Whats that behind you…?

“Nostalgia is a seductive liar.” ~ GEORGE WILDMAN BALL

IT’S NOT ALWAYS EASY TO PINPOINT when exactly you began to think in a certain way.

Whether we know it or not, society dictates most of our beliefs and behaviours — the effect being that many of our habits and conventions are derived to avoid attention, suspicion or unpopularity as the various events in our lives roll by. As the gradual and ascendant force of conviction sets in it gives rise to an over-simplified experience we call ‘maturity’ — which includes such badly managed idiosyncrasies as ‘independence’ and ‘tolerance’ — traits very easily reduced to basic apathy, or are forgotten about entirely.

During our lives there many events that will stand out in our memories and in our collective history as being pivotal in that they trigger particular or peculiar actions and sometimes even larger, more significant events that are in complete contrast to everything else that is going on at the time. Entire nations can rise and fall by these events. Families will cross oceans, ending generations of history in one place, beginning anew in another. These are the random and emotional memories that punctuate the gloom. But timelines, expressed emotionally, are anything but linear, while nostalgia is both seductive and deceptive. This combination is as best a way I can think of to describe hazy memories and the glaze that is layered over our history, in any form. History – of the recorded variety — is a tricky kind of record to keep straight. Its always slightly skewed, frequently inaccurate, yet punctured by events that undoubably took place — and took place because of a lingering malady or symptom — triggered by incidents that dominate the headlines, while the underlying cause is barely discussed. The events of ‘now’ are obviously critical and we act accordingly, thrust forward by our urges, our convictions and by the force of the crowd acting, it seems, independently of everything going on ‘behind’ us. ‘Now’ dominates everything. It is our tool for action.

Yet society doesn’t necessarily change when it develops new tools, it changes when it develop new behaviours — which are anchored in the past. There are exceptions; we didn’t start using cars because we ran out of horses or needed to find avenues to express our intolerance and pent up road rage — but having done so we changed our behaviour accordingly.

As humans we have that tendency to evolve, develop, and explore, yet the key to evolution is not just a transformation to new ideas. Evolution – of the useful variety — requires a transformation of behaviour so that we are capable of that evolution. And it is our behaviour that is that underlying weakness. As much as we are able to tolerate, or adapt, we prefer not to. Over time we grow accustomed to our lives, our back yards, our installed set of prejudices, accepting the conditions wherein we exist. In a relatively stable system these conditions are neatly moderated by commerce and law, contributed to from time to time by the arts and even by ourselves as individuals — if we are so lucky.

Some of these conditions induce conflict; or at least, they would, but they do not because we tolerate them while they lie dormant, ignited only by an emotional and unexpected accelerant. We are both fortunate and unfortunate to be living in such interesting times. Fortunate, because we have — and will have — a wealth of experience on which to draw later; unfortunate because most people will not give a damn about events as they pass by and are consigned to history — the gloom — styled in whichever form is fashionable, or by whichever survivor ( the victor) chooses to write them down. Only the highlights stand out, if they even do that.

This presupposes that — in general — we’ll never have the urge to look back to see what just happened, that we’ll be quite happy within whichever state of affairs we find ourselves. And this is the norm; if we’re are lucky, however, we will have the dysfunction, the broken seat, the obstructed view or stunted growth — however you want to describe it — to have to compensate, to turn back out of caution and perhaps anxiety, to see a hairline fracture in the jointing of our assembled past, or a badly patched repair in the fabric of history.

…

I’M FORTUNATE FOR BEING SIMILARLY INHIBITED having looked behind me one day to question the workmanship of my own meandering experience, an enquiry which ultimately extended to people, prejudice — and then to everything else. This broadsword of analysis was made easier and more accessible to me because other events had paved the way:

The first of these was being born in South Africa. The novelist and activist Nadine Gordimer once pointed out that white South Africans are born twice; once biologically, and once again when they emerge from the artificial colour-consciousness^⁠1 of the apartheid state.^⁠2

The second event was arriving in England for the first time. This was a most remarkable experience and the process that followed it was eye-opening to say the least. By living in a new country my frames of reference — my daily life — had shifted. When you are used to a certain backdrop and orientation but all of a sudden this changes, you’re forced to address many aspects of your routine and existence from first principles. It is at this point that your eyes open for the first time; leaving South Africa began the gestation period to this ‘second birth’.

The third event was, I suppose, the actual trigger.

In this I was not an active participant, rather a passenger, as I have been for most of my life. I observed — as the world descended into recession (the first of my professional career) a kind of substitute, recession-denying persona emerge out of every other person on the streets and station platforms — whether they wore a cuff-linked, over-starched pink shirt from TM Lewin, or not. The suppressed resentment and anger of class in these people seem to rise as incomes fell. The comforting and oppressing forces of consumption — the usual resistance to socioeconomic downward pressure — was replaced with a kind of survival instinct; but a passive-aggressive version, edged with a quiet desperation as the magnitude and consequences became apparent. Denial is a very human condition. Or was it simply arrogance … of a very London variety?

It’s easy to suggest, as many pundits do, that these emerging characteristics are animal, linking us back to our supposed origin of species; that they are evidence of some sort of ‘survival of the fittest’ scenario, a misplaced pseudo-scientific^⁠3 notion of human evolution playing out in suits and cities. This kind of Darwinistic imagery possesses the drama and poignancy that is appealing to our sense of ‘scientific’ enquiry. But the drama is part of the illusion. The drama — like that thing that makes people need to wear a cuff-linked, over-starched pink shirt from TM Lewin – is the human condition. The shift we see is not necessarily taking place in people, but perhaps in the popular culture on which they feed, and is specifically visible when so much of the population is thrust into economic crises. So, feral is just a manifestation of stress.

History will also recall the London Riots of 2011 – those not-really riots — as being a central event in the United Kingdom of the first decade of the century or so. And perhaps they were significant; but the media enjoyed the story much more. Historians and commentators like David Starkey appeared on television suggesting that the perpetrators were merely ‘Shopping with Violence’. I was initially drawn to Starkey’s conclusion as I, like many people, are drawn to contrary or controversial voices that make clever sounding noises.  In the case of Mailer, Zinn, Chomsky, Vidal, Hitchens – you’re certainly better off favouring the heretic over the voice of popular culture, even if popular culture tries to mimic it blindly.

But there is a fine line between being blunt and being glib. There was something unsettling in Starkey’s account. Perhaps it was because he is an old-school historian, or perhaps he is simply a racist. After a number of days, and with some poking around, I realised that he reminded me of an older generation; stubborn and bull-headed and inherently conservative. I’d heard these people while growing up in South Africa. They were my family and many of my teachers.

You can find their kind captured in interviews by the BBC conducted in South Africa in the 1950s and 1960s. While typically controversial, and specifically political, the interviews^⁠4 none-the-less illustrate the blunt and crude opinions about class and culture. Much of the older generation of white South Africa tried to defend apartheid; but all they betray is a belittling, racist tone of a general public who still think of black people as simple and inferior — like a child. They’re convinced that the Black Man didn’t really mind apartheid, that he was better off with the things the White man gave him. A job. Free time…

Suffice to say, you don’t hear much from that generation these days. They are retired, or have passed away, or are closeted away in quite streets and towns. But I don’t think that sufficient time has passed to be able to declare that those same prejudiced urges are sufficiently suppressed. Indeed, they drip out of storage no matter where you go; which was one of those revelations that caused me one day to stop and blink — because they materialise in more insidious ways, and they’re certainly not isolated to South Africa.

There is a powerful subtlety in meaning when you overturn the simple definition of a racist as being a person who simply doesn’t like blacks, or Jews, or Muslims – to be someone who believes that they are superior because of their ethnicity, position of authority or social class, and that other apparently inferior fellow human beings do not warrant the attention or the time for consideration. The image that forms in your mind becomes much more revealing — and surprisingly relevant. From that altered perspective something like public outcry or a social uprising isn’t taken seriously as being a human response, a collective consciousness, or a reaction to oppression — rather, it is seen as some defect in conduct, character or composition. From those minds come the glib and condescending conclusions, “shopping with violence”.

Human beings seem to have the ability to use their position of authority — perceived or otherwise — to dehumanise others as the broad and complex landscape of society grows more and more present, and the collective experience of humanity becomes more and more vivid. As much as we have the moral fibre to be inclusive, we consistently illustrate our reluctance to do so, excluding others in a confused state of political correctness, name calling, and cheap jokes.

It is of little use to turn to our political leaders for salvation. If history has taught us nothing else, it’s that politicians are incapable of doing anything or processing anything that is not of use to them. Nor should we turn back and try recapture romantic history. History is filled with tales of bravery and revolution, of founding fathers and nation-building. Yet mostly the struggle of empires and civilisations is a grapple with monarchy and democracy, both of which get in the way of people of business being free to do business; irrespective of the consequences. This is the real story of our evolution.

Nor should we internalise the issue — selfishly. We have for too long suffered in a cult of individualism; a myth propagated by people who say things like ‘life is what you make it’ without thinking that for many people, under the influence of rampant capitalism, life is surely what corporations and governments make it. And least of all, ignore the cries of the clergy who espouse the idea that religion is the path to redemption, of regaining morality. One does not require a third party — religion, or the law — to evolve a moralistic way of thinking. The law and justice are two very different things. The law is already there. It is up to people to sort it out for themselves.

From mindless patriotic fervour, to cruelty on internet forums, it is increasingly clear that an unchecked cult of individualism has given rise to a society incapable of debate, who stare blindly into the face of a lie and never flinch. On top of it all, the sense of denial is palpable, supported by ever increasing numbers of people who only exist in the ‘now’. There seems to be no inclination — instinctive, or instigated — for people to turn back and see the blur of society as it comes into a messy and in-cohesive focus. Our lives are too richly fuelled by a mix of lies and crowd mentality. Opinion polls become fact. We are obsessed with equality, and our own inferiority complex. We are emotionally starved and consumed with image and reputation. If we are to avoid the multitudes that do evil, then we should be quite happy with not taking ourselves too seriously. Or anyone else for that matter.

Thomas Pryor Gore – a Republican senator and the grandfather of the outspoken novelist Gore Vidal – once remarked that if there was any race other than the human race, he’d go join it. I’ve often felt the same — as have people I’ve known. Those words — irrespective of the context in which they were uttered — serve as a reminder of the timeless human ability to isolate himself. Isolationist movements, who see the state as their implacable enemy, attempt but fail ( vis a vi Waco Texas, Ruby Ridge, Oklahoma City) to live in the proverbial wilderness. Nor do we have the luxury of joining another race of beings, or communing with other animals. Very few people, if any, have succeeded in wandering off into the wild and living successfully in the tundra of Alaska alongside the coyotes and the bears…

…and if polled, I doubt the coyotes and bears would want that either.

 

¹ The Lying Days (1953)

² Gordimer, Nadine. “Hardtalk” Nadine Gordimer, South African Writer. Charlie Rose BBC. 10 May 2011. Web. http://www.bbc.co.uk/i/b01129bn/

³ Jacoby, Susan. “The age of american unreason”

⁴ Interview (unformatted) Panorama : Union of South Africa. Prod. Michael Peacock. BBC 1957 [online] http://www.bbc.co.uk/archive/apartheid/7201.shtml

White People

“The whites have become black. A particular sort of violent destructive, nihilistic gangster culture has become the fashion, and black and white, boy and girl, operate in this language together, this language which is wholly false, which is this Jamaican patois that has been intruded in England, and that is why so many of us have this sense of literally a foreign country.”

~ David Starkey

London, August 2011

If a complete stranger enquired one day what, in summary, was the single most significant and identifiable cause for the tension in the world, “white people” wouldn’t be a bad answer.

It is clearly not the only response but the debate exploring other options has both a subtlety and complexity that requires some experience as well some knowledge that light pigmentation is too broad an evolutionary category. These are things that require time to digest; and since we’re exploring the theoretical ‘complete stranger’ idea, this short answer is a good place to start. It’s flippant, yes. But it also makes the most noise, doesn’t use the word ‘black’, and its not ‘Religion’.

The noise – the reaction to colour – is one of those human weaknesses that makes the most sense. We are manufactured in such varying shades and hues, yet colour is top of the list of physical traits we are encouraged to ignore, along with religion, hair-lips, and a sliding scale of imperfections descending right down to people who like morris dancing. A reaction to frivolous comments and commentary is another human weakness. Remarks about colour, for example, hold no merit, while Religion – having an obvious influence – is too abstract.

It’s also too bloody obvious.

That people of similar appearance lump together in groups and communities is the most visible evidence that, on balance, the hereditary, social and whatever other conditioning has not been overcome by the prevailing moral encouragement to do otherwise. Likewise, the combination of educated elitism, and political correctness, smears the respective simplicity and potency of debate, when the need arises. Besides, there is already a precedent to use colour and race as a measuring stick; or have I completely misunderstood our history?

To take a position that fair skinned people have a greater culpability in the state of the world is therefore fuelled by several similar considerations – but mostly the existence of the English.

The fair Levantines of the Egyptian and Ottoman empires may well have seeded some of the descendants of Europe, while early Europeans, having given up their consumption of cereals and begun to leave their cloistered existences in support of new past times (chiefly empire building) gave rise to, including others, the Slavic, Germanic and Celtic people. This is a broad and mostly concluding chapter of the story and while relevant to the aspect of culture, does not quite possess the specificity of the original declaration. Conquest and migration requires a great deal more qualification – so blaming only the English people is a bit unfair.

You will, I hope, realise that “white” is a contemporary and social designation. This is important. Actual colour is a red herring. The genetic characteristics of any given Caucasian have no bearing on the initial declaration which, while frivolous and leaning towards the misguided, is born out of the generally perceived trademarks of the self styled and inaccurately titled ‘Civilisation’, and its equally bloated track record in the areas of sociology, politics, language, culture and law. If we had the time, we’d explain to our stranger that a debate on colour usually goes awry because the deductive reasoning that is implored is flawed. Just because my car is red, and my tomato is red, does not mean my car is a tomato. Or something like that…

The fallacy that usually prevails is supported conclusions that ooze out of any discussion that involves colour, race, gender; or the earlier hinted-at Religion. But there is some mileage in an analysis of the cultural development of the pale and affected people of the world, so we will persist, reacting to the elitism and political correctness that abound, taking a position is both satisfying and useful as it provides some explanation as to the common colour denominator that I’ve chosen to poke a stick at. And, despite the gradual reduction in the size of our planet, and the colloquial ‘small world’ that has blended together both race and culture into the stew of humanity that we have today, you’d think that looking for someone to blame amongst the giant average of everything would be pointless. Yet the historical dependability of sweeping statements is – as fallible as they are – sufficient enough to describe to a complete stranger a summary of the problem. After all, he or she requested brevity.

The explanation of this précis is far more interesting; and is also required to get the wretched English off the hook. At least for the moment. Un-testable and conveniently distant history provides all sorts of useful strands from which to pick a theme. So, beginning then with, say, the practice of formal agriculture and our supplemented Vitamin D intake, we begin a story of our journey towards being awkward.

The descendants of the ancient Europeans ceased to be nomadic quite some time ago. Making dinner stand still was a very important step. This was real progress, but perhaps where the progress ends. In the history of bad ideas, settling down was probably right up there with idol worship and faith rallies. I doubt very much that the concept of sloth would have crept into our dictionary of useful words if we’d come up with a less sedentary path to enlightenment. As comfortable and as useful as staying in one place is, it does breed a certain contempt for doing anything else. The telephone and the remote control being part evidence of this inclination. Europeans should also not alone be credited with the invention of agriculture though they certainly did fast-track the various technologies that followed it. Included in this package is culture, language and law, a triplet that gets handed down the line in a historical game of pass the parcel. We are, so to speak, the ones left holding the inheritance when the music stopped, having forgotten the knack of slaying a beast and surviving off the land. We have, therefore, travelled quite comfortably on the shoulders of giants – or on a conveyer-belt – to get to where we are going, and in the ensuing repetition, habit and servility that ultimately came from sitting around absorbing second hand beliefs, our selfish genes began to thrive.

Selfish is a pointless concept when used in isolation. It requires a group to be effective; and the larger the better. This shift in our behaviour surely took place the moment we became aware of that larger whole and were required to start acknowledging other people’s personal space – a structural defect that even modern homo-sapiens struggle with. From this would develop the elitism and its awkward offshoot, political correctness, both the sickle-cell anaemias of our sociological existence.

Human beings are also easily driven to anger – but we are not as bright as we are pampered – so we make up excuses and invent public relations. (which is really just propaganda for the ‘good guys’)

In creating this illusion of success we’ve develop hedonistic vices for which we require fuel. Coffee and cigarettes were never going to be enough, so we made use of cruel use of intimidation, fear and savagery towards the powerless and vulnerable, the unconquered natives of distant lands. Here the English do shine, along with the Spanish, French and Dutch. Our dogged, traditional, religious values are evolved along the way and are still expressed most frequently in Protestant-Catholic hostility or in football violence. Which is about the same thing. They prevail because they are familiar and convenient, even if they are varied and confusing and only superficially plausible. This inevitable degradation of custom, language and lore, with the rather inconsistent approach to freedom of expression, fuels the inclusion of rather less verifiable practices and opens the door for scientologists, mystics and a raft of people that just make stuff up – a practice, it is worth pointing out, that is not necessarily recent.

There is something rather unoriginal about this acquired and rather diluted heritage. It suggests an inbuilt tendency towards petulance and hostility and portrays this branch of humanity as being unfulfilled, frustrated – even Godless. The culture of learning has, and possibly still does ( time will tell) contain a fair degree of doctoring and fiddling; a culture of postulating as well as analysis. This is quite convenient way of filling in the gaps, or the spaces that we either don’t understand or agree with. We also place importance on our material wealth and justify our speciousness with subtle changes in law, fashion and language, with its inevitable semantic shifts. Suspicion, the incorrect analyisis of other traditions and cultures, and the ensuing superficial westernisation of traditional institutions, terms and values, results in a new vocabulary; so that foreign traditions and acceptances are somewhat demonised. Using our present understanding of these words, it is difficult to appreaciate any other meaning. Our associations with them often imply a negative. Heresy – a word that conjurs up dark religious non-conformity – really means ‘free to choose’. Which is what several people in history have already attempted. Unsuccessfully. Following this trend, ‘Courtesy’ is interpreted as ‘subserviance’, ‘loyalty’ becomes ‘neposism’, ‘thrift ‘becomes ‘avarice’, ‘generocity’ becomes ‘extravagance’. (Lewis)

Most significantly, poverty has become, almost by definition, associated with mischief. This is more ignorance than ‘naught-iness’ but our deference – tending to acquiescence – just reinforces the informality and malleability of opinion of the so-called civilised, an opinion that can be so very ‘nice’, a word that, according to the Latin, actually suggests ignorance.

Having strayed this far off the topic, we do have the useful benefit of perspective. One thing that is obvious is that the trend towards the abandonment of culture and tradition has meant a heightened mistrust and suspicion of others, an insecurity that manifests as resentment or scorn, while many traditions are bastardised to the extent of being immoral. Branded rhetoric, religious dogma and pagan ceremony merge into one contrived calendar of card carrying – or should that be card-receiving – ceremony. Of course there are sub-groups within the collective, exceptions that further weaken the original argument – but we don’t tell the stranger this. We simply point out that the difference between some of the more peculiar European peoples and the traditional giants of industry and empire is how they address progress and prosperity. The peculiar Europeans focus their energy on the well being and the good of the wider whole while the old giants expend their time and energy, as they always have, on appearances. The differences are as subtle in description as they are vast in outcome.

Meanwhile the giants of our civilisation are too imperious to care for the original accusation of being pale and affected, and thus somehow inferior. They’re too busy coming up with television, drive through restaurants, and the latest Vitamin D enriched breakfast cereal; not to mention a never ending trail of corporate mission statements, there for the purpose of stating what is quite clearly not obvious from the outset. And so we return to the English – or more specifically their most significant creation, the Americans, who, in an ultimate act of staying in the same place, still insist in measuring things using the human anatomy. How very imperial.

Our state of convenience and bliss is quite catchy. This is a useful quality as giving up fresh water and pluming is a difficult thing to do once you’ve had it. But along with the flood of these and other conveniences comes the malaise – so that on inspection, the previously referred to ‘small world’, is indeed blended together by history and circumstance into the giant average.

So, to badly paraphrase the now infamous words of David Starkey, perhaps the ‘Blacks have become white’.

Its a riot …

As the sun set on my very first week in England (this is a figurative expression – there was very little sun when I arrived in the winter of 2003) I experienced a very brief pang of unease.

This wasn’t necessarily to do with the fact that I had spontaneously upped and left my home in a matter of weeks, beginning a second phase of what, I suppose, is called ‘life’; and it wasn’t necessarily to with the fact that I had a very limited supply of cash, a first paycheck that was over a month away and still with it all to do…it was something else; something that hung in the air…

I was initially enamored with the sight of London, as I’m sure so many people are. While wandering the streets in my first hours I was struck by the sheer volume of sparkling advertising and abundant merchandise. So much stuff! Having hatched from the sandy-coloured and slow-paced (former) Southern African colony my radar was not quite tuned to the sheer volume of commercial pizzazz and retail propaganda that I was confronted with. Nothing is cheap in London – but that doesn’t seem to matter. Everything must be bought … London is, at first glance, a neatly packaged Victorian box with just the right number of baubles and bows to be appealing without looking too much the show kitten. Retail hype floats in the air like the smell of toasted baguettes in winter, and you get the feeling that you just have to have it all. Consumption and commerce abound. (And so, clearly, do the baguettes.) I remember those opening hours whenever I get a whiff of toasted cheese and see the dogma of the ‘Sale’ signs, the public like Pavlovian experiments, flocking to the temples of consumption to drool and worship in the warm glow of the holy trinity of class, money and acquisitiveness. But still I couldn’t articulate the unease – so I brushed it aside and chalked it up to the feeling you get when you suddenly change countries and you don’t really have a plan. You know the one…?

A few days later, having suitably shaken off the panic of change and gotten used to the idea of a country that was somewhat colder and damper than I would have liked, the buzz faded. I began to treat myself to meandering touristy trips, here and there, to random places like Greenwich, Ealing and Hendon; names that sounded leafy and English. Like so much of London I found the usual mix of lanes flanked by Victorian terrace houses, or by sprawling estates of brown-brick buildings that seemed rather ordinary, drab and uninspiring. Indeed, I boarded for two months in a terrace house surrounded by this style of architecture. This was somewhat disappointing, my visions of white picket fences, red-post boxes and bobbies on bicycles clearly being a thing of Enid Blyton fiction. I’ve since learnt that thanks to the vast stratification of British society, certain parts of the population (the ones that can afford to live where the leafy cobbled streets are, and social housing are not), these ordinary buildings – estates – are something to frown at. You’ll find, however, that the geographical locations of the various extremes in a London borough are frequently a single street apart, forcing the Toffs to stare helplessly across the road at the peasants in the houses that tax built…

It was while wandering around looking for the RAF museum in Hendon one day that I first noticed the divide – though I seemed alone in noticing this – while to my surprise no one in Hendon appeared to know or even care that RAF Hendon even existed. This was partially to do with the fact like so many municipal productions, there are no useful signs in England. The remaining evidence came from everything else that just hung about. Literally. Outside the station was a clump of teenagers in big shoes an oversized clothes who looked very much like they were waiting for something to happen, this creating a tension in an environment where nothing was happening at all. They didn’t know where the museum was and some didn’t seem to appreciate what a museum was – though the slightly more articulate description of ‘that place with old stuff and shit…’ helped me along my way. I then found an old bloke who looked like he had possibly escaped from a museum; he pointed up a tree lined road, past an inauspicious round-about, coughed a lung out and staggered off towards the station gates. Or the cemetery.

Here and there were remnants of high street bling (another new word), sameness, and more of the ugly infill, left slightly too much alone, the shops painted in a style of ‘come back if you must, or not at all’. I found the museum in the end and having exhausted my sense of nostalgia, and walked my feet to a throbbing ache, I strolled slowly back to the station and noticed all of a sudden, the blight, the litter and the dissonance in the murkiness of the dusk. Perhaps it was the cold weather and sore feet that drew my attention to the cracks in the fabric, and the pale and unhappy faces. The very air carried a very clear lack of purpose in it. The mood seemed to emanate from everything from the pavement to the trees and which seemed randomly placed and mostly forgotten. Outside the station, mingling amongst the mediocre landscape were the same group of kids from earlier in the day who quite visibly wanted to go to heaven in shiny tracksuits and big shoes, the odd contradiction between their appearance and their expressionless faces just visible in the gloom. The wait on the station platform seemed longer than normal and when the train eventually arrived, it seemed to do so with the same kind of lonely obligation as everything else that hung about that day. I boarded and it moved off slowly, rattling back south towards signs of life – then somewhere between Hendon and the city the gloom turned back to green again. There was the unease again…the detachment, the lonely independence. Freedom in the form of isolation, grey hoods and big shoes, and mine in the form of email, a list of obligations and a future in a place of apparently lost souls.

London. A sparkling gem surrounded by an urban net of purgatory. Head down, I simply let time pass….

…until one day London began to burn, the trigger being the cries of injustice and police force following the shooting of a coloured man in Tottenham. And I finally understand that unease I felt almost eight years ago.

Joining these dots is not that straightforward, but the emerging picture is surely predictable. As to the causes and the fractures – I suppose its not so outrageous to suggest the nihilistic gangster culture has traditionally been black – but the ‘problem’ has become intrenched along with the complexities of society, commerce and economics. And sadly the point about the effect of this cultural blowback – because the underclasses were and have continued to be typically black – will not be debated because this society is incapable of straight talking, even though this has nothing to do with race. Surely a level of disenfranchisement so acute that it hangs in the air is going to finally find purchase in some shape or form? And so it did in the form of pogroms – not aimed at ethic minorities, not at institutions of government – but at the cities themselves. It was not a protest but an expression; not of defiance, but of indifference. This was the sound of the marginalised and the misguided venting their frustration and contempt, but one that highlighted an absence of moral fibre. What then of the cries of lawlessness? I think that debate is irrelevant. It’s not about right or wrong, it’s that the marginalised and the misguided barely care either way. If there was ever any protest, it ended once the blood began to boil, the events of early August having very little to do with the deceased Mr. Duggan.

The lack of support for this government is just an ongoing theme. So is the absence of leadership. Within hours of the whole episode the suited and thin lipped government retribution began, as ever targeting the symptoms not the problems. Single mothers. Broken families. Where, indeed, were the mothers? A question submitted about two decades too late and posed as if they had suddenly disappeared and abandoned their kids over night. Would it surprise Mr Cameron to know that everyone has abandoned those kids? No authoritarian sermon on lawlessness is going to resolve the issue – apart from satisfying those trembling and equally stupid middle classes who have by submission become incapable of empathy. Public responses are vitriolic and misplaced – perhaps understandable – but pluck any note from the mandatory audience participation and you’ll hear the usual tone of a public paralysed by ignorance, its members so desperate to have their opinions validated by cheers and applause that they too have become incapable of debate.

The overwhelming tide of opinion has already altered the course of the broader debate on civic responsibility, individualism and equality. The poverty, inequality and unemployment will all go unchallenged, espunging the guilt of the suburban drones that partake in their own crowd mentality while out shopping – or of simply doing nothing and blaming other peoples ‘life choices’ on the problems in the city.

Calm is restored. Social divisions are once again reinforced… and the misplaced racial commentary will continue to fuel resentment while the punishments are metered out like public hangings.

Another grim winter looms.