broken NHS and an ISIS flag flying over Downing Street, or some such related provocative hyperbole. The EU is the enemy, migrants are the enemy, Cox was the enemy, or that at least is what certain publications have been allowed to portray. In a cultural context where sensationalist exaggerations, and outright lies, dominate national headlines, it is inevitable that members of a general public which is unquestioning of its media, will be left angry and hostile. Muir existed in this context, in an environment where every single day, a new headline would proclaim the evils and threats of migrants. It is not just the “troubled” minds which would be led to wanting to proclaim “Britain first” in confrontation with Ministers, or members of the public, who might want to defend what is depicted as the demise of British society. Of course, our political elite are perhaps no better. After all, the likes of Gove, Johnson, Farage, Grayling and IDS who have all taken a turn to tarnish the traveller. Much has been made of the Nazi inspired anti-migrant posters proliferated by Farage and his UKIP compatriots. Who knows if they really believe what they say and warn about migrants? What we do know is that each and every one of them stands to benefit from spinning such stories. The ethics and morals of the political hierarchy has been in question for decades, from sleaze to child abuse, from expenses scandals to illegal warfare, what difference does a little demonising of migrants make at this stage? Yet politicians are politicians. They have goals to pursue and to achieve. Some may be more agreeable than others, but each has their own agenda, and that includes Cox. While these public figures are responsible for what they say and spin, they are still figures that we put there. Public representatives don’t get to represent the public without being put there by the public. In turn, they can be removed by said public. The same might be said of newspapers and television media. A right wing publication can slap whatever headline they might want on a morning edition, but we make the choice to pick it up or not. Again, we have the choice to scrutinise our media, to question the validity of the information they feed us. Given the volume of retractions forced during the Referendum campaign, certain newspapers should be treated with the same level of derision and scorn regarding the “truth” as our political leaders are, but that is not the case. As a public, we should hold our politicians accountable for their actions. We should do the same of our media. In this regard, the general populace should be held to account as much as those who might create the narratives which we consume. But we should all be held to account in the context of what happened on the 16th of June. The insane outpouring of an individual’s hatred, is a by-product of all the agenda led campaigning and lie riddled media reporting. Through our consumption of the hostility of the EU Referendum campaign, we have facilitated the creation of a country where opinions contrary to the media majority are seen as those of the enemy. Increasingly, the moderate, left of centre viewpoints which says “hold on, these migrants really aren’t that bad”, will be identified as those of the traitor. In such circumstances, two paths present themselves. Down one route is the voice of silence, where the moderates fear the reaction to their opinion, and say nothing. The other path is one of expression and freedom of speech, coupled with hostile, perhaps violent responses, designed to suppress the alternative perspective. This is the slippery slope. The death of Jo Cox is a true tragedy. In the history of British political assassinations, it is hard to think of an individual more popular, well liked and simply unlikely to be the victim of such an attack. Yet at the bottom of the slippery slope is a British Isles where the likeable, and moderate are the enemy. It is their views which will be seen as the danger to Britain. It is their views which will be silenced. As much as the right wing national media, and irresponsible and reckless political elite are to blame, so too is it the collective responsibility of the British public. We have accepted a climate of hate and fear, tolerated narratives which make enemies out of those least capable of hurting us. Every time we consume a sensationalist headline, or nod in quiet agreement when the likes of Farage finger point the migrant as being to blame, we accept a reality in which our Members of Parliament in turn, become the enemy. How long after that, do we become the enemy? How long until our opinions, against the establishment, are portrayed as traitorous? This dangerous reality does not have to happen, but our acceptance and tolerance of the path which we, as a nation, now walk, could lead us to it. We are not at the bottom of the slippery slope, but were we to ever get there, our rights and freedoms to ever complain about what we find there, will long since have gone. At time of writing, there are just four days to go until polling day for the 2016 Welsh Assembly elections, and you would be forgiven if you were surprised at that information. With the timing of the EU referendum, we were always concerned in Wales that our key national elections would be lost in a sea of barely relevant political coverage, and so it has been the case. Frankly, Wales and devolved politics in Wales, has been treated with criminal disregard by the power makers of Westminster, and this should not be forgotten in this, or future elections. That being said, we are where we are, and that is on the doorstep of potentially the most forgettable set of national elections Wales has ever seen – but they might yet be among the most important. Voter turn-out for and general awareness of Welsh Assembly elections is poor, and it is not a situation helped by things like the EU referendum. 2016 looks set to be one of the lowest voter turn-outs in many years, if not on record. This, categorically, is a terrible situation, and makes a mockery of generation’s worth of sacrifice and toil made in the name of democracy. It is also an opportunity, namely for the likes of Plaid Cymru, to make a real surge this year. Where voter turn-out is low, it is the establishment that suffers. The support base for Labour, the Tories and indeed UKIP (relatively new, but oh so establishment in their composition) is fickle, and a turn in the weather is as likely to motivate them to stay home on polling day, as the opportunity to confront injustice and social inequality is to get them to go out and vote. The Plaid vote, however, remains pretty consistent – they will vote regardless of circumstance. This creates an opportunity to force a change in the governance of Wales. Having researched the political framework in Wales following devolution (albeit focused on the culture sector) I am confident making the assertion that devolution works when Labour is forced into coalition. Phrased another way, devolution in Wales fails when Labour have a majority government. This has to change, and will do. Labour has had an opportunity to inspire in Wales, and instead they have stagnated. Important policy changes and changes to the legal framework of Wales have been made – but has anything truly exciting or transformative happened in Wales (for the better) during their administrations? It’s hard to answer that positively. The Labour hegemony in Wales is flagging, and is due some severe shocks to the system this week. I won’t advocate a coalition government, nor necessarily want one, but I do want to see a break from Labour dominance, and this wish, if nothing else, will almost certainly be granted once the results are collated. This then leaves the question of “who”? Who steps up, either as a coalition partner, minority government or, who knows, a new majority government (possible, though unlikely)? From where I’m sitting, Plaid can be seen as the only legitimate choice. In terms of policy and personality, Plaid is striking a rich balance between ideas and charisma, the likes of which the other parties cannot offer. The exception to this would be the Welsh Liberal Democrats. Undoubtedly, the most talented and forthright politician in the Welsh political community today is Kirsty Williams. Having met Kirsty several times, I say from personal experience how warm she is as an individual, but how determined she is in her political considerations. There is much to be admired here. Sadly, her party in Wales has been unfairly tainted by the Con/Lib-Dem coalition in Westminster. The hangover from that failed experiment still looms large, and with UKIP pressuring an already crowded community, it’s difficult to see where the Lib Dems can hope to muster enough support to be relevant. I’m sure this will change come the next Assembly elections, but for 2016, the toxins of coalition remain in the system. For the Tories and UKIP, two parties which I’m inclined to refuse to treat as separate entities, I still see parties which are far more concerned with what is happening across the border, than they are with the day to day of governance in Wales. Andrew R T Davies leadership has provided a welcome touch of the bulldog to proceedings. He might not be pretty to look at (in terms of his political style) but he does offer a much needed sledge hammer to the day to day of the Assembly activities. However, and I write this as someone increasingly involved in my local farming community, to see a Welsh Conservative leader, from an agricultural background, arguing vehemently for an exit from the EU (something which I can only see as being catastrophic for the farming sector in Wales) feels like an agenda led betrayal. I cannot conceive how this man has the best interests of his constituency or country at heart when making such arguments. It is a shame in a sense, because the Monmouthshire incumbent, Nick Ramsay, is standing along in east Wales, as a Conservative voice in favour of remaining within the EU. This surprised me, mainly as a bold statement from Ramsay, a politician who has long been in the shadow of his Westminster comparative, David Davies. He has flown in the face of local leadership and national (Welsh) leadership, and this is to be commended, though not to the extent of actually voting for him. I am yet to be convinced by the merits of anything UKIP have to offer Wales. What tolerable policies they do propose are largely recycled, or just brazenly stolen from established parties in Wales, while their list of intolerable policies are too numerous to cover here. What particularly galls me though, is the parachute politics performed during the selection of candidates. I am a firm believer that any elected candidate should have a continuity with their community. For anyone to be dropped in, regardless of nationality, is very poor. I resent this about other parties as well, with the dropping in of Kinnock MarkII into a safe Labour ward for the last general election, being the most onerous example I can think of. Oh, and the fact that UKIP refused to remove a clear racist from its list of regional candidates in Cardiff, that’s pretty heinous as well. Meanwhile Nathan Gill, party leader, is such an insidious character that even his own membership in Wales seem set against him. I’m not convinced that Tim Price, the Gloucester business man standing as a “local” candidate, has even been to Monmouthshire during the campaign period… As for Labour, the actual candidate in Monmouthshire is quite promising. I’ve seen Catherine Fookes speak a couple of times, and there seems to be plenty to like from what little I have been exposed to. Yet that age old issue of giving support to a stagnant Welsh Labour party, supersedes considerations of candidate quality when it comes to their party. I simply cannot justify giving any support to the party solely responsible for the terminal decline of the Welsh devolution project. A word as well for independent candidate Debby Blakebrough. I can’t comment on her personally, but I’ve worked through her pledges. Again, lots to like, with some positive ideas on education and healthcare. However, and I get the impression Blakebrough would not thanks me for suggesting this, there is little to her policies which are not replicated and better delivered by Plaid Cymru anyway. *While the Greens are standing in Monmouthshire, I have received no literature or communication from their candidate whatsoever – which is pretty much an automatic veto of support in my book. As much as I despise UKIP, at least they got in touch… Who I can talk about from personal experience is Plaid candidate Jonathan Clark. I worked with Jonathan back in the old days of the Caerleon Campus and a stand-alone University of Wales, Newport (just one of the casualties of a Labour government) and in a broader sense, enjoyed his company on several archaeological excavations. Of course, I’m biased, but I have a lot of time for archaeologists, they have a patience for learning and a desire to understand before moving forward and making a decision. All valuable traits for an elected representative. A dedicated professional, Jonathan has been fighting the Plaid cause, frequently in isolation, in Monmouthshire for years and has shown limitless dedication to his party. This is not a career politician, but a talented individual with a strong sense of public service. I can say that of all the candidates, this is the one I have the greatest confidence in as an individual. Plaid will be getting both of my votes this year. I don’t anticipate Jonathan winning his seat, but I believe that vote share sends an important message. There is a strong prospect of Plaid returning one, or potentially two regional candidates, which would be a great return. Helping to stop “too drunk to attend Parliamentary votes” Mark Reckless take a seat in Cardiff Bay should also be motivation enough for anyone in south east Wales to vote in any direction away from UKIP (and based on party reactions to his selection, that may well go for many UKIP supporters as well). 2016 will be a year of change. The Labour government will fall, UKIP will take seats in the Welsh Assembly. Beyond those certainties, everything is up for grabs. I firmly believe that a strong surge of support for Plaid, in the face of apathy elsewhere, can force a transformative change in the future governance of Wales. If you are not a fan of independence, ask yourself this – are you in favour of Wales being represented and governed by a party which prioritises Wales, and the people living within this country, above all others? If you are inclined to agree with that notion, Plaid Cymru is the only legitimate option. This is not about independence or breaking the Union, this is about putting a positive party in a position of responsibility, to make Wales better, and not let it rot for yet another term of government. If you have ever had the pleasure of visiting Caerleon, near Newport, South Wales, you will no doubt have had the opportunity to enjoy the remarkable historical landscape which survives there today. Notable features of course include the strikingly well preserved Roman amphitheatre, and tourist attractions including the Roman bath and barrack complexes. There is a later historical narrative at play here, with prominent medieval tower features overlooking the river, and a fine spread of late eighteenth - early nineteenth century buildings in the centre of the (at one time) village. There are however, much more recent additions to the landscape, which could easily be lost in the next few years. Much has been written about the demise of the university campus at Caerleon. A lot of pain has been caused and tears shed, over the loss of a teaching institution which had been central to the educational aspirations of thousands of students in south east Wales. Thanks to financial considerations and a Welsh Government educational policy which looks to the Valleys long before it looks to the east, Caerleon, Newport and the wider south east region, has been stripped of its one true higher education facility. This, however, is now a story well told and while it serves the spirit well to revisit and rant over the decisions that led us to the demise of this institution, little more can be gained from doing so. What fate awaits the physical campus though, is another matter altogether. Just as the Roman amphitheatre dominates the lower part of Caerleon, surely the striking main campus building does the same for the upper part. For over a century, the distinctive clock tower of the Caerleon Campus has loomed large, maintain a watchful eye over the community below. Like some manner of guardian, locals and visitors alike would always, in living memory, be able to look uphill and spy the tower, clock face and usual giant Welsh flag flying from on top. The main campus building has become an integral part of the landscape, and its absence should be considered unthinkable. Yet, absence and the loss of this historical educational building is a very real concern. The University of South Wales have recently launched a public appeasement exercise, attempting to ease the fears, or perhaps simply distract and dupe local residence, about their future plans for the campus. The university claims to be seeking to create a positive legacy and not, as most suspect of the organisation, sell off the campus to the highest bidder for the construction of several mega flat complexes. It has been said that while the main campus building is a concern to be kept, if it is not considered “viable” there is a good chance it will be demolished – take heed of the word “viable”. As a former member of staff at the Caerleon Campus, we were regularly told by USW of the concerns of viability. Our departments were encouraged to fight for their survival, with the threat that if we were deemed “not viable”, we would be gone. Regardless of what we did, or the validity of arguments put forward, or basic facts, we were deemed “not viable”. Track record would suggest that once this organisation starts questioning the viability of something, it means that they have already decided on the viability of whatever is in question, and deemed it fit for the chopping block. Now, it is assumed by many that the Caerleon Campus main building is a listed property, but discussion in recent weeks appears to have cast doubt on this. The assumption was that the main building was a Grade II structure – though that status would do little in real world terms to prevent major structural changes to the fabric of the building. However, a petition has now sprung up campaigning for the main building to secure listed status (whether it already has it or not). I would be arguing for Grade II* status, a level which would afford far more protection for the building than Grade II, but perhaps some protection is better than none. Whatever the case, if you feel the architectural landscape of Caerleon is worth keeping, or if you just want to stick it to USW, get on board with this campaign, and fight to preserve what remains of a once great educational institution in the heart of Caerleon. Rest assured, without a vocal show of support, this building is in real danger of being lost. If you follow the professional archaeological grapevine in south Wales, you might have heard rumours coming out of the Glamorgan Gwent Archaeological Trust, that USW have been working hard to avoid any archaeological assessments being completed on campus. connected to any prospective development work – remembering that this is a Roman cemetery site, which is still riddled with archaeology. If there is any truth to this, it would be a troubling indictment on USW and their attitude towards the heritage of Caerleon. That discussion could even take place on whether or not the main building should survive, is a damning indication of the true motivations of this company. Buildings, once demolished, are gone forever. Caerleon has already lost much in the last few years, it does not deserve to lose its architecture as well. It also certainly does not deserve to be lumbered with massive new developments, were the campus to be converted for homes. The population of this once small village has long since run over capacity – any mid to large scale development from this point on would cripple the community and render the town almost uninhabitable – strong words perhaps, but such are the problems with congestion, and pressure on local services (I still have nightmares of the GP practice in Caerleon), that more development on the campus would really be a final nail in the coffin. It might just be one prominent building, but the historical narratives tied up in the Caerleon Campus run deep, while the negative social impacts were it to be replaced with flats would be profound. There is much at stake when it comes to the Caerleon Campus main building, too much to let it go head to head with a wrecking ball. Please help Caerleon retain some sense of its educational and architectural heritage, and in doing so, you might just help preserve the communities that live in the shadow of the clock tower for generations to come. The petition can be found here: CADW: Make the Historic Main Building in Caerleon Campus a Grade II Listed Building So, this blog and website has been totally neglected over the last six months! There have been some twists and turns in life of late, which can perhaps be summarised as: wedding / moving out of one home / moving into another home / slowly...so slowly...building up a small holding / getting a new job / getting pregnant (or being one half of a couple which is pregnant. That about brings us to where we are today, in a mild state of panic, excitement and generally increasingly levels of disorganisation as not so new job and soon to be very new baby, find each other bouncing off of each other in the priority stakes! A balancing act which I am enjoying though, and managing pretty well - though the true test of that will come in the next month (or earlier), depending on when baby decides to drop in.
More on all that excitement another time perhaps, for now, I thought it worthwhile flagging up a couple of pieces that I have had published in no so recent time. It's overdue for these to get some sort of attention, largely because they are about to be usurped by two other publications, and I don't want to forget about these two. First up: "Telling the Story of Welsh Art - But is anyone listening?". This was perhaps a bold piece, which lays into the National Museum of Wales (an organisation I generally quite like), for their (I argue) failure to effectively engage audiences with the Welsh narrative to be found in the nation's art collections. I was really pleased to have been able to turn this into an article because it's based on collaborative work with several years worth of undergraduates back in the Caerleon Campus days. Fun research to co-ordinate, which raises some probing questions. It's already a touch dated, but the questions raised are certainly valid and worth revisiting in the near future. Second, a shorter piece, written for Welsh History Month way back when in 2015. This was looking at the life and impact of archaeologist Glyn Daniel. However, the article sort of turned into a rant about the lack of archaeological collections displayed in Welsh museums - not the goal of the article, but again, a valid set of questions to post of the National Museum community. That's all for now - hopefully it won't be another six months before I remember that I have this site! Quickly drawing attention to a forthcoming workshop to be held at the National Library of Wales in October.
For further details, including programme and registration form, see: http://www.wales.ac.uk/en/CentreforAdvancedWelshCelticStudies under ‘Conferences’, or contact [email protected]. |
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