Public Spenders

It had been a day of political stereotypes. Labour were irritable and refused to be quoted. The Lib' Dem's were like a sage uncle, lovely, helpful but a little predisposed to waffle. The Conservatives, after a busy day at the office, phoned me back with an articulate answer on why they weren't going to do something. 

Increasingly I'm having to abandon my socialist heartland. Labour are useless with money. That much seems obvious. Having said that the 'spend our way out of trouble' approach was initially developed by the Thatcher government. 

Whatever; The Conservatives have the balls to cut spending and therefore taxes, easing the burden on the every man.

But.

It means public spending plummets. It means the NHS comes back under direct and determined fire. It means a healthy, cheap, easy railway network falls further from view. Sure, there's been talk of a shiny new high speed rail network but do you have any idea how much that would cost? Did you know that you need a bill from Parliament to do any kind of work to the railways? One thing is for certain, by the time the Conservatives inherit the economy (which they will) there will be no money left in the coffers for anything like that...  

The Railbird Collective

The Starship Diesel warps me to the metropolis of London. I've become one of Orwell's sleepwalkers. Half alive, moving when I have too. With a vague idea of generating a story for a journalism assessment I arm myself with pen and paper. Alisa Arnah, childhood friend, co-discoverer and lover of Spaced has invited me to a short film showing. 

The Railbird Collective (www.railbirdcollective.com) would seem to be a group of film makers making their way through the competitive jungle that is recognition. The director of the two shorts on show tonight has gone from nought to this, a small but well organised preview in an overly trendy part of Camden in little over a year. Impressive. I meet a comedy writer, we talk of philosophy, truth, life. I start to wake up, listen. Popcorn is bought from an attractive girl in a tight dress. Raffle tickets are part of the deal. We shuffle towards our seats and a type of charisma begins to ferment in the room. A smiley introduction by the principle actress, part producer, childhood friend and the director marks a brave but nervous start. All goes dark. The first shot is wide, long, well framed. It follows the British film maker's habit of long, large shots. I'm interested. What comes after is sharply edited and well shot. There's much to be happy with. Kevin Mcgowan convinces as the nervous first timer and Arnah presents a toying prostitute with almost too much pleasure. 

The second short asks a couple of questions about those lists that feature writers want us to do before we die, the definitive takes on a fulfilling life. Find your own path I say, I think the writer/director agrees. Again we laugh and snigger in the right places, again the photography and editing is spot on. Jack Bennett is the nervous man this time. Arnah, as before seems to enjoy her part enormously.  

So what of gripes? Can I be trusted to deliver an objective verdict on something that a very dear friend has had a major part in? I think to apply the usual cutting critique on what is essentially a man in a shed production is unfair. You don't compare the production values of a Caterham Seven to a Porsche 911 for example. What you must do, though, is get a feeling. Indeed there is much to be said about the bright eyed charisma of these pieces. The script was a little wobbly in places and  Arnah's diction sometimes comes across as a little forced, a little too RADA, but this seems to be the the promising start of something bigger. I say watch this space, take twenty minutes of your life to view the two shorts, make your own judgments. 

As I warp home I feel, alive, awake for the first time in weeks. Truth can be found in the excitement of the new, as well as the experience of the old.

The Young Man

As the sky explodes over The Kingdom a different type of celebration takes place across the continent of North America.

"Change has come"

The Young Man rings in the new era. The Old Man concedes honorably, The Hunter is a promised future menace. In amongst the flashing cameras, bullet proof glass and smiling family shots, Russia reiterates its commitment to seeing the American missile defence grid being dismantled and moved away from its borders. A cunning move by a power that knows how to play by the big players rules. Don't mistake this for some school boy manoeuvre. The Bear will continue to growl, and as America bleeds through its credit, Afghan and Iraq wounds The Young Man's job is going to be (as any half blind pundit can see) very tough indeed. 

The hope is, of course, that through the change of administration, through his richly mixed background and vaguely socialistic views he could unite in the way that his predecessor fractured. As the Euro rides the storm and every big scale crisis brings the superstate closer it's important that America does not feel isolated. For now, that future seems less likely.

Rwanda

Tutsi men dancing and clapping , Ak's on their hips, jiggling like jewellery. Rivers of people flowing down dirt roads. Scorched camps, livestock and flora. A song on their lips and revenge in their hearts. My broken heart, my dark days are suddenly put into perspective.

In 1992 Radio Rwanda together with Television Libre des mille Collines were used as platforms to broadcast the message to the everyday. Imagine it, you switch on the radio and it's urging the whole country to kill you and your family. Imagine it, imagine the fear, the sickness in your belly. 15 years on those messages, those hacked at bodies are fossilised memories in the minds of those Tutsi men. Brothers, Sisters, Wives, Children, Girlfriends, Mothers, Fathers, Sons and Daughters, limbs scattered on the streets. Their day has come as their revenge claims to finish the last of the Hutu militias off. So why the refugee camps? Why destroy the towns and villages? Hate, revenge is a ferocious adversary. It sees no boundaries, no borders, no sanctum.

Georgia (01/09/08)

So, 

the deer dance has begun.

The armed forces of Russia have separated Georgia from its former provinces. In the last three weeks we have watched the various propaganda machines vie for dominance. Even the British media seems distracted and confused. Did Georgia start killing its own citizens? Did Russia leap to the rescue? Was, as one Very Big voice claimed, the whole thing orchestrated by the American Republican party? Who can say? All that is certain is that at this very moment huge amounts of men, equipment and machinery are being repositioned. Iraq and Afghanistan look set to become secondary theatres as all of the involved countries move their respective withdrawal deadlines forward. Why muck about with the largely scattered Al-Quieda when THE bear has just woken up with a sore head? After all, whatever you or I think about the causes of the various conflicts in the Middle East, this one is truly about access to oil and above all, gas...

And strategic missile platforms... 

And national pride...

And the lines drawn following the major exchanges of the twentieth century...

You get the picture.

So its Nuclear plus renewables all the way then?

Well, err, don't know.

According to a friend of the family plutonium is in even shorter supply than any other consumable we can think of. We have only ten years of the highest grade left. Enter the businessman I spoke to the other day who described complicated new forms of plutonium recycling. Who's telling the truth? Did the friend simply not know about the recycling? Did the businessman not want to reveal the truth? A complete overview, a complete truth is, as ever, hard to come by. Take the London based PR consultancy company who have been working for the Russian government in the war of words over who's right in Georgia. In a global market nationhood is irrelevant, who's right or wrong is irrelevant, who pays the bills is irrelevant. That they are paying the bills, that they are providing for a new Bentley or Aston or even company 320d which runs on oil taken from / produced by a handful of unstable countries who would happily see us burn for our governments slow and sometimes aggressive meddling in their history is the important part. Why worry about who's backs we're walking on when the Bentley has such lovely seats? Why worry about the innocent dead when the Aston makes such a wonderful noise? Who cares about the truth when I can sit here in Starfucks consuming caffeine writing about the various hypocrisies in my life?

Shit.

Anybody got any ideas?

Capital Punishment

"We should bring back capital punishment"

A sentiment by a class member. One echoed by people all over the country.

It's the sort of thing that floods my brain with so much cortisol that it can take years off my life. It's the sort of thing that makes me want to throw a chair across the room, smash things up, drop whoever said it into a truly unjust society. Somewhere where there is no real justice system, no 2000 years of trial and error. I ask this, how can a society that accepts murder as one of the highest crimes possible then go on to murder as punishment? An eye for an eye?

When a society adopts this kind of an attitude it becomes a norm. A value that is normal to those who grow up around it. The population becomes hardened to everyday murder. Is that what we want? Where does this lead? 

Remember violence begets violence. 

We know this. 

Its an old lesson.....