Bring them home

Enough is enough. Isn't it time that the Royal Festival of Remembrance became just that - a festival of *remembrance*? Last year, I spoke of how haunted I was by cataloguing books from 1910-1920, and how lads entering university in 1912 or 1913 rightly looking forward to golden years studying and punting found themselves on the muddy fields of Ypres.

In this year's Royal Festival of Remembrance, John Simms read us a letter from Passchendaele written by Jack Mudd to his wife Lizzy and their two little ones, taking us back across the years, reminding us of the true cost of war:

Dear Lizzie, it's nearly six months since I saw you, how I long for you and the children. God bless you all. I love you more than ever. I want nothing more to take you in my arms, what a lot of love we have missed, but please God it will make it all the sweeter when I see you.

...

Please God it won't be long before this war is over, we are pushing old Fritz back, I don't think he will stand the British boys much longer, and then we will try and keep a nice home. I will know the value of that now.

Why can we not know it always? Four days later, Jack was not present at roll call, and his body was never recovered from the knee deep mud and slime at Ypres. Lizzie remarried a friend of his from the same battalion who was badly wounded, but she kept his last letter in remembrance of their happiness. Her daughter donated it to the Imperial War Museum, granting us the privilege of a window onto their love.

No more. No more stories of young men dying on their 24th birthday in Basra's field hospital whilst his twin holds his hand. No more men and women coming home irreparably wounded - physically, spiritually and emotionally. No more young widows and widowers. No more orphans.

No more young men dying for old men's wars.

From Laurence Binyon:

For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

And finally, please...

God on high
Hear my prayer
In my need
You have always been there.

He is young,
He's afraid -
Let him rest,
Heaven blessed.
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.

Just bring them home. For always.

My telly shame

I'm sitting on the sofa on a Tuesday night, having just careened through a sublimely tense, gripping episode of "Spooks". Another episode (having to do with nuclear triggers for Iran) is on at 22.30. I'll be watching it.

In between, I'm catching up with one of my favourite (hence the shame) trashy telly programmes: BRIIIIIIDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDEZIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAS!

Yup, I confess, I watch Bridezillas - it's one of the more amusing pieces of social commentary around. It has given us some of the best television 'slag offs' ("Good for you. Grow a dick," is one I like so much, I've adopted it) around. And it makes me grateful to be single.

(ARGH. A groom just said, "I don't want to deny you anything in life." WHERE'S THE PUKE SMILEY WHEN I NEED IT?? "It's 20x more than anything I've written a cheque for. We could have bought a house with this," he continues. ARE THERE ANY MEN LEFT IN THE WORLD? REAL MEN WITH BALLS? Buy the damn house. Pie Jesu.)

"It's a good way to spend my parents' money." *Snort* We went through women's lib for this? Come on, Manhattan brides, pay up! Buy your own jewelry, your own wedding dress, your own party. These boots are made for walking, remember? Just make sure they're on your credit card.

Here's a hint, boys - this Bridezilla? She's the real woman you're marrying. If she's like this planning a party, what's going to happen when a real crisis arises? If you want to see what a person is really like, watch how they treat the people who serve them and how they react to a crisis. You've got the opportunity to observe and then get the hell out of there.

And girls, a reminder - a wedding is for a day; a marriage and good friends for a lifetime.

"Something's bothering me about this dress. I'm not sure what it is."

You look like Little Bo Peep, sweetie, that's what's bothering you. Cf. Andie McDowell in Four Weddings. May I offer you a shepherd's crook and a lamb to go with that? Only £5000.

Hmmm...maybe we need a "Bridezillas: five years on" series...I could see it going down well...

Ooh, the first strains of next week's "Spooks". Sorry, gotta go. Mwah, dahlings.

Right after I buy that matched diamond necklace and earring set...

State of emergency

At midnight on Sunday, 4 November (Pakistan time, so GMT +5), Pervez Musharraf declared a state of emergency in Pakistan. Opposition politicians, including cricketer Imran Khan, were placed under arrest, as were many other Pakistani citizens. The Supreme Court was disbanded just days before they were to rule on the legality of Musharraf's election.

Predictably, the UK and US howled in outrage. Condoleeza Rice, a woman who betrayed her gender and race by becoming part of an administration that hates both, has done what a true Republican does - threatened to pull Pakistan's aid package.

Hmmm. Let's see what happened in the weeks preceding the state of emergency, shall we? Islamic fundamentalists taking hostages in the Laal Masjid; 130 people killed in a single suicide bombing; more people killed as various outbursts of violence occur. We all know Al-Qaeda wants to isolate Pakistan from the West and turn it into a draconian Islamic state. They're punishing Pakistan for being close enough to the West to receive American aid.

And so, when Pervez Musharraf reacts the only way a Pakistani president knows how to react when the country is falling apart, Ms Rice, who doesn't know a damn thing about the culture or history of the place - and doesn't have the sense to ask anyone who does - threatens to isolate the country even further, destabilising it and driving it right into Osama's hands.

Not too surprising, since she actually believes that George W. Bush sees non-whites as equals.

Do I agree with what President Musharraf has done? Absolutely NOT. Do I understand in light of the culture and the way Pakistan works? YES. And the way to get Pakistan out from under this is NOT to push Musharraf further into the corner he's already in, but to talk to him and help him find a way out.

And let's be honest. Does either the US or the UK have a leg to stand on? The US instituted the Patriot Act; tortured prisoners in Abu Ghraib; locks people in Guantanamo Bay indefinitely. When I went back for a wedding four years ago, despite the fact I carried a US passport and had a US accent, I was asked rather aggressively, "Why are you here?"

I very nearly responded, "I was born and raised here, and carry an American passport, you c**t. Tell me, what are *you* doing here?"

I thought better of it and said I was going to a wedding, but I filed it away. Along with every time I got patted down by a man on my way to the plane, not because of the way I acted, but because of how I looked.

The UK doesn't fare much better - no pics of them abusing prisoners of war, but their Prevention of Terrorism 2005 Act, allowing the imposition of 'control orders' on those suspected of terrorism, doesn't give them the moral high ground. You know you're in trouble when one of your own judges calls your law 'an affront to justice' because it violates the European code of human rights.

To quote a favourite youtube video (see below):

"I AM afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of other things, too. I'm afraid that Western government is using terrorism as a Trojan horse to limit civil liberties..."

That is exactly what Western government is doing - it is using the fear generated by terrorism to exert greater control over a people who trust it less and less.

So if I were you, Condoleeza and Jacqui, I'd keep my mouth shut about human rights. You don't want to be looked at too closely - with centuries of constitutional liberties behind you and peaceful lands, you don't have the excuses that Musharraf does.

Amnesty International is watching you.

If you'd had any sense, you'd have brought the children of immigrants, like myself, on board. No one can hate Muslim extremists more than those who have grown up fighting the repression of Islamic culture so they can be free to be themselves - especially the women.

In my darkest revenge fantasies, I'm standing on a football pitch surrounded by pyres, on which burn the bodies of every single Taliban and Al-Qaeda member, along with every male of his line - each one shot, execution style, by a Muslim woman he abused.

No one can hate them more deeply than we can. No one wants to see them ripped out, root and branch, more than we do.

If you'd done your homework, you'd have known that. Instead, you assumed a Muslim monolith. You've paid for it in time, resources and goodwill lost.

Why are you here, indeed.

Sorry, Condo, you were saying, about Pervez Musharraf and the state of emergency...

no? What's the matter, cat got your tongue?

Or did you think you might want to take the plank out of your own eye before you remove the splinter from his?

Basmati rice scandal

Tilda has done it - betrayed the South Asian matriarchs.

Basmati in a microwave.

My mother would die. Her mother would kill.

Soaking the rice; cutting the onions; measuring out the water; getting the golden crunchy bottom - every single step was part of a ritual, passed on from mother to daughter.

To end in the MICROWAVE? Never.

"Sanjay is my only son - handsome, loving. Now, of course, he's brought shame on the family."

"What happened?"

"He cooks his basmati rice in the microwave. 48 hours I was in labour with him - for this? TWO MINUTES IN A MICROWAVE? Can a microwave replace a mother?"

Every South Asian mother would rise up against this sacrilege.

As do I. Mine takes at least 11.

The perfect anthem...

I've been cheated.

I've lived in two countries with completely rubbish national anthems - one about a war, one about a current ruler. Neither is really a paean to the land or the people who make a nation what it is. Each land has better options, but opted for the ones they have now.

Lately, of course, I've been singing this one constantly. I'll write more about why in another entry, but suffice it to say that the anthem is in four languages and ends with "Let us live and strive for freedom..." Absolutely. Those are the sentiments that a national anthem should have: love of country, representation of her peoples and a sense of moving forward together.

This weekend, I was messing around on youtube, and I thought, "Oh, I need to hear that national anthem so I can take the piss out of it." Found it easily enough...

and discovered an anthem that moved me to tears - a perfect blend of music and words. Watch it - the harmony on the first verse is incredible.

Rach will smirk, but I can take it, so here goes:

Australians all let us rejoice
For we are young and free
We've golden soil and wealth for toil,
Our home is girt by sea:
Our land abounds in nature's gifts
Of beauty rich and rare,
In history's page let every stage
Advance Australia fair:
In joyful strains then let us sing
Advance Australia fair.

Beneath our radiant Southern Cross,
We'll toil with hearts and hands,
To make this Commonwealth of ours
Renowned of all the lands,
For those who've come across the seas
We've boundless plains to share,
With courage let us all combine
To advance Australia fair.
In joyful strains then let us sing,
Advance Australia fair.

It brims with love and gratitude to the land, her beauty and the wealth she brings them through their own hard work; a joy in living and sharing that prosperity with those "who've come across the seas"; and a resolve to move forward together to advance Australia fair.

I know no land is perfect, and that in reality, Aus has the toughest immigration rules of them all. But anthems are about ideals: what we're living and striving towards.

And this one should be adapted for and taken up by all humanity - to advance our Terra fair.

Aye ken reed...

"In order for children to read, all the studies show that we need to teach children how the alphabet works..." --Jim Rose, author of the Rose Report on literacy

Makes sense, right? Not if you're the head of a teachers' union, or if you're the children's laureate.

In this country, 20% of children leave primary school at 11 incapable of reading at an 8 year old level. Ten years ago, that figure was 33% - that's ONE CHILD IN THREE. IN ONE OF THE MOST DEVELOPED COUNTRIES IN THE WORLD...AND ONE THAT BITCHES ON ABOUT IMMIGRANTS NOT BEING ABLE TO SPEAK OR READ ENGLISH.

Thank God it's a country that understands irony. Most of the time.

I'm livid. Absolutely furious that a country that claims to put children and education first has schools full of teachers who cannot - or will not - catch students falling through the literacy net.

Why, you ask? Surely, it's simple enough. Teach children what the letters and diphthongs sound like, and they'll learn to string words together- they'll have the tools to attack reading, work out words they don't know, and feel competent, right?

In other words, the way we ALL learned to read - phonics.

Oh NO, says NUT and the children's laureate, couldn't possibly do that. It's BORING. God forbid the children should actually have to do work that isn't fun.

The children's laureate was shown trying to instill a love of literature into students he's working with - and with them stumbling over their reading, with him reading parts for them and them repeating it back, he argues against phonics, claiming it will kill their love of reading.

Erm, and you would be a shining example of that, would you, Michael? Because, my dear, at your age, I'll guarantee you that you learned to read by...phonics. And funnily enough, it's older generations - those who learned by phonics - that seem to enjoy reading most.

To get to the point where you can ENJOY reading, you have to read fluently. You have to feel confident in your ability to face unfamiliar words, sound them out, go "OH! That's e-l-e-ph-a-n-t...elephant," pat yourself on the back and carry on. If you stumble across an unfamiliar word and you use 'context' or 'whole word' methods, you're f***ed. What are you going to do if you can't sound it out, if you don't know blends, dipthongs, phonemes? Guess from the word shape? "Oh, it has a long neck, it must be 'giraffe'?"

You need to understand how the parts work, what their function is, how they fit together before you can understand the whole. Just like nature builds the proteins that give creation its infinite variety from amino acids generated by a nucleic acid code, words are built from letters and sounds. To understand proteins, you need to understand the nucleic acid code, amino acid properties and how they fit together. It's the same with words. Or anything else.

You need to build your foundation on rock, and stop pretending that shifting sand will do as well.

So it takes a bit of drill - make it fun, as some of the teachers on the show did - make a song of it, give them actions to go with the sounds, help them string words together. This isn't a 'right wing agenda' - going back to basics is just common sense. How you TEACH the basics is up to you.

I'm not a phonics dictator - I strongly believe in parental involvement, reading to your child, using context to determine *meaning*, instilling kids with a love of literature. But you need to give them a solid foundation on which to build their infinite variety of houses...and that means giving them the ability to work through reading themselves by teaching them how the alphabet - which makes up their words - works.

Literacy isn't just about reading words on a page - it unlocks worlds of reality and imagination; the ability to express yourself and understand others when they choose to do the same; it gives a child confidence to face the world, because she has the tools to understand what the world is telling her. It makes it possible for her to fly.

So doesn't that make it criminal for us to clip her wings when we refuse to make literacy possible because we're afraid of 'boring' her? After all, once she learns phonics, it's a skill she'll use automatically for the rest of her life. She's not going to be going "B-u-gg-e-r" when she's 12, now, is she?

Quit kvetching because you have to learn a new way of teaching a child to read, or you have to spend a little extra time catching a child in that safety net. Or because YOU found it boring as a child. This isn't about you, it's about our children and their future.

Now let's get reading.

Still being lazy...

I'll be writing a proper blog entry soon, but first, a big thanks to James Buchanan (aka Gary Barlow) for putting this on his Facebook status. I'm actually STILL laughing - again. For those of you who don't know the song or the artist this refers to, please go here first:


Loved it. And to those of you who voted and made me a wolf - an animal I've always been deeply fond of, and would have chosen as a totem - thank you. Of course, I'd have been proud to be a tiger too.

The shortest blog entry I'm ever likely to write...

Absolutely priceless...I'm still laughing.

Let him offer me a better place...

This is how I came to learn, then, dandled on a former adept's knee, how blessed Elua came to be; how when Yeshua ben Yosef hung dying upon the cross, a soldier of Tiberium pierced his side with the cruel steel of a spearhead. How when Yeshua was lowered, the women grieved, and the Magdalene most of all, letting down the ruddy gold torrent of her hair to clothe his still, naked figure. How the bitter salt tears of the Magdalene fell upon soil ensanguined and moist with the shed blood of the Messiah.

And from this union, the grieving Earth engendered her most precious son; blessed Elua, most cherished of the angels.

I listened with a child's rapt fascination as Brother Louvel told us of the wandering of Elua. Abhorred by the Yeshuites as an abomination, reviled by the empire of Tiberium as the scion of its enemy, Elua wandered the earth across vast deserts and wastelands. Scorned by the one God of whose Son he was begotten, Elua trod with bare feet on the bosom of his mother Earth and wandered singing, and where he went, flowers bloomed in his footprints.

He was captured in Persis, and shook his head smiling when the king put him in chains, and vines grew to wreath his cell. The tale of his wandering had come to reach the ear of Heaven, and when he was imprisoned, there were those who answered. Choosing to flout the will of the One God, they came to Earth...

...It came then to the One God that his persuasion held no sway over Elua, in whose veins ran the red wine of his mother Earth, through the womb she gave him and the tears of the Magdalene...The One God pondered long, and sent not the angel of death, but his arch-herald to Elua and those who followed him. "Do you stay here and love as thou wilt, thy offspring shall overrun the Earth," said the herald of the One God. "And this is a thing which may not be. Come now in peace to the right hand of your God and Lord, and all is forgiven."

Blessed Elua smiled at the arch-herald, and turned to his boon companion Cassiel, holding out his hand for his knife. Taking it, he drew the point across the palm of his hand, scoring it. Bright blood welled from his palm and fell in fat drops to the Earth, and anemones bloomed. 'My Grandfather's heaven is bloodless," Elua told the arch-herald, "and I am not. Let him offer me a better place, where we may love and sing and grow as we are wont, where our children and our children's children may join us, and we will go."

The arch-herald paused, awaiting the One God's response. "There is no such place," he answered.

...Our mother Earth spoke to her once-husband, the One God, and said, "We may create it, you and I."

--Jacqueline Carey, Kushiel's Dart, pp. 12-13, 15-16

Let him offer me a better place - let his religion offer me a better place - one of passion, laughter and sensuality, where we may love and sing and grow as we are wont...and I too, will go. Until then, neither the One God nor any of his self-styled owners of the 'one truth' will persuade me to an eternally bloodless and passionless land.

Love as thou wilt, and the blessed Elua will ever guide thy steps.

And so I shall.

A rare moment...

of schmaltz from me.

I am, as much as it is possible to be, a member of the Jim Henson generation. I was born in the time period that "Sesame Street" was in pre-production, and was a young toddler when it first aired. Some of my favourite early memories revolve around Sesame Street sketches - particularly the somewhat psychedelic "D/Doll" sequence, and Bob McGrath was my very first crush (he was superseded by Harry the Monster and Kermit, then Brendan Pelarski in the first grade).

When I outgrew "Sesame Street", there was "The Muppet Show" at 7.30 pm on Saturday nights, with its array of stars, and the ongoing sagas of "Pigs in Space", "Veterinarian's Hospital" ('the continuuuuuuing story of a quack who's gone to the dogs') and "Muppet Labs" (poor Beaker!).

And just as I grew into them came the richer, magnificent and somewhat darker "Jim Henson Hour" ("The Storyteller" half was some of the best television I have EVER seen), "Labyrinth" and "The Dark Crystal".

I grew up with Jim Henson. He was always there. Until...

I'll never forget my brother ringing me in 1990 to tell me that Jim Henson had died. I told him at least twice that he was kidding and wouldn't believe him. In the end, as we all know, I had no choice. None of us did.

For years, I've been looking for this clip from the show with Bernadette Peters - it made me cry then, though I only understood why when I was much older. The second half is the same song done as a tribute to Jim Henson - watch it the whole way through, even though you have to listen to the song twice.

You might even find yourself shedding a tear.

It has been almost 18 years, Jim, and we miss you still. Thank you for letting me - and so many others - grow up in your world.

My daemon, pt. 2

I nearly had a heart attack today when I saw my daemon appear as a spider. Then it clicked...there are 12 days before it settles into final form. SO, before it does, please take the test and be *honest* about how you see me. Can't wait to see what it turns into next week.

Enjoy.

My daemon...

as per Philip Pullman's definition - if I lived in Lyra's world, this would be the representation of my soul. Agree? Disagree? Comment and let me know:


Another quiz says that my daemon is a goose. I was offended until I was reminded that one of my favourite characters had a goose daemon: Serafina Pekkala, the witch queen. As per Wikipedia:

Serafina Pekkala's dæmon is Kaisa, a large grey goose who is capable of being separated from Pekkala by long distances, as is normal with the dæmons of witches... Witches own nothing, and so have no means of exchange save mutual aid.

There are men within the witch society who serve the witches, or who can be taken for lovers or husbands. Witches are said to be capable of appreciating men for their beauty, intelligence, and bravery (we do indeed); but due to the witches' long life-span, the men appear to grow old and die almost at once. This is said to cause the witches great emotional pain.

...

Witches fly on branches of Cloud-Pine, and equate flying to living, as Serafina states: "A witch would no sooner give up flying than give up breathing. To fly is to be perfectly ourselves." Witches see themselves as subject to fate, yet they feel they must act as if they are not, or "die of despair".

...now THAT sounds like me. Wait for me, Serafina, I just remembered where I put my broom...

Only 493 days, 13 hours and 28 minutes

From the Times - and before any conservative American readers (of which I hope I have exactly ZERO) shoot off, the Times is considered a conservative paper over here, so no "But Europe hates Bush" bull****:

"The 21 nations that make up the Asia- Pacific Economic Co-operation (Apec) forum account for half the world’s trade. They have, however, long suspected that the biggest member, the United States, did not take it seriously.

President Bush did nothing to dispel that impression yesterday when he forgot the name of the event, referred to his Australian hosts as “Austrians”, and engaged in a public spat with the President of South Korea. To make matters worse, the security measures of the Sydney police were breached by a team of comedians, including a man dressed as Osama bin Laden.

Mr Bush flew to Australia via Iraq, and during his keynote speech to businessmen in Sydney he behaved like a man in the throes of jet lag. Many will sympathise with his mispronunciation of the South-East Asian militant organisation Jemaah Islamiyah, and his struggle with the name of the Burmese democracy leader, Aung San Suu Kyi. It was forgivable when he walked the wrong way off the stage and had to be guided by John Howard, the Australian Prime Minister.

But when he referred gratefully to Mr Howard’s forces in Iraq as “Austrian troops”, he had perhaps used up his credit. The worst mistake was made in the third sentence of his speech. “Thank you for being such a fine host for the Opec summit,” he said, confusing the 12-member Organisation of Petroleum Exporting Countries with the 21-member Asia-Pacific Economic Co-operation forum. “Apec summit,” he said quickly in correction. “He [Mr Howard] invited me to Opec next year.” But that wasn’t true either."

Thank GOD I haven't had to live under this idiot, who should have choked on a pretzel years ago - at least his father is an intelligent and gracious man, even if I disagree with him. How he and Barbara could have spawned this creature is beyond me.

But let's leave that aside. I have a question for my countrymen. You watched him for FOUR years. You knew how lacking in intelligence and analytical ability he was, how lacking in integrity (the joke of the decade being that the man who executed more prisoners than anyone else had the NERVE to institute a "Sanctity for Life" day - go join the hypocrite pro-lifers who bomb abortion clinics and shoot doctors in hell, won't you?) he is, how corrupt his cronies are, how this man will lie to do what he wants rather than what is best for the country, how incapable he is of listening to anyone.

So tell me, folks: HOW THE F*** COULD 59,017,382 OF YOU BE SO DUMB? HOW THE HELL COULD YOU ELECT HIM AGAIN? IT WASN'T EVEN LIKE THE ECONOMY WAS IN GOOD SHAPE, FOR F***'S SAKE!

Ah, yes...if we break it down by IQ, it all makes sense:

 
1 Connecticut   113  John Kerry
2 Massachusetts  111  John Kerry
3 New Jersey   111  John Kerry
4 New York   109  John Kerry
5 Rhode Island  107  John Kerry
6 Hawaii   106  John Kerry
7 Maryland   105  John Kerry
8 New Hampshire  105  John Kerry
9 Illinois   104  John Kerry
10 Delaware   103  John Kerry
11 Minnesota   102  John Kerry
12 Vermont   102  John Kerry
13 Washington   102  John Kerry
14 California   101  John Kerry
15 Pennsylvania  101  John Kerry
16 Maine   100  John Kerry
17 Virginia   100  George Bush
18 Wisconsin   100  John Kerry
19 Colorado   99  George Bush
20 Iowa   99  George Bush
21 Michigan   99  John Kerry
22 Nevada   99  George Bush
23 Ohio   99  George Bush
24 Oregon   99  John Kerry
25 Alaska   98  George Bush
26 Florida   98  George Bush
27 Missouri   98  George Bush
28 Kansas   96  George Bush
29 Nebraska   95  George Bush
30 Arizona   94  George Bush
31 Indiana   94  George Bush
32 Tennessee   94  George Bush
33 North Carolina 93  George Bush
34 West Virginia  93  George Bush
35 Arkansas   92  George Bush
36 Georgia   92  George Bush
37 Kentucky   92  George Bush
38 New Mexico   92  George Bush
39 North Dakota  92  George Bush
40 Texas   92  George Bush
41 Alabama   90  George Bush
42 Louisiana   90  George Bush
43 Montana   90  George Bush
44 Oklahoma   90  George Bush
45 South Dakota  90  George Bush
46 South Carolina  89  George Bush
47 Wyoming   89  George Bush
48 Idaho   87  George Bush
49 Utah   87  George Bush
50 Mississippi   85  George Bush

Jesus wept. And then wanted to come down and kick your apathetic, unthinking asses - after he'd gotten over the fact that he'd wasted his time dying for you.

That's better. I've wanted to say that since 2004. At least you made a start by giving us a Democratically controlled Congress last year.

But for God's sake, people, quit giving the rest of the world reason to see you as an imperialistic, self-absorbed, materialistic nation, who thinks that it owns the entire world and thinks it can do whatever the hell it wants. You don't and you can't. If you have power and resources, you have RESPONSIBILITIES, not just rights.

Stop acting like an adolescent and grow up. Care for your own - money isn't all there is, and socialism isn't necessarily a bad thing. Learn from others. Learn ABOUT others. LISTEN. CARE for others - you're proud of your resources, use them to make the world a better place, not an angrier one. Realise that you're only a thread in the tapestry of this world, not the whole damn thing. Deal with your anger and pain, and become more compassionate. Make those of us who were born of you and are living elsewhere proud - make us want to own you rather than deny you.

Hilary and Barack...we're counting on you. And if you win, don't forget Al Gore.

Back...

Oops, it has been more than three weeks...sorry, folks.

Well, the news is that the funding at my last job ran out, which I'm gutted about, because I love my friars.

Since then, I've picked up a job writing educational resources - which is great, but my first assignment is 35 little booklets that - no matter how hard I try - I can't do in an hour each. The deal is that it should take 20 minutes for the mental map (almost there) and 40 minutes for the questions, answers and surfing the web for extra material and further reading. I am SO not there - that's taking well over an hour for me.

Part of it is that I don't know the subject. Part of it is that I'm new at messing around with mind maps.

But most of it is that I am incapable of dashing off anything except notes and things that I don't give a toss about. I'm a TEACHER. These are resources for teachers. They MATTER and I cannot give them less than 100%. The deadline was yesterday, and I'm nowhere near done - I've been at my computer for about 12-14 hours a day since Saturday: by Monday I'd done a full week's hours.

I've finally admitted that I can't do it in time. Even if I were quick, that's 35 hours of work. And I had to start over on Friday because my old computer died. What made me say 'yes' when I knew bloody well the answer was 'no' unless I had supernatural speed bestowed on me from the Charmed Ones' Book of Shadows?

As I'm now blogging, I think you can all guess that I can't do the 12 hour days anymore. I've hit the wall.

I've been listening to 'Au fond du temple saint' and Azam Ali (The cold black key from 'Pan's Labyrinth').

When this lot is done and a couple more things are sorted out, I'm going to Disneyworld.

Well, maybe Wales. But definitely the sea.

And back to a 40 hour week, even if I am working from home...

A child of Partition on the 60th anniversary

Partition - "a division of property among joint owners or tenants in common or a sale of such property followed by a division of the proceeds." Antonyms: unity, unite.

One word. Not often used in English, and then without emotional charge.

Unless you're from the Indian subcontinent, where the word packs as much power as nuclear fission.

Partition. Always with a capital "P".

"There can be no question of coercing any large areas in which one community has a majority to live against their will under a government in which another community has a majority. And the only alternative to coercion is partition." --Louis Mountbatten

With those words, and with a stroke of the pen from Cyril Radcliffe (a man who had never lived in India, and was thus seen to be 'neutral') the Indian subcontinent was granted its freedom on 14 August 1947 as two separate nations - India and Pakistan, divided along religious lines.

"This concept of a divided India was based on the fantastic concept that nationality was based on religion. That made no sense to me." --Nyantara Sanghal, Jahawarlal Nehru's niece

Lines on a map cut right through the middle of people's lives. And nowhere was this truer than in the state of the Punjab, which was split in half, where Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus lived peacefully in integrated communities. Fifteen million people had to move; at least one million died. The Punjab went from a state of tightly knit communities to five rivers running red with blood, all with the stroke of a fountain pen.

Only once has anyone in my large [5 sibs on dad's side, 8 on mum's] family EVER talked about Partition except to celebrate 14 August, or to say briefly that they left Jalandhar for Lahore/Sahiwal/Hujra etc.

So the first time I really understood what had actually happened was whilst watching a 2005 programme on the series 'Dispatches' called 'Young, Angry and Muslim' about the Pakistani Muslim community here. It was well-done, narrated by a Pakistani Muslim [Navid Akhtar], unsettling, for all the reasons one would expect - radicalisation, the anger of the communities, and so on.

Then I looked up to see the trains.

Never, ever had I seen any footage of Partition, of the resettling over the border - until that day, when they showed three minutes of footage. The fear on the faces, the sick children, the elderly on the backs of wagons packed with people, or on trains that looked eerily like ones that had left Germany not 10 years before.

But this time, *I* was the one looking for familiar faces. My grandparents, in their 40s. My parents at 10. My uncles, aunts...they all looked like family...

And I heard my father's voice, at a family gathering a few weeks before I left the States to come here, speaking for the first time about Partition in my hearing, about a cousin who had promised to get them out, but took his girlfriend's family instead...and pushed them off as they tried to get on the truck. The fury and bitterness in his voice frightened me even as it made me want to put my arms around him. But our family has never been a close one, and my arms remained by my side.

My father's is only one story amongst millions. There were the trains that crossed the borders full of corpses; the houses that were burned; women who were raped or killed so that they wouldn't be raped; the refugee camps and children dying of disease; neighbours turned to enemies.

"I miss my friends. I didn't understand why they had to go. They didn't want to go. They were pushed away. And I thought "Why?" Sixty years later, I still think, "Why?" What did anyone get out of it?" --A Sikh reflecting on his childhood friendships with his Muslim neighbours

"The girls in the Muslim school [in Amritsar, on the Indian side] were stripped, marched out and systematically raped. I looked in the faces of those watching on to see if there was any compassion. I found none." --a Sikh in Amritsar

Muslim gangs destroying the Hindu quarter in the stunning, cosmopolitan city of Lahore, described by those who lived there then as tolerant, vibrant and the height of fashion; Sikhs attacking Muslim villages; Muslims and Hindus at eachother in the Punjab and Bengal all stand as proof that religion doesn't restrain our animal urges; when used by politicians to create fear, nothing is so effective as religion at unleashing them.

"Lahore used to be such a beautiful city, a tolerant city...there was a saying in the Punjab, 'You haven't lived until you have been to Lahore.' We [Lahore] have become more intolerant, more backward, more pseudo-Islamic." -a Muslim now living in Pakistan

One 80-year-old asked Shobna Gulati, a British Asian star who had gone back to India to trace her roots, "They had one language, one land. How could they do this to eachother?"

One land. Muslim, Hindu and Sikh it may be, but the Punjab is one land. One is Punjabi first, then their religion, and only THEN are they Indian or Pakistani. We farm. We are people of the land.

And so, even amongst this horror, there were stories of hope - Hindus hiding Muslims in their homes when the mobs came; Muslims knocking on their neighbours' doors to tell them the mobs were coming and they needed to leave.

This summer, the BBC has put together an "India-Pakistan 07" series, and the archives, including radio programmes from the past, can be found here. It has provided me with much food for thought, and surprisingly, a great deal of healing.

I've watched stories about schoolchildren in Kalkotta teaching street children how to read and write; I've grinned at the joy of people throwing coloured powder at strangers on the street during the festival of Holi; I've listened as British Asians traced their families' paths through Partition and seen them choke up when they arrived at their parents' childhood homes. I wept when people who had been through unimaginable violence said that they didn't blame those who perpetrated it; that they were only troubled when the memories returned. Watching people who could be my aunts, uncles and grandparents in dusty towns like the ones I used to visit as a child; feeling my shoulders drop the moment someone spoke Punjabi felt like coming home. Something dislocated snapped back into place.

Finally, I understand. I understand why my parents, who left Jalandhar with only the clothes on their back, were so desperate to hoard things and buy a bigger house AFTER I moved out. Why they wanted us to become doctors so we'd always be financially secure, whatever happened. I understand why I could never turn away from the subcontinent and be completely Western, even though I was born and raised in the States. What 'white boy' means when he gives me that half-smile and a twinkle when he says, "You are so Pakistani." And why I could never feel at home in Roman Catholicism.

I am Punjabi. Not Pakistani; Punjabi. And one day, I will make that pilgrimage to Lahore, Hujra, Sahiwal to visit those I love, then cross the 'border' by foot and go to Jalandhar to see the home my ancestors knew.

Partition marked our parents, and it has marked us. We are Midnight's children.

I should have grown up visiting relatives in a Punjab where travel between Lahore and Amritsar was commonplace; where the neighbours I called "auntie" and "uncle" and the children I played with could just as easily have gone to a gurdwara or a Hindu temple to worship. A world in which 14 August 1947 was a cause for unmitigated celebration of freedom and the word partition meant nothing more than a divider between two rooms, or a division into portions and shares.

And was always spelled with a lowercase 'p'.

Food for thought

William Lobdell's sojourn on the LA Times religion beat is a fascinating journey. I'm looking forward to thoughtful comments on this, though please remember: his lack of faith is NOT a reflection on or criticism of those of you who are deeply committed to your religion - at one point, he even mentions that he envies a friend of his who has that faith. So don't feel the need to defend your church; he's not attacking you. Just listen to how he got to where he is.

Do follow the link in his article to Amy Welborn's entry on the case concerning Fr Uribe. Be sure to read the comment thread - it's fantastic.

I think he says it all - I'm at about the same place with regard to organised religion, though I still believe in God - so I don't have much to add here except a quote sent in by one of the people commenting on his story at the LA Times site:

"Irrevocable commitment to any religion is not only intellectual suicide; it is positive unfaith because it closes the mind to any new vision of the world. Faith is, above all, openness -- an act of trust in the unknown." --Alan Watts

Amen.

I've just joined...

a Facebook group called "Petition to revoke the independence of the United States of America".

I don't think reprinting the mission statement/letter to American citizens breaks copyright, as I suspect I've gotten in an email before. My one question is, "Where do I sign?"

To the citizens of the United States of America, in the light of your failure to elect a competent President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective today.

Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths and other territories.

Except Utah, which she does not fancy.

Your new Prime Minister (The Right Honourable Gordon Brown MP, for the 97.85% of you who have until now been unaware that there is a world outside your borders) will appoint a Minister for America without the need for further elections.

The House of Representatives and the Senate will be disbanded.

A questionnaire will be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed. To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

1. You should look up "revocation" in the Oxford English Dictionary. Then look up "aluminium." Check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it.

The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'favour' and 'neighbour'; skipping the letter 'U' is nothing more than laziness on your part. Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut' without skipping half the letters.

You will end your love affair with the letter 'Z' (pronounced 'zed' not 'zee') and the suffix "ize" will be replaced by the suffix "ise."

You will learn that the suffix 'burgh' is pronounced 'burra' e.g. Edinburgh. You are welcome to re-spell Pittsburgh as 'Pittsberg' if you can't cope with correct pronunciation.

Generally, you should raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. Look up “vocabulary." Using the same thirty seven words interspersed with filler noises such as "uhh", "like", and "you know" is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication.

Look up "interspersed."

There will be no more 'bleeps' in the Jerry Springer show. If you're not old enough to cope with bad language then you shouldn't have chat shows. When you learn to develop your vocabulary, then you won't have to use bad language as often.

2. There is no such thing as "US English." We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter 'u' and the elimination of "-ize."

3. You should learn to distinguish the English and Australian accents. It really isn't that hard. English accents are not limited to cockney, upper-class twit or Mancunian (Daphne in Frasier).

You will also have to learn how to understand regional accents --- Scottish dramas such as "Taggart" will no longer be broadcast with subtitles.

While we're talking about regions, you must learn that there is no such place as Devonshire in England. The name of the county is "Devon." If you persist in calling it Devonshire, all American States will become "shires" e.g. Texasshire, Floridashire, Louisianashire.

4. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as the good guys. Hollywood will be required to cast English actors to play English characters.

British sit-coms such as "Men Behaving Badly" or "Red Dwarf" will not be re-cast and watered down for a wishy-washy American audience who can't cope with the humour of occasional political incorrectness. Popular British films such as the "Italian Job" and the "Wicker Man" should never be remade.

5. You should relearn your original national anthem, "God Save The Queen", but only after fully carrying out task 1. We would not want you to get confused and give up half way through.

6. You should stop playing American "football." There are other types of football such as Rugby, Aussie Rules & Gaelic football. However proper football - which will no longer be known as soccer, is the best known, most loved and most popular. What you refer to as American "football" is not a very good game.

The 2.15% of you who are aware that there is a world outside your borders may have noticed that no one else plays "American" football. You will no longer be allowed to play it, and should instead play proper football.

Initially, it would be best if you played with the girls. It is a difficult game. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which is similar to American "football", but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like nancies).

We are hoping to get together at least a US Rugby sevens side by 2008.

You should stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the 'World Series' for a game which is not played outside of North America. Since only 2.15% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. Instead of baseball, you will be allowed to play a girls' game called "rounders," which is baseball without fancy team strip, oversized gloves, collector cards or hotdogs.

7. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry guns. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous in public than a vegetable peeler. Because we don't believe you are sensible enough to handle potentially dangerous items, you will require a permit if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

8. The 4th of July is no longer a public holiday. The 2nd of November will be a new national holiday, but only in Britain. It will be called "Indecisive Day."

9. All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap, and it is for your own good. When we show you German cars, you will understand what we mean.

All road intersections will be replaced with roundabouts. You will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.

10. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call 'French fries' are not real chips. Fries aren't even French, they are Belgian though 97.85% of you (including the guy who discovered fries while in Europe) are not aware of a country called Belgium. Those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called "crisps." Real chips are thick cut and fried in animal fat. The traditional accompaniment to chips is beer which should be served warm and flat.

Waitresses will be trained to be more aggressive with customers.

11. As a sign of penance 5 grams of sea salt per cup will be added to all tea made within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, this quantity to be doubled for tea made within the city of Boston itself.

12. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling "beer" is not actually beer at all, it is lager . From November 1st only proper British Bitter will be referred to as "beer," and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as "Lager." The substances formerly known as "American Beer" will henceforth be referred to as "Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine," with the exception of the product of the American Budweiser company whose product will be referred to as "Weak Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine." This will allow true Budweiser (as manufactured for the last 1000 years in the Czech Republic) to be sold without risk of confusion.

13. From the 10th of November the UK will harmonise petrol (or "gasoline," as you will be permitted to keep calling it until the 1st of April) prices with the former USA. The UK will harmonise its prices to those of the former USA and the Former USA will, in return, adopt UK petrol prices (roughly $6/US gallon -- get used to it).

14. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you're not adult enough to be independent. Guns should only be handled by adults. If you're not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist, then you're not grown up enough to handle a gun.

15. Please tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us crazy.

16. Tax collectors from Her Majesty's Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all revenues due (backdated to 1776).

Thank you for your co-operation.

Happy Birthday

Before today ends, I'd like to wish the happiest of birthdays to a man who has been my hero for half my life - since I first heard of him on the news. I wept when he walked out of prison at the age of 71 after 27 years in prison, and his gentleness, integrity and warmth turned him into a worldwide icon, a countersign to the world, an example of what *true* power is. He doesn't speak the familiar rhetoric of threats, war, and 'I have more money/toys' than you have.

But when Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela speaks his truth - our truth - in his quiet, deep voice, asking for peace, reason and human dignity - everyone listens. He is one of the most powerful men on the planet, yet he carries no weapon.

He's my hero, but I know he's human. I'm sure he gets angry, irritable, petulant, and makes mistakes. But I want to be him when I grow up - I want to strive for the authentic power that makes anger merely a tool to galvanise us to strike at injustice, poverty, war. The power that means that you can speak softly and you don't have to carry a big stick.

And so, Madiba, I wish you a very happy 89th birthday, and I wish you many more. God bless and protect you; and thank you for showing us what humanity can truly be and what our leaders should be.

There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.

As I have said, the first thing is to be honest with yourself. You can never have an impact on society if you have not changed yourself... Great peacemakers are all people of integrity, of honesty, but humility.

We must therefore act together as a united people, for national reconciliation, for nation building, for the birth of a new world.
Let there be justice for all.
Let there be peace for all.
Let there be work, bread, water and salt for all.
Let each know that for each the body, the mind and the soul have been freed to fulfill themselves.

Amen. Stay with us yet a while, Madiba. We need you.

In his honour, I give you the South African anthem so you can learn the words (and the translation), so you can see the country's beauty (it's the first part of the anthem with Tsosholosa), and, of course, it wouldn't be complete without it being sung at a rugby match.

And happy birthday to another favourite South African - Fr Peter Hunter...*mwah*

Nkosi sikelel' iAfrika!

Children's theology...

From the blog entry for you to check out, posted earlier today:

"I have a grown daughter that I raised with another woman. When she was four, we left her one afternoon with my parents to go shopping. My Baptist father usually slept afternoons away on the couch while my far more progressive mother delighted in children. Upon our return, I opened the door to hear our daughter saying "Yeah, he only hangs out with guys and wears a dress? Plus that long hair? Never got married? I just figured it out one day: Jesus is a Radical Fairy."
My father was sitting bolt upright, his eyes bulging. My mother was doing her best to keep from collapsing in hysterics. I rushed in to hush my daughter, but my mother said "Don't you dare." She repeated to my daughter, "Radical Fairy?" And the child says "Yeah, not like Bert and Ernie. They're more like preppie gay guys."
Maggie Jochild Homepage 07.01.07 - 5:22 am

It sounds like a Midsummer night's dream...

or a branch of theology worth further exploration.

You have to...

...love a blog entry that reads like this:

"It's really a blessing of sorts when your teenagers enter that phase where they're mortified by the very idea of you, preferring to imagine that they were created by pixies and laid under a cabbage patch, to be discovered and raised later on by wolves. It beats the hell out of having to admit the fat, pasty, middle-aged person in the minivan has shown up at school to pick up you.

It's a blessing, of course, because revenge is a dish best served cold, and parents have to exact some sort of punishment for the routine humiliation teenagers doled out to their parents ten years earlier.I have had many such moments, such as the time, and I won't name names here although he deserves it, one of my kids announced to my mother over the phone that "sometimes my penis gets really big! And it feels good!"

For hands-down humiliation, however, I haven't yet been able to top my neighbor's misery, when his three year old daughter interrupted his poker game by running naked into the room and screaming with a joyous voice of discovery, "DADDY! DID YOU KNOW? I COME WITH MY OWN POCKET! AND IT CAN HOLD A PEN! LOOK!"

What did Daddy do? And what stories did people send in? Tolle lege, and don't forget to read all 215 comments - they're well worth it, and there's a vibrator story...

The final quote in the trilogy...

I really did think it was going to be a duology; I promise it won't turn into Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time...

...and again, from the Catholic Corner:

VATICAN CITY (Reuters) - The Vatican said on Tuesday Christian denominations outside Roman Catholicism were not full churches of Jesus Christ.

Protestant leaders said this was offensive and would hurt inter-denominational dialogue. [Ya think??]

A 16-page document by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, which Pope Benedict once headed, described Christian Orthodox churches as true churches, but suffering from a "wound" since they do not recognise the primacy of Pope.

But the document said the "wound is still more profound" in Protestant denominations.
"Despite the fact that this teaching has created no little distress ... it is nevertheless difficult to see how the title of 'Church' could possibly be attributed to them," it said.

*A moment of stunned silence followed by hyena-like, hysterical laughter*

I'm sorry, CDF, but are you trying to be hurtful and offensive, or has the Vatican finally crossed the line between narcissism and sociopathy?

If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you are deliberately scattering Christ's flock to weaken it.

Then again, maybe I don't.

Quote of the weekend, pt. 2

This will mean very little to non-Catholics, I expect, and quite possibly to *most* Catholics.

On Saturday, Pope Benedict XVI delivered a Motu Proprio re-legitimising the Tridentine (pre-1962) mass, and allowing layfolk thus inclined to request it from their parish priest. No more indults needed from bishops, no more fuss, no sense of it being slightly furtive. It's another form of the mass; if you dislike it (or in my case, dislike the self-righteous, narrow types who tend to populate it), don't go. Hopefully, it will mean that a certain group of Catholic individuals can just get on with it sans beating their breasts about how victimised they are and how they'll be martyrs for the faith because they can't have their own special type of mass. Great. May I be excused, O Pontiff?

End of discussion, right? Shouldn't even cause a ripple, except for rejoicing from those who are attached to that form of the mass. The rest of the world will just shrug and carry on, yes?

I'm sorry, but did you, for a fleeting moment, think this was the real world? Please. It's the Catholic Church. And in said Church, an Italian bishop was heard to respond to said Motu Proprio in the following words...

...wait for it

...no, really

...still there?

"This is the worst day of my life as a bishop, priest and as a man."

Over a decision to add the old mass to a long list of already legitimate masses? Oh, sorry, I actually thought the pain or death of those close to you - or of any of those 6 billion for whom Christ died - might be worse for you. Mea culpa.

As if one needed more proof that the Catholic hierarchy is insular, self-absorbed, and out of touch with any kind of reality - physical or spiritual.

Looks like Cardinal Martino should have some company on that plane to Darfur.

Quote of the weekend

One of my favourite blogs is Pandagon. I was catching up on recent blog posts when I read a comment that made me want to cheer - and it was so pithily put, I laughed out loud, unfortunately snorting Pepsi out my nose (it hurts, ok?):

Nothip Jul 7th, 2007 at 9:36 am

The very people (white, supposedly Christian, males) who have EVERY BENEFIT of religious freedom and every other kind of freedom abuse the laws which should protect those in danger by claiming they are oppressed. They should be spanked like the small children they are.

Amen. Testify, Nothip.

Declaration of Independence

It seemed an appropriate day for this entry, which will be mostly borrowed from the Founding Fathers of the United States of America and Keith Olbermann, a worthy successor to journalists like Walter Cronkite, Edward Murrow and Eric Sevareid.

George W. Bush, the man who signed the execution warrants of more people than any man before him, found it in his heart to pardon someone -his Vice-President's Chief of Staff. He commuted a 2.5 year gaol sentence *as the appeal was happening*. Libby had just been denied bail.

For a man who insists on respect for the law, he shows an incredible contempt for it.

Practise what you preach, Mr President. And allow me to remind you of a document whose 231st anniversary we celebrate today - a document that you feel free to abide by only when it suits your purposes:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just Powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

With men like Karl Rove and Michael Chertoff, your administration has been 'destructive of these ends' for 6.5 years. But truly, if you want to understand a classroom, you look to the teacher. If you want to understand the dynamics of a religious house, you look to the abbot, prior or provost. If you want to understand a government, you look to its leader. All roads lead back to you, Mr. Bush.

On that note, I stand beside Mr. Olbermann, and add my voice to his as he declares:

I accuse you, Mr. Bush, of lying this country into war.

I accuse you of fabricating in the minds of your own people, a false implied link between Saddam Hussein and 9/11.

I accuse you of firing the generals who told you that the plans for Iraq were disastrously insufficient.

I accuse you of causing in Iraq the needless deaths of 3,586 of our brothers and sons, and sisters and daughters, and friends and neighbors. [and countless Iraqis who only wished to live their lives out with normal day following normal day. -I.]

I accuse you of subverting the Constitution, not in some misguided but sincerely-motivated struggle to combat terrorists, but to stifle dissent.

I accuse you of fomenting fear among your own people, of creating the very terror you claim to have fought.

I accuse you of exploiting that unreasoning fear, the natural fear of your own people who just want to live their lives in peace, as a political tool to slander your critics and libel your opponents.

I accuse you of handing part of this Republic over to a Vice President who is without conscience, and letting him run roughshod over it.

And I accuse you now, Mr. Bush, of giving, through that Vice President, carte blanche to Mr. Libby, to help defame Ambassador Joseph Wilson by any means necessary, to lie to Grand Juries and Special Counsel and before a court, in order to protect the mechanisms and particulars of that defamation, with your guarantee that Libby would never see prison, and, in so doing, as Ambassador Wilson himself phrased it here last night, of becoming an accessory to the obstruction of justice.

On this day, 231 years ago, American colonists took the brave step of separating themselves from a reign of tyranny.

Today, let us separate ourselves from another.

It is time for the American people to speak out - and to quote a more modern American, Martina McBride:

Talk about your revolution
It's Independence Day...

Let freedom ring
Let the white dove sing
Let the whole world know that today is a day of reckoning -
Let the weak be strong
Let the right be wrong
roll the stone away
let the guilty pay
It's Independence Day.

A sensualist comes out of the closet...

It may surprise my readers to know that I am a sensualist - in the broadest sense of the word (i.e., I'd use 'sensuousist' if it existed). I'm pretty well known for being sensible, wearing t-shirts and trousers, making pragmatic purchases - quick, utilitarian meals; towels that do the job; anything I need, rather than things I might want. I've only ever had one manicure, and I get my hair done whenever I remember - about once a year, to my stylist's deep chagrin. I usually wait for birthdays and Christmas to get those little luxuries from Lush or for Rachel to drag me out to a Monsoon sale and force me to buy something pretty, fitted or in silk.

Trinny and Susannah would LOVE to get their hands on my wardrobe.

Nor am I one for having a man in my life just because, which means I've spent most of my adult life as a singleton - so much so that one of my friends once admitted to considering me 'asexual' (when I reported the conversation to a male friend, he bent over double and laughed hysterically for about five minutes, much to my gratification). I love sex and the feeling of being coupled up (perceptively noted by a university friend who said, "You're one of those people made to go through life two by two"), but it's only worth it if he's someone I can talk to into the night about my hopes, dreams and fears and if I fancy the pants off him - what Cosmo rightfully calls a 'love and lust partner'. Love is meant to be lush, ever growing and, to borrow a phrase from Gill Edwards, "wild and sacred". If it's not that, I'll pass - I quite like my own company and that of my good friends, and I'm not here to trap or tame myself or anyone else.

So, at a quick glance, I can seem very practical, analytical, even spiritual to some - someone who would happily bypass her senses and live out of body, if she could.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

That's why I was delighted to discover this blog, which made me feel like I'd met a kindred spirit. Having grown up in a Muslim family, then converting to Catholicism, my sensuality was first underdeveloped and then placed firmly under wraps in order to survive, then to fit a particular mould. No more. We're done here.

Perhaps I was ready anyway, but reading Sensuous Wife's blog felt like having permission to let my sensualist out of the closet permanently: Confiteor Deo, that I too love burying my hands in soft towels at the store and the feel of coconut oil on my skin. And yes, I've been known to wear pretty lingerie under my mundane t-shirts. In addition, I love burying my face in a bunch of red roses and inhaling; savouring the taste of a murgh korai; the feel of my hair as it tumbles down my back when I let it down; the sound of Handel drifting through the church; looking at a Vermeer.

But above all, I love the feel of a lover pulling my naked body towards his as he drifts off to sleep.

Thank you, Sensuous wife, and to answer your question "Sex as worship?"

Abso - bloody - lutely.

The Cardinal vs Amnesty International

I owe His Eminence a huge "thank you".

Thursday, I saw this story in the Guardian, and put my head in my hands over the Vatican. Again.

"A senior Vatican cardinal said yesterday that Catholics should stop donating to human rights group Amnesty International because of its new policy advocating abortion rights for women if they had been raped, were a victim of incest or faced health risks."

This isn't a pro-choice move. It's about what happens to women in the areas that Amnesty International works. What if it had been his mother, his sister, his niece who had been raped? Certainly the Church would support it in the LAST instance, if only because of 'double jeopardy' (*cringe*), and most priests would understand and forgive it in the first two instances.

One of the things that fascinated me about this was the Catholic journalism. Time and again, the Church whinges on about how the secular media 'misrepresents' them. To save you the trouble of trolling through it, with the exception of The Tablet, most Catholic journalism is rich in hysterical hand-wringing and tabloid reporting and poor on real facts and genuine, thoughtful analysis. Catholic News printed this about the Amnesty International debate:

"With its new stance supporting the legalization of abortion around the world, Amnesty International "has betrayed its mission," said Cardinal Renato Martino, president of the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace, in an e-mail interview with the National Catholic Register."

Go on, tell it like it is, Catholic journalists. Be that beacon of shining journalism the BBC, Washington Post and New York Times aren't, just telling us the facts and not sensationalising it at all, won't you? In fact, Martino himself can help you along...

Cardinal Martino said that by its new policy Amnesty International "has betrayed all of its faithful supporters throughout the years, both individuals and organizations, who have trusted AI for its integral mission of promoting and protecting human rights."

Let me get this straight: supporting abortion as an option for a woman who has been raped, the victim of incest or whose health is in danger qualifies as decriminalising abortion and *betraying* the Catholic Church and men like Daniel Berrigan who SUPPORTED Roe v Wade? If we want to discuss the meaning of betrayal, I have a few words for you, Cardinal Martino: paedophile priests, cover up, Bernard Law.

Something is rotten in the Vatican city-state. This smells like an excuse for something else, and I think Mick Arran has put his finger on it:

This is payback for all the grief AI has given the Church over its either outright support of dictatorial regimes as long as they left Catholics alone, or its quiescence in the face of massive human rights violations in Catholic countries, especially in the Americas.

Ah. Yes. That may be speculation, but it fits the rabid reaction of Cardinal Martino far better than a simple, explainable shift of AI towards allowing abortions for women in those few cases. Having watched the Vatican's behaviour with some interest over the last decade or so, it's plausible. The drive against communism, the chirping up against human right violations have only happened when the Church was unable to function in those countries. It never had anything to do with global human rights or human suffering, except through exceptional individuals like Denis Hurley or Oscar Romero. Not once.

No one has done more for human rights around the world regardless of colour, religion, nationality than AI. That means it has done more of Christ's work than our esteemed Cardinal, who spends his life living opulently and sitting on his ass bullying people to fall into line.

A little time in Darfur might not hurt him any.

""The inevitable consequence of this decision," according to the cardinal, "will be the suspension of any financing to Amnesty on the part of Catholic organisations and also individual Catholics,""

That is what I need to thank him for, because I had to decide what I really believe. Finally, after years of twisting my integrity to try to assimilate ridiculous pronouncements from the Vatican, my integrity snapped back. It was time to take a stand.

I joined Amnesty International.

The eternal female question

Mac's romance with Peyton Driscoll on CSI: NY touches on a topic that my friend Ruth and I discuss regularly: what IS it with men?

Peyton Driscoll (played by Clare Forlani) is the new ME and Mac's new bed partner. She is the most high maintenance woman on the show, her voice with a permanent mosquito whine, always in a panic and in need of reassurance. Perpetually needy and incapable of problem-solving when something goes wrong, you wonder how the hell she made it through medical school without dissolving into a puddle of girly tears when grilled by her professors.

Example: this week, someone she pronounced dead turned out to be alive. Whilst Mac held her hand and asked her - gently, it might be added - how it could have happened, you'd be forgiven for thinking that a swarm of mosquitos had arrived in New York a bit early when she replied, "I don't KNOW." When he asked how she checked someone was dead, she snapped, "Eight years of training and eight years on the job," before elaborating that she checked the pulse and pupils of said victim. She was so "distressed", how could she be so *wrong*?? "I began to question myself..." she hyperventilated as Mac held her hand and tried to comfort her.

Far from eliciting my sympathy, I wanted to slap her. Yes, of course, you're worried by the fact that you got it wrong, and you're doubting yourself. BUT SHUT THE F*** UP AND GET ON WITH IT. Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, woman, you're a medical examiner who has supposedly dealt with some very difficult situations. Buck up and show some backbone. Sheesh.

And Mac, use the brain not in your trousers and realise that she has 'psychic vampire' stamped on her forehead. Walk away now.

Stella Bonasera, Mac's second-in-command, is an independent, warm, generous, tough woman who would have sat down with Mac over a cup of coffee and analysed what had gone wrong. Secure enough in herself not to let a mistake topple her, she works out what went wrong and how to fix it. On top of that, she takes care of everyone on the team, including Mac - they're close enough for her to fix his tie. When her ex-boyfriend turned out to be a psycho who tried to kill her in her apartment, she kept her head and ended up killing him in self-defence. When she's afraid she might have AIDS, she keeps on doing what she does best. No mosquitos in hearing distance.

She's a real woman.

And so the question is this: since the friendship between Mac and Stella really sizzles and is one of equals, WHY does he end up in bed with whiny Peyton, and why is this a pattern amongst men?

Everywhere you look, men end up with women who treat them like crap. One young man has been chasing a pseudo-intellectual Catholic climber for most of a decade. She won't let him sit next to her when she's praying; she hands him her coat whilst she goes off to talk with people she perceives as powerful or she feels she can manipulate; she talks to him like he was a disobedient pet dog. And he laps it up, despite the obvious pain on his face. Last time I saw him, I nearly put my hand on his shoulder after mass and said, "Darlin', walk away. She's an irredeemable narcissist. She wouldn't know real love if it hit her over the head with a processional cross."

And this story repeats itself over and over. And yes, it goes for women too.

Whatever the answer is - and it's different for every man - somewhere along the line, they realise they've made a mistake. Whether they're 25 or 75, they suddenly understand that what they had perceived as love was really need and had strings attached, and that they've been tamed, instead of becoming the person they were meant to be.

Love is meant to be wild and sacred. It gives freedom and nurtures growth; it doesn't restrict and force a certain shape. And it can only happen between equals.

One day, they turn around and realise that the Stellas of the world are where it's at, and suddenly, they want one. Problem is, they've married a Peyton.

That's ok, they say. We can still...you know.

Sorry, mate. Either you realise her worth when you see her, take her in your arms, cherish her and make her yours whilst you still can...

or get an inflatable doll.

Suddenly...

...everything coming out of the Vatican makes sense.

You know you've been watching CSI, CSI: Miami and CSI: NY too long...

...when you look at your socks after brushing your teeth and think:

"Hmm. Perfectly spherical drops of water.

Gravitational."

Finding meaning

There are moments when, after what seems like an eternity of being stuck, you begin to feel the flow. Pay attention to the earthquake, wind and fire, but don't be taken in by them. Remember to cover your face and step to the cave's entrance when you hear the "qol dmamah daqah" or the "still, small voice".

Today, the still, small voice came to me after lunch, when I brought up a box of books to catalogue, and to my great joy, discovered the Judaica jackpot, starting with the Artscroll Tanach series. I flipped open the third book I pulled out (Shir Hashirim, or the "Song of Songs") and my eyes fell on these words:

"This, then, is the deepest, truest meaning of the Torah's concept of 'Song'. There is a profound harmony in creation. Every part of God's handiwork plays its role in His design. Only one ingredient impedes it completion - man's lack of insight. When man fails to see the truth, the interaction, the harmony, then the song of creation remains unheard; because it is man's function to give it voice, it remains mute.
...
This song is constantly in man's soul. But there are only instants where he hears its notes - and then only when he brings belief in God to his everyday life on earth. If he can attain the height where faith is never-ending and he is always guided by its light, he will always hear the song in his heart.
...
This is the prerequisite of song: man's perception is that everything plays its role and so he must give expression to the song of creation through his own deeds and the song that flows from his soul." --(Shir Hashirim: an allegorical translation based upon Rashi with a commentary anthologized from Talmudic, Rabbinic and Midrashic sources, Brooklyn: Mesorah, 1979, pp. xli-xlii.)

Amen. After weeks of silence, I could hear and feel the music again.

Excuse me whilst I cover my face and go to the entrance of the cave.