wanted to draw attention to a fantastic article on the challenges of advancing women’s rights globally, and what a staunch and prominent feminist like hillary clinton as secretary of state brings to the table.  a truly worthwhile read.

Hillary Clinton is not our first female secretary of state, but she is our first explicitly feminist one. She’s been an iconic figure in the movement for women’s rights globally ever since she gave her historic 1995 speech at the United Nations Conference on Women in Beijing. Denouncing a litany of the abuses to which women worldwide are subject, the then-first lady declared, “Women’s rights are human rights, once and for all.” The New York Times said it “may have been her finest moment in public life.”

Clinton’s confirmation hearings offered a clear sign that she intended to prioritize women’s issues. “If half the world’s population remains vulnerable to economic, political, legal, and social marginalization, our hope of advancing democracy and prosperity is in serious jeopardy,” she said. “The United States must be an unequivocal and unwavering voice in support of women’s rights in every country on every continent.”

Five months into her tenure, we’re beginning to see what that vision looks like in practice.

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this kind of thing makes me so angry: tories think they should impose a 3 month “cooling off” period before people can file for divorce.

it just demonstrates and reinforces the same idiotic stereotypes that so many conservatives have – as if people take an irresposible, cavalier attitude towards ending a marriage, or that it’s too easy for people to make life-changing decisions.  a distorted perception that bears absolutely not resemblance to the truth of most any divorced person i know.

my divorce was amicable, quickly resolved, and without a doubt, the right decision, arrived at after several years of counselling – and it was still the worst experience of my life.  the idea that some stuffed-shirt could or should tell me that i need an additional 3 months to “cool off” is beyond insulting.  i don’t know anyone who ever comes to a decision to divorce as a result of some sort of impetutous, overheated whim.  no one takes the decision to dissolve their life with their spouse lightly.  no one.  deciding to divorce is a painful and heavy moment.  so who are these people that need to “cool off” to make sure they’re doing what

divorce in the u.k. is already more difficult than in many places:

- you cannot divorce until you’ve been married for a full year
- there is no “no fault” divorce
- unless you accuse your spouse of adultery or unreasonable behaviour, you have to be separated for 2 years first
- even if your spouse has left you, you have to wait two years to be divorced

the idea that adding another 3 months to an already emotionally wrought and drawn-out process will somehow dissuade people from frivolously divorcing is, frankly, insulting.  and what about people who’ve been psychologically or physically abused? should they be forced to stay married for an additional 3 months to salve the conscience of a group of politicians?

the clue to the kind of thinking that prompted the report can be found at the end of the article:

Mr Duncan Smith told the BBC that compared to their grandparents, young people had “very high” expectations of marriage “far beyond actually what it will deliver”.

He added: “It’s ironic really, given the nature of family breakdown around them, they have this incredibly high expectation of it.

“And so the idea of compromise from day one, two living as cheaply as one, seems to have disappeared.

“You do not need a £20,000 themed wedding to be a happily-married couple.”

ah, that’s it – today’s young generation of selfish, spendthrift couples who need a lesson from their elders. oh, well that’s okay then!

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i’m going to admit, right here, right now: sometimes, i have no idea why i’m married.

the thing is, i’m not alone.  i was reading bitch ph.d’s analysis of sandra tsing-loh’s piece in the atlantic the other day.  they both talk about the impossible standards we as a society set for marriage, the upshot of which is:

The Good Marriage is Supposed to be:

sexually monogamous
between one man and one woman (even though, or rather because, men and women Are Different)
for their entire lives
begun early enough that they can have children, plural, (if they want to), without having to go through infertility treatment
passionate, again, for their entire lives
respectful at all times
mutually supportive, at all times
economically successful
able to accommodate two careers, if so desired
a friendship
something you “work” at, but it’s not supposed to feel like work
flirty–but only with each other
not jealous
a PIllar of Society

more than these unwritten rules, as a society, we bully, cajole, and shame people into *never, ever admitting there might god-forbid possible be anything wrong* with our perfect unions.  it starts when we’re young, when we feed children fairytales about “soulmates” and fateful signs like magic glass slippers that are supposed to tell you s/he’s “the one”.  men grow up believing they must be strong protectors and providers, and women grow up fantasizing about their wedding day.

if i’m honest, in my heart of hearts, i think it’s all bullshit.

my parents divorced after 20 years of marriage, in spectacular meltdown fashion.  i got married early, and divorced even earlier.  the idea that we’re bound to be with just one person in a world of over 6 billion is ludicrous.  the idea that we will stay in love with one person into old age is ridiculously improbable.  that all the vicissitudes of children, and careers, and money, and sex, and health, and family… that all that will leave our personas unchanged, leave our relationships untouched… well, it’s bullshit.  change is inescapable and impossible to predict. what on earth makes us think that the way we feel about each other is immune to those kinds of seismic forces?

and yet, we’re not allowed to ever admit to imperfections.  to be brutally honest and say that there are days when we would happily walk out the door.  to allow that, hell yes, it feels like work sometimes.  that sometimes we deliberately inflict pain,  and sometimes we are cruel and nasty and take it out of the other person for no good reason.  or that even worse, we too argue about the indescribably mundane money and sex. that some days we fantasize about being someone different, being with someone different, however fleeting.  and i say “we” with confidence, because i know i am not alone.  people who say they never think or feel that way are flat-out lying.

we have unachievable expectations of our relationships, and unbelieveable guilt when we don’t meet them.

being in a relationship where you have to keep up pretenses that everything is always okay, all the time, is exhausting and incredibly isolating, and it puts every other couple under additional pressure to do the same.  it’s so incredibly, pathetically phoney.  when my first marriage was crumbing, we knew sometime after thanksgiving that it was over.  and yet, we decided not to tell anyone in our families until well into the new year, for fear of “ruining their holidays”.  so we pretended for 3 more months to keep up appearances.  much worse than the breakup, was the amount of control it took not to break down during those three months.  i look back on that time and think…why?

but for some reason, we continue to perpetuate this illusion.  for those who are single, we don’t want to sour them against the dream of an ideal partnership.  and for those who are paired, we don’t want to admit that our relationship might not measure up against (our perceived image of) theirs.  no one wants to be the first to admit to shortcomings.  the stakes are too high – when we live in a society that has invested so much in the construct of marriage, foibles are not allowed.

even when anyone who’s ever been in a long term relationship knows they are very, very real.

marriage is a fantasy that the reality can never live up to, and the odds start out against you and only get worse as time goes on – as personalities and pettiness and pedestrian problems grate.  even under the best of circumstance, the statistics tell us there’s only a 50/50 chance you’ll make it.  so yes, there are days when i have no idea why the hell i’m married.  through a combination of work (yes, work), luck, and grace on the part of my significant other, they are exceedingly rare.  i am, in the main, very happy.  and against all odds, i hope to stay that way. (even as i write that, it feels like i’m qualifying my previous statement; i’m not, but i don’t wish to alarm readers who know me and my husband in real life!)  but every time i paste on a faux happy-wife smile for the sake of others (and i freely admit to having done that), i wonder who i’m doing the greater disservice to: myself or my audience?

in spite of all the bullshit that goes with being married, and all the bullshit i admit to participating in, and all the bullshit beliefs we buy into… i’m still married, and glad of it.  i feel like i shouldn’t say that after my diatribe above, but i’d be lying if i didn’t.  so while i will admit to days when i don’t know why i’m a participant in this crazy and unrealistic institution, i will also admit to wanting to believe in it with all my heart.

in a world where 50% of all marriages end up crashing and burning… there’s also 50% who stay together.  we all line up at the altar thinking we’re in that other half, and we don’t complain about the glass slipper that pinches, because hell, at least we’ve found one that almost fits, so we should just shuddup and feel lucky already.

and even though i may not like the odds, it seems i’m willing to play them all the same.

revelator – gillian welch

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a few years ago, we bought a secondhand television (£50).  we buy a monthly cable package (£40).  we pay for our electricity quarterly (£100).

all the ingredients you need for watching television, yes?

oh no, not so fast.  here in britain, if you wish to *use* the television, electricity, and cable you’ve already paid for, you need to pay the government an additional £142.50.  per year.

see, the uk has this public commodity called the bbc.  it’s essentially the same thing as pbs back in the states – publicly subsidised media which is supposed to provide independent, impartial and educational media to the masses.  now, leaving aside the matter of bias (because it’s simply not possible for media to be entirely free of bias, and the bbc is no exception), the bbc is funded by this “television license”, which is collected annually from every household which owns a functioning television.  this pays for 8 national television channels, 10 radio stations, the online website, and some regional/local media. (other services are paid for through other funding streams).

lots of people argue that they don’t use any of the bbc services, therefore should not have to pay the tv licensing fee.  personally, i have no problem with paying for public services i don’t use – i do it all the time, in fact.  i pay for roadworks when i don’t drive, education when i have no kids, libraries which i don’t visit, etc.  i believe these things serve the greater public good, and i’m happy to have money withheld from my paycheque to contribute.

what i have a problem with, is the notion that this television licensing fee is not a flat tax.  because while it may have begun in 1946, days when few people owned a television, and the bbc was *the* only broadcaster, (and therefore only taxed those people who actually used the service is supported), in 2009, the idea of television as a luxury which is taxed only for the 98% of families who own one, is just dumb. even sillier, it’s not the *television itself*, or even the actual service (e.g. transmission), but the *reception* of the service, which is taxed.

i don’t have to buy an annual water license for receiving my water, or electrical license for allowing current into my home.  yet every year, i have to pay for allowing television airwaves into my living room.

furthermore, the method of collection is so blatantly inefficient as to be laughable.  the idea that you have to renew your license each year, means that there is an amazing breadth of scope for omission/evasion.  if they don’t have you on their database as having a valid license, they first send you a standard warning letter.  more than 20 million warning letters are issued each year.  if that fails to produce the desired response, the tv licensing people come personally knocking at your door, and try to get you to allow them into your home.  they have “tv detector vans”, which can tell if you have a television operating in your household.   they make around 3.5 million personal visits each year.  they threaten prosecution, tell you that you’ll be “cautioned and interviewed”, and could be subject to £1000 fine.

according to their 2009 report, the bbc spends they spent 4% of all revenue from the television tax on collection and enforcement.  £181 million each year is lost through evasion, about 5% are evaders.  the cost of collection is £122 million, of which, £73.4 million is spent on direct collection and enforcement.  of the 3.5 million visits, 603,000 end up as “sales” (i.e. people purchasing a license), which roughly adds up to income of £84.4 million pounds.  £20 million was garnered in prosecution fines.

in other words: they spend £73.4 million a year to collect £84.4 million pounds, plus an additional £20 million from people they prosecute (minus prosecution costs, natch, which they’ve neglected to specify in their report), and continue to lose £181 million per year.

doesn’t sound terribly efficient to me.

if all this rigamarole sounds antiquated, bizarre and farcical, it’s because it is.  for fuck’s sake.  stop the intimidating and inefficient harassment campaign.  collect the television tax like every other tax applying to household utilities – either at the point of service (add an additional sales tax to cable, satellite and internet services), or as paycheque withholding (like we pay for almost all other publicly subsidised infrastructure and services).  easy peasy – no opportunity for evasion, no need for enforcement, no adversarial intimidation.

good god, even traffic enforcement is more advanced than the tv licensing regulation!  why are they still stuck in an era where people require little pieces of paper that prove they’re entitled to operate a television?  we no longer live in 1946.  the bbc need to stop pretending that we do.

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just when i begin to think i just couldn’t be more fed up with this city, it has a way of turning around and surprising me into falling in love with it all over again.

an incredible sunny warm summer evening.  husband on the barbeque.  wimbledon on the television. and this view at the end of the couch.

you’d be too lazy to blog too.

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so here’s what happens when you plan a holiday around sun and beaches: it rains.

it rained nearly every single day of my vacation.  and yet somehow, through the unfailing optimism and hilarious good cheer of my travelling companion, (and copious amounts of beer), it was all okay.  everything we did, was “perfect”.  everything that was even moderately successful was “meant to be”.

i was, as tourguide, overcome with the realisation of just how different i am from the person that lived in boston 6 years ago.  the paths and places i’ve forgotten, the words that tangled up my tongue.  while there are bits and pieces that remain as intimately known as the back of my hand, more and more, each visit back represents snapshots of a life that is more different than i ever remembered, and all the unseen shifting that happened when i wasn’t looking.

time marches on, of course.  would that i could freeze people, come back to exactly where they were when i left, slide right back into my slot, take up my place seamlessly in everyone else’s lives and times.

but i can’t.  and the changes seem more and more pronounced each time i try to pick up where i left off.  i cannot, it seems, expect to indefinitely straddle two worlds – at some point, they drift too far apart.

these observations are not new, of course.  i’ve made them many times.  what was new, was the realisation that it doesn’t really sting so much nowadays.  i kinda wish it did.

other things of note:

• i have a new nephew! will get to see him in a few weeks when i’m at my brother’s wedding
• my nephew had swine flu. yes, for real
• my other sister is also having another baby! due sometime in november
• i don’t miss getting wound up by the ridiculous media in the u.s.,  at all.
• lucky charms have inexplicably shrunk their marshmallows and now call them “mini-charms”
• i may get lost driving around, but i can still home in on the beacon of any dunkin’ donuts within a 5 mile radius
• customer service, while sometimes verging on the sycophantic, overall remains a far better experience in the u.s.
• i hate getting charged for using an atm machine
• boston is actually not a bad little city
• people in the u.s. are starting to use british slang. i heard “knackered” and “wanker” used. for some reason, this annoys me greatly.

a few photos (more here):

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so much to say – about iran, about rape in south africa, about the vagaries of life.

but for now, it will have to wait.  i’m off for a 5 day boston blitz holiday with my friend suzanne.  we’re storming boston, cape cod, and martha’s vineyard.  a date at fenway park is in there somewhere too.  the weather forecast is none too promising at the moment, but i’m ignoring that in favour of blind optimism.

til then, ciao ciao!

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i’ve been following the happenings in iran very closely over the last few days, amazed at the incredible scenes of both violence and courage.  i’ve been keeping up with all this via youtube video and blogs and some mainstream reporting, but most obsessively via twitter.

lots of people have derided twitter, and lots of people still don’t get it, but for the people of iran today, it is the single most powerful tool they have in their struggle.

there is something about the immediacy and connectivity of the medium which simply cannot be brushed off.  i first became aware of it during earth hour (#earthhour), when watching people send picture after picture of darkened cities in domino fashion across the time zones of the globe, was simply mesmerising.  it was brought home to me even more so during the aftermath of dr. tiller’s murder, when it was personally comforting to see thousands of people mourning together, and honouring him in ways big and small (#tiller).  during the european elections, as the results rolled in late into the night and i was alone in my lounge with my outrage over the bnp,  there were others on the other end of the network, screaming along with me in unison (#notinmyname). and when the california supreme court upheld proposition 8, there was a virtual outpouring of support for those left disenfranchised by the ruling (#civilrightsfail).

those were all fascinating and powerful moments, but they’ve been thoroughly eclipsed by the aftermath of the iran election (#iranelection).

and in these past few days, when the state-ruled media has been trying so desperately to squash the dangerous truth of what’s happening on the streets of iran, when the reporters are being arrested, when protesters are being beaten and shot, when the hundreds of thousands are turning out in stark and silent declaration, when texting and internet coverage has all but been banned… it is twitter that they are turning to.  what used to happen largely unseen behind the iron curtains of oppression, is now happening in front of the whole world.  and the whole world can let them know they are watching, witnessing, expressing solidarity, carrying their voices and pictures into the light of day. it is an amazing and sobering phenomenom to behold.  reading the tweets of people who are *there* hearing the gunshots, or trying to locate their families, or gathering in the streets… there is no filter, no cautionary analysis, no measured response.  there is only anger and fear and pain, bleeding raw across the screen.

go. see for yourself. if you didn’t get twitter before, you will now.

(eta: last night the *state department* asked twitter to delay its scheduled downtime maintenance.)

things may or may not change in iran, for better or for worse – but if they do, i’ll be watching history happen.

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a life and a past that was another person, an earlier version of self, no matter how long ago or far away…every once and again it can blindside you with unexpected emotion. leap up from your stomach, grab hold of your heart and give it a good hard squeeze. leave a lump in your throat that no amount of swallowing will clear.

once upon a time, i walked through long grasses, wearing a white dress, coloured lanterns swinging gently from tree branches. i looked up, you were there waiting for me, and i thought it was the beginning of forever.

in the blur of so many years and so much experience since then, we became separated by an ocean much deeper and wider than that which separates us now. our intimacies turned us into cordial strangers somehow, and over time, the cordiality became less strange. slowly, inexorably, our lives disengaged – no longer orbiting in the same plane, but every now and then intersecting paths, wishing each other well.

so it caught me off guard to find myself teary today, your wedding day. as happy as i genuinely am for your happiness, i guess some part of me will always be sad for the happiness we no longer share, the promises that didn’t pan out, through no fault of our own. i know this is all rather self-centred. i know you’re not thinking of me today, just as i was not thinking of you when i remarried. it sounds harsh, but it’s true – the protective bubble of love does that to you.

but i think i also know what your fiancée will see when she walks down the aisle today, and looks up to see you waiting there for her. you there, with your heart on your sleeve and your soul wide open, grinning wide as the sun with the promise of forever in front of you. she’ll think to herself, how lucky she is. and she is.

and though it makes me cry, it also makes me smile.

i wish you joy.

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8 years living in nyc. number of subway strikes during my residency? zero

21 years living in boston. number of subway strikes? zero

2 years living in montreal. number of subway strikes? zero.

6 years living in london. number of tube strikes? not counting the one that began today and runs to thursday? i seriously can’t even remember, what with the constant strike threats and partial strikes and strike balloting and full-scale strikes and narrowly averted strikes… think i’m exaggerating?  well let’s just see…

since march 2003:

what a fucking joke.

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it’s official.  the nazis bnp have won two seats on the european parliament.

jonno refuses to share my outrage and indignation. “it’s only two seats. this is a democracy.”

don’t forget: the original nazis were democratically elected too. this is the same party that wants both me and you out of the country as immigrants. the same party that calls for “voluntary repatriation” of non-whites.

this is not democracy. this is fucking repugnant. this is voting from a place of hatred and fear. has history taught us nothing about the pitfalls of that? the bnp are fascist, racist, nazi sympathisers. we’re talking people who burned synagogues, and participated in the national front. the news keeps calling them the “far right”. calling the bnp the far right is like calling the titanic a naval mishap.

dress it up any way you want – we’ve sent nazis to represent us in the european parliament.

and i, for one, won’t stop being fucking disgusted, fucking outraged, screaming at people to wake the fuck up.

i’m getting the fuck outta here.

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remembering the tiananmen square massacre anniversary yesterday – where hundreds, perhaps thousands died…

many were summarily imprisoned or executed…

and where today there is still no democracy.

(more incredible photos at the big picture and time’s photoessay “photographing tank man”)

the grief, the exile, the international outrage.

did it matter?

those who were born after – for whom the media memory has been wiped clean, erased from the page, the history scrubbed clean of bloodstains – do they really know what any of those students died for?

i wish i knew.

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i talk a lot about being staunchly pro-choice on this blog.  in thinking more about the post i wrote the other day, about the primacy of a woman’s right to always have control over her body, including complete control over reproduction, i realised i’ve never fully articulated here just why i believe what i believe.  it may not be of interest to many of you, but it’s important to me to establish here the context in which i have chosen to support abortion rights.

there are, to my mind, two factors in every pregancy – the existing, external life of the woman, and the *potential*, internal life represented by the fetus.  i believe that if at any point those two interests come into conflict, the established rights of the existing life must always take precedence over the potential rights of the potential life.

there are many who would argue that the point at which that potential life can survive outside the womb (around 24 weeks, currently), that it should be legally treated as a baby, and granted all the same rights as babies inherit when they are born, i.e. recognised as an existing life.  i disagree.

i think of it this way:

this is an egg.  this egg may be fertilised.  it may not.  it may, in fact, have a nearly fully-developed chick inside it. but its essence in its *current state* is that of an egg.  it is an egg.  for purposes of decision-making based on what it is right now, it is an egg.

this is a chick.  it still looks a lot like an egg, and could easily be the same egg from the above picture, but its principle nature has changed.  it is no longer an egg, but a chick being born.  there’s no rationale for calling it an egg – it is clearly a chick.

that is to say: in my mind there is something about the act of being born which changes the fundamental status of a thing from a *potential* life to an *actualised* life, and therefore (i would argue) changes the essence of how it should be recognised.  it is no longer in the internal world of things which, (no matter how likely, no matter how close), *might one day be* born as a chick, and joins the external world of the *chick which is*.

so if, in a pregnancy, there must be drawn a bright line of demarcation between whose interests must be considered paramount, whose health and well-being must take priority, whose needs must be met more, the line between being born and unborn is mine.  an existing life takes precedence over a potential life, and the difference between potential and existing is the act coming into being in the external world.

this is not, of course, by any means a perfect analogy.  in fact, it’s not an analogy at all – simply my attempt at representing the way in which i have chosen my beliefs in a world where there is no objective certainty, no absolute moral rectitude.  in a world where one must weigh up all the science, laws and politics, and somehow integrate that with one’s beliefs about things like spirituality, conscience and relationships… in a world in which we are required to choose sides, i choose the woman.  i choose her right to an abortion up to the point of birth.  i choose her needs, her health, her best interests first, foremost, and above all others.  and i choose to support choice – always.

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i’ve been thinking a lot about the murder of dr. tiller today, and the kind of courage of one’s convictions it must take to go to work every day in the face of attempted assassinations and persistent acts of terrorism.  there are few in this world who could do it, i’m sure.

dr. tiller performed late-term abortions – that moral gray area that even many pro-choice voters have twinges of unease about.  the kinds of abortions that are so highly charged and emotive (even being called “partial-birth” abortions) because they stray into the murky areas of “rights”, elusive definitions of “life”, and all sorts of other sticky stuff that ethicists and the law have not yet been able to agree upon.

the reason i bring this up, is because thinking about dr. tiller’s death today, has for me, solidified some views i didn’t even know i had, and made me examine the logic of my own beliefs – with some surprising results.

in thinking about why his death outrages me so, i realised it’s because i think that women *must* have access to abortion up to the point of birth.  i know that’s not a very palatable opinion for most, but i fervently believe that women must have complete and total autonomy over their own bodies at all times.  i believe that until women everywhere have this autonomy (in the forms of contraception, health care, and abortion, *as well as* freedom from all forms of physical and sexual violence or coercion) there will never be true equality for women anywhere.

but in pondering that, i began thinking about the true meaning of autonomy – and that’s not just the ability to be free from harm, but also the ability to use (and even exploit) one’s own body.  which lead me to the first surprise realisation of the day: i guess that means i believe women should have the right to sell their own bodies for others’ pleasure – even if i believe that it undermines other women’s efforts to be free of violence or coercion.  i’ve never been for the legalisation of prostitution before, and never quite grasped the concept of legalising prostitution as a means to empower women.  much like some kinds of misogynistic porn**, i’ve always deplored the fact that there is a market for it, but been resigned to its existence.  however if i truly believe that women should have complete autonomy over their bodies, then that means *i* don’t get a say in what they do with them either.  and further, (following on from my own logic above) in a world where there is true autonomy for all, there will be true equality, and therfore prostitution/stripping/porn will only be entered into by individuals out of genuine free will, and will no longer be acts which demean and objectify people on the wrong side of a power imbalance.

wow.  colour me surprised.

secondly, i was thinking about the characterisation i’ve been reading in some blogs, of anti-abortion groups (such as operation rescue and their ilk) bearing much of the responsibility for dr. tiller’s death.  the argument being, that such groups have deliberately used seditious rhetoric as a means to garner support for their actions, and that by fanning the flames, they incited this man (and other recent shooters) to murder.  they decry the lukewarm disavowals by such groups of dr. tiller’s killing, as being tacit condonation of his murder.

this whole argument puts me in mind of those who, after the london bombings, said the “moderate muslims” did not come out strongly enough against what had happened, or hadn’t done enough to stop it fomenting in the first place.  and as i wrote here before, that just puts a bad taste in my mouth.  i don’t think that people who just happen to be from the same largely-peaceful religion bear *any* responsibility for the acts of a small handful of nutters.  that’s like saying that all christians should bear some responsibility for the the actions of timothy mcveigh – they should have cried out more against his horrific actions, or done something more to ensure he would never kill anyone in the first place.

i just don’t think you can apportion blame solely based on commonalities with someone who clearly has mental health problems.  and that’s what this boils down to: someone with mental health problems made the completely insane connection between their stance on abortion, and gunning down someone they disagreed with.

a sane person, no matter how het up over the abortion issue, could never be goaded into shooting dr. tiller in broad daylight.  and a crazy person who thought they *had* to kill him, could never be dissuaded.

so while it might make me, in a fit of intense frustration and despair, feel better to tar and feather all anti-choice groups with the same bloody brush, it simply doesn’t make sense.  no matter how vehemently i believe their clinic-blockading, abusive tactics and scaremongering to be wrong, i cannot lay dr. tiller’s death at their feet.

and there, in a nutshell, is surprise number two.  i can’t be angry at the pro-lifers over this one.

** i don’t by any means believe that all porn is misogynistic or harmful to women.  but far too large a proportion of it is.

i’m not engaging debate on this one, i’m afraid. i’ll leave comments open for the time being, but reserve the right to delete at my discretion, because i don’t believe this is a topic where anyone’s mind will be changed. certainly not my own.

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about a week or so ago, i read this article.  typical daily mail tripe – a beyond-sanctimonious mother who says that bosses are right to distrust women who don’t want children, then goes on to call childfree women selfish, partying backstabbers who are unreliable in the workplace.

i spent about a millisecond getting irate over it, then promptly discarded it from my thoughts as so much ludicrous rubbish.

or so i thought.

but over the past day or so, i’ve noticed it lurking at the back of my brain again.  so i went back and re-read it, wondering what the hook was that wouldn’t let go.  and there it was, staring me in the face:

Yet if she says she hasn’t a shred of maternal feeling in her… my heart whispers: ‘Lady, you’re weird.’

It was welcome news, therefore, to discover this week that I am not alone. Research conducted over six years shows that far from bosses and colleagues always being suspicious of a working mother, the opposite is becoming true: it is the childless woman who is regarded as cold and odd.

… many employers believe them to lack what the study calls ‘an essential humanity’. And I know exactly what they mean.

that nugget of truth that i can’t dismiss quite so easily.  people think it’s weird to not want children.

the reason i can’t deny that, is because i see it over and over again in my own interactions.  almost all of my friends have at least one child now, as do a significant proportion of my female colleagues.  so when children or pregnancy come up, i can chat with ease about pelvic spd, breastfeeding, cloth-vs-disposable, and developmental milestones.  i’ve absorbed quite a lot of mother-related knowledge by osmosis, it would seem.  so invariably, when someone then asks, “so what about you and your husband?”, and i say, “oh, you know, we’re not really going to do the kids thing,” they look at me with suspicion.

i know, in that instant, that what they’re thinking is, “lady, you’re weird.”

and what follows is usually a combination of the pitch about how fabulous children are, and oh-you’ll-change-your-mind certitude, with an underlying layer of confusion and incredulity.  at times, there’s even an undercurrent of hostility – as if i’m somehow denigrating their experiences by saying i don’t want the same.

what follows by me, is a response that’s become nearly automatic – myself acknowledging that 99% of the world have kids, that i know i’m an outlier, that i actually really like kids (really i do!), that i know if i *had* kids i’d feel differently, that my own mum was great and definitely-not-deficient-in-any-way.

in other words, i know you think i’m weird.  i apologise for unnerving you with my weirdness.  really i’m not a psychopath.

but at the bottom of it all, is a lack of comprehension.  they simply don’t understand, and there’s a real sense that i’m lacking in something – that “essential humanity”.  because for 99% of the world, having children is something so central to the human experience, and by missing that, how could i *not* feel that i’m missing out?

it’s precisely that which the (otherwise disgusting) article hits exactly on the head.  that otherness which sets my life choices so outside the realm of understanding of pretty much everyone else.  precisely that which i can never change about the way i feel.

so as repelled as i am by the otherwise wildly ridiculous assertions the author makes – that by not having kids i am “cold, calculating, sad, and mad” -  i can’t deny that bit that she gets right.  the bit that’s gone unspoken in every conversation i have with mums.  i am weird.  everyone else knows it, i know it.

but she had the gumption to actually say.

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“i’m going to shoot you!!!  i’m going to shoot you!!!  i’m going to shoot you!!!”

i abruptly surface from the depths of a dream to hear someone screaming this in the street just below our bedroom window. it’s 3 am.

shaking jonno awake – “did you hear that??!”

“i’m going to shoot you!”

jonno rolls over, “wha??”, and then attempts to go back to sleep.

adrenaline pumping, i get up and call 999 in the dark, relay the details whilst peeping out the window to try to see what’s going on, then creep back into the bedroom.  jonno is still lying there.

“c’mon, let’s move away from the window.”  “why?”  “because if someone’s going to start shooting, i’d prefer to be as far away from the bullet trajectory as possible!”  he reluctantly gets up and pads to the back of the house with me.  the cat crawls under the bed.

people still shouting outside.  surely someone else has called the police as well?  this is a residential street.  the shouting moves up the street away from our house.  i crawl back to the window looking for the police.  a minute or two later, they arrive, bringing an ambulance as well.  they stop in front of our house.  the phone rings.  it’s the police, wanting to know which direction the guys went in.  i indicate the general direction and they head off.

we climb back into bed, and lie there for a bit, heart still racing.  i say, “that’s the thing about living in a city – everyone always thinks someone else must’ve called the police.”

j says, ” well if it made you feel better, it’s good that you did.”

“*what*!??! what do you mean, ‘if it made me feel better’??!  what would you have done?”

“i wouldn’t have called the police.  people who announce they’re going to shoot someone, never actually shoot someone.”

“oh really?  is this in your vast experience of witnessing shootings?!”

“i’m just saying that people who bluster about it never do it.”

“you know, i’ve lived in major cities since i was 17, sometimes in rather dodgy areas.  i’m as jaded as the next urbanite, and hardly someone who overreacts to general city craziness.  but when someone’s shouting that they’re going to shoot someone, i’m not going to be the one to make that judgement call about whether or not they really mean it.  i’d rather call the police and say, ’someone is threatening to shoot someone outside my front door,’ than call and say, ’someone just shot someone outside my front door.’ ”

so, dear reader: what would you have done?  ignored it on the assumption that it was just bravado? or called the police?

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there is a british idiom which is so perfect in its meaning for the expression it is meant to convey: gutted.  when you are gutted, it feels like someone has just ripped your insides out, like something has just torn you up inside.  destroyed you from the inside out.  devastated.

i went out for a six mile run this evening, came home, withdrew my entry from the edinburgh marathon, and cried.

for the past three weeks (ever since my 20 mile run) i’ve been battling hip pain, to the point where i’ve barely been able to run at all.  the physiotherapist diagnosed bursitis of the hip  – the cushion of fluid that allows the tendon to glide over bone becomes inflamed and painful.  it can come from overtraining, and/or iliotibial band syndrome.  probably a combo of the two since i haven’t been able to do my yoga in the past 6 weeks, whilst simultaneously racking up lots of milage.

i’ve run through lots of pain before, stubbornly and ill-advisedly.  i once limped with gritted teeth through the last 10 excruciating miles of a marathon, popping insane amounts of ibuprofen, i was so determined to finish.  but if it hurts this much after just 6 miles, i’ll never make it for 26.  not in five days time, not for more than four hours of running.

the only thing worse than having to drop out now, would be having to drop out midway through.  i’m trying to comfort myself with that thought.

still, i’m crushed, and can’t pretend otherwise.  to come so close, to have trained so hard… and have to give it up.  i know people won’t understand why it’s so hard for me to accept. i know i means nothing to anyone else.

but i meant an awful lot to me.

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in norwich, posties are able to “opt out” of delivering bnp election materials.

As part of a “conscience clause”, postmen and women in Norwich can choose whether or not they deliver the canvassing material if they find it offensive or for personal reasons.

And some have refused to deliver the BNP’s controversial leaflets, which set out the party’s policies regarding immigration, out of fear of being threatened by members of the public.

…

Workers were asked to start delivering the material this week ahead of the European elections on June 4.

Within BNP’s pamphlet, it sets out that the far-right party is constitutionally opposed to racial integration, campaigns for an immediate end to immigration and the voluntary resettlement of immigrants living legally in the UK “to their lands of ethnic origin”.

as much as i detest the kkk bnp, the problem with this, is, of course, the slippery slope. where does it end? the postie who decides that s/he finds delivering porn objectionable? or pro-choice literature? or certain prescription medications? it has unsettling parallels to the “conscience clauses” for pharmacists in the u.s., or the case brought by the registrar in islington who refused to carry out same-sex unions.

your job as a postal carrier, is to deliver the post – not pass moral judgement on either the contents of that post, or the people for whom you deliver it. as election material, no matter how repulsive i find it, (and as an aside: how is it not considered “hate speech”? **), as long as it is legal, it should be delivered. as for feeling threatened, well, surely that’s a matter for the police, isn’t it?***

it’s reprehensible stuff, to be sure. but in a democracy where the bnp is <*gag*> considered a legitimate political party, they have the same rights as any other party. censorship and politics is not a role royal mail wants to take on.

**whilst i am on record as being opposed to hate speech laws, if they’re on the books, shouldn’t they be enforced?

***oh, right – not in this country, where the onus is always put back on the victim to try to protect themselves better next time.

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as the clock hands stretch past midnight, the house becomes still – just the soft creaking sounds of an old house settling to keep me company.  and as i relax into the darkness, a quiet contentment steals up on me.  after a hard day’s work, i look around to see my books placed on shelves, my photos hung on the wall, furniture that i’ve selected arranged just so.  it’s been so long since i bought anything of solidity, or was able to arrange the few possessions i had.

for the first time in a long time, i feel comfortable.  plain as it is, this home finally reflects something of me – i’ve been so self-contained for the past 6 years, owning not a single extraneous piece of paper, or mote of dust, always paring down to the bare minimum.  but finally i have a space to fill up as i like, and as i sit here revelling in it, the sense of *release* washes over me, catching me off guard, stinging my eyes.

during the luscious hours of sunshine today, i spent some time digging in the dirt.  i’ve been working on rehabilitating the neglected garden, and there was just one task remaining – uprooting a weed that had been so long-entrenched  it had grown into a small tree.  i sweated and pulled and yanked that sucker out, all the way down to the rootball.  it finally came free with a massive heave, leaving a satisfying blank slate for the new plants i’d bought at the garden centre.

i hadn’t wanted this move after all – it was jonno’s idea, jonno’s initiative.  i was loathe to uproot.  but as difficult as all the upheaval has been, i am so grateful for this fresh start.  a blank slate to create a place of my own – and i had no idea just how much i needed it.

jonatha brooke – your house

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“you’re such a retard”

“that’s so retarded”

i hear these phrases, this word, bandied about so very often, as if it’s just another turn of phrase for “stupid”.  people tell me they don’t mean anything by it, as if the lack of ill intention means it doesn’t cause people pain.  as if using “retarded” as an insult is a victimless crime.

it’s only seen as victimless because the people who are most harmed by it are often the ones least able to speak out against it.  using “retarded” as a synonym for stupid/useless/backward/wierd  is, by inference, equating people who have a diagnosis of mental retardation with all of the above.

for every individual with learning disabilities, there is a different level of intellectual impairment.  the flip side of that, is that every individual also has a unique set of skills and abilities – just like everyone else.  we spend so much time focusing on the differences of people with disabilities, that we overlook the ways in which we are all alike.  using the “r” word is a mark of disdain, of degradation, of setting someone apart as a lesser person, someone less deserving of respect – someone not like everyone else.

people with learning disabilities face enough obstacles for full and valued acceptance in our society – perpetuating hurtful language and stereotypes only compounds these.

i’ve worked with people with learning disabilities for 17 years now – as someone who advocates on behalf of people with learning disabilities, i try wherever possible to challenge people when they use the “r” word.  at the same time, i know that as just one person, i won’t change a world where people are too lazy to find other, less offensive ways of speaking.  people who say it’s just “political correctness gone mad”.  but whether i say anything or not, i notice and i cringe – i notice every time. it doesn’t have to be me you’re insulting for me to be offended.

our language reflects our thoughts and attitudes.  we need to stop and think whether using the “r” word is really what we want to say about not only others, but about ourselves.

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last week (whilst i was without internet), channel four ran a series on adoption in britian which simply broke my heart.  as many will know, adoption is an issue i am incredibly passionate about because all of my four brothers and sisters are adopted.  one brother and one sister were adopted as infants, but the other brother and sister came into our family as near teenage siblings, so my family has experienced both ends of the adoption spectrum.

the dispatches episode lost in care focused on the thousands of children in britain who spend their lives being bounced around “the system”, with poor prospects for being adopted and in many cases shoved out into the world at just 16 years old.  without the stability, education and skills to transition into fully functioning adults, they often end up poor, in trouble with the law, or pregnant.  for example, it’s not uncommon for older kids to have been through 20 or more foster placements, and it hit home hardest when they interviewed teens talking about being uprooted from a foster family every few months, throwing their few possessions into garbage bags to change placements at the drop of a hat, being put up in hotels and temporary accommodation when placements couldn’t be found.  i found myself in tears at their description; i vividly recall my new brother and sister arriving at our home toting garbage bags of meagre possessions, so used to disappointment and impermanence that it took them months to even unpack

how in the world can we expect that children will get a good education, or develop trust and empathy, when their whole world fits into a bin liner that they have to cart around from foster placement to foster placement because they don’t have a home or family to call their own? that we continue to fund such a broken system producing broken children, is positively criminal.

try to imagine your life without a mum or dad – who kissed your scraped knee when you fell?  who came running in the dark when you had nightmares?  who comforted you when you were teased at school?  who helped you with your homework?  who taught you to drive?  who helped you open your first bank account?  now imagine turning to a paid carer for all of the above.  now imagine if that paid carer was a different person every few months.

my brother and sister are considered statistical anomalies – as a set of older siblings of colour, their chances for adoption were considered slim.  and yet even though we know how deeply foster care scars children, and we know the odds for adoption decrease exponentially with age, many kids languish in the system for years as opportunities for a home and family pass them by.  too few carers, too few families, too many kids living in limbo for too long.

surely a caring, permanent family is the minimum every child deserves.  i urge you to watch the programme if you haven’t already, and to write to the children, schools and families committee about the horrific way we fail our children.

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