Monday, 14 November 2016
Fourteen Defining Characteristics Of Fascism - Dr. Lawrence Britt
In the spring of 2003, ex-corporate executive and political scientist Lawrence W. Britt published an essay in Free Inquiry magazine entitled “Fascism Anyone?” In his work, Britt examined the traits of the two governments that formed the original historical model for fascism, Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy, and five other proto fascist regimes that imitated that model, Franco’s Spain, Salazar’s Portugal, Papadopoulos’s Greece, Pinochet’s Chile, and Suharto’s Indonesia. He identified 14 characteristics that were common to all of them.
These traits have since been widely accepted as the 14 defining characteristics of fascism.
Nearly three generations removed from the horrors of Nazi Germany, all of these regimes may have been overthrown, but fascism’s principles can still be found in many nations. History tends to repeat itself because many leaders and nations fail to learn from history, or they draw the wrong conclusions. Surely we are living in frightening times when a individual like Donald Trump with his extremist views, can sway enough voters to allow him to get into his position of power and authority, whose tactics aren’t unlike those of the fascists who came before him. It goes something like this:-
First, they isolate and attack marginalized people with little political power, like Muslims and undocumented workers. Later, they graduate to other opponents of their dangerous right-wing populism. Finally, they play the victim and deny adamantly that they’ve done anything wrong.Trump's campaign’s overt demagoguery, vicious misogyny, racism, violent speech, and complete disregard for truth and values of human decency combined with his macho cult of personality have released plausible shouts of fascism from every corner.
The following then considers, in fourteen points, the things which may happen to a culture when it is heading towards a fascistic regime, that can potentially threaten our civil liberties.As Donald Trump becomes President of the USA by rattling the cages of racial anxiety,with his incendiary rhetoric it still serves as a powerful warning and wake up call,.
1. Powerful and Continuing Nationalism - Fascist regimes tend to make constant use of patriotic mottos, slogans, symbols, songs, and other paraphernalia. Flags are seen everywhere, as are flag symbols on clothing and in public displays.
2. Disdain for the Recognition of Human Rights - Because of fear of enemies and the need for security, the people in fascist regimes are persuaded that human rights can be ignored in certain cases because of "need." The people tend to look the other way or even approve of torture, summary executions, assassinations, long incarcerations of prisoners, etc.
3. Identification of Enemies/Scapegoats as a Unifying Cause - The people are rallied into a unifying patriotic frenzy over the need to eliminate a perceived common threat or foe: racial , ethnic or religious minorities; liberals; communists; socialists, terrorists, etc.
4. Supremacy of the Military - Even when there are widespread
domestic problems, the military is given a disproportionate amount of government funding, and the domestic agenda is neglected. Soldiers and military service are glamorized.
5. Rampant Sexism - The governments of fascist nations tend to be almost exclusively male-dominated. Under fascist regimes, traditional gender roles are made more rigid. Divorce, abortion and homosexuality are suppressed and the state is represented as the ultimate guardian of the family institution.
6. Controlled Mass Media - Sometimes to media is directly controlled by the government, but in other cases, the media is indirectly controlled by government regulation, or sympathetic media spokespeople and executives. Censorship, especially in war time, is very common.
7. Obsession with National Security - Fear is used as a motivational tool by the government over the masses.
8. Religion and Government are Intertwined - Governments in fascist nations tend to use the most common religion in the nation as a tool to manipulate public opinion. Religious rhetoric and terminology is common from government leaders, even when the major tenets of the religion are diametrically opposed to the government's policies or actions.
9. Corporate Power is Protected - The industrial and business aristocracy of a fascist nation often are the ones who put the government leaders into power, creating a mutually beneficial business/government relationship and power elite.
10. Labor Power is Suppressed - Because the organizing power of labor is the only real threat to a fascist government, labor unions are either eliminated entirely, or are severely suppressed.
11. Disdain for Intellectuals and the Arts - Fascist nations tend to promote and tolerate open hostility to higher education, and academia. It is not uncommon for professors and other academics to be censored or even arrested. Free expression in the arts and letters is openly attacked.
12. Obsession with Crime and Punishment - Under fascist regimes, the police are given almost limitless power to enforce laws. The people are often willing to overlook police abuses and even forego civil liberties in the name of patriotism. There is often a national police force with virtually unlimited power in fascist nations.
13. Rampant Cronyism and Corruption - Fascist regimes almost always are governed by groups of friends and associates who appoint each other to government positions and use governmental power and authority to protect their friends from accountability. It is not uncommon in fascist regimes for national resources and even treasures to be appropriated or even outright stolen by government leaders.
14. Fraudulent Elections - Sometimes elections in fascist nations are a complete sham. Other times elections are manipulated by smear campaigns against or even assassination of opposition candidates, use of legislation to control voting numbers or political district boundaries, and manipulation of the media. Fascist nations also typically use their judiciaries to manipulate or control elections.
Sunday, 13 November 2016
Rebel hearts
( thank you Glen Johnson for the lines no 14 and 15)
Over the years, habits can change
but we must continue to have desire,
to express and be free
to be true to one's self,
seeking change for others
stopping humanities foolishness,
with rebel hearts allow the meek
to inherit the earth,resist their orders,
the jungle of superiority
and privilege, we will overthrow,
beyond voices of consensus
all obstacles will simply be removed,
our hearts in abundance carry freedoms torch
even when there seems to be a glitch in the matrix
and everything seems to be getting worse
we will keep pushing in another direction
with an inner craving full of resilience
to hard to be torn apart as they try to stop us
divide us into a million pieces
our rebel hearts will keep on resisting
beyond life's negations keep on beating.
Saturday, 12 November 2016
Dear World
Dear world, there is much darkness
but you at least contain many glories,
things for us to reach out and share
wine, music and beautiful words,
the hurrying, bursting veins of hope
carried in starlight away from misty clouds,
the caressing of hands, companionship and laughter
that can cancel out this age of grief and sorrow,
can help light a path through the dark,
and though everything feels stormy now
these days of confusion, history standing ashamed,
you still allow us to wear compassion on our lips,
thank you then earth, keep allowing us to look ahead
in the unity of consciousness, our weeping will cease;
beyond frustration, we can reverse the process and befriend.
Friday, 11 November 2016
Goodbye Leonard Cohen, ( 21 /9/34 - 7/11/16) - Bringer of so much light.
Following news of Donald Trump's election, did not think the world could get any darker, I have woken to the very sad news that legendary visionary Canadian singer, songwriter, poet and artist Leonard Cohen has died at the age of 82. The news was announced on his Facebook page late last night, it reads it reads: ‘It is with profound sorrow we report that legendary poet, songwriter and artist, Leonard Cohen has passed away.‘We have lost one of music’s most revered and prolific visionaries.’In a statement to Rolling Stone, his son Adam, said: ‘My father passed away peacefully at his home in Los Angeles with the knowledge that he had completed what he felt was one of his greatest records.‘He was writing up until his last moments with his unique brand of humor.’
That last song he had written was in reference to Cohen’s
long-time muse Marianne Ihlen, who died earlier this year. It was
revealed after her death that Cohen had written her a last letter two days before she died, telling her:
" Well Marianne it's come to this time when we
are really so old and our bodies are falling apart and I think I will
follow you very soon. Know that I am so close behind you that if you
stretch out your hand, I think you can reach mine. And you know that
I've always loved you for your beauty and your wisdom, but I don't need
to say anything more about that because you know all about that. But
now, I just want to wish you a very good journey. Goodbye old friend.
Endless love, see you down the road." Born into a Jewish family in Montreal, Canada 1934 and raised in an affluent English-speaking neighborhood of the city, Cohen read Spanish poet Federico García Lorca as a teenager, learned to play guitar from a flamenco musician and formed a country band called the Buckskin Boys.
He attended McGill University when his poetry book, "Let Us Compare Mythologies," was published in 1956 to critical acclaim. It was followed by "The Spice-Box of Earth" in 1961. His first novel, "The Favourite Game," came out in 1963.He published several more poetry collections while living on the Greek island of Hydra in the 1960s and began to get wide notice with his experimental novel "Beautiful Losers" in 1966..All have been a a profound influence for me over the years.
Disillusioned with his meager income from writing poetry , Cohen turned to songwriting and landed an audition in 1967 with John Hammond, the producer who had discovered Dylan. Hammond signed him to Columbia Records, which would remain Cohen's label for five decades. His first album, "Songs of Leonard Cohen," came out in 1968.Cohen’s songs over sixty decades blended seemingly conflicting impulses: spirituality verging on the divine, images of redemption and sexual desire combined a wicked sense of humor,carried with such deep passion, which enabled him to release such powerful emotional depth, with great understanding of the human condition.No other artist’s poetry and music felt or sounded or touched in quite the way that his work did.
Cohen toured widely but also sought solace in meditation, far from the public eye.. For part of the 1990's he lived in a Zen Bhuddist monastery in the San Gabriel Mountains hust outside Los Angeles. Just weeks ago he released another superb album You Want it Darker, an album continuing to shouw us his genius, his creative gift, not afraid to touch on the subject of death, seemingly sensing it was not too far way.reflecting at length on his own mortality. And now this light has passed, a man who just seemed to keep going, but like all of us was taken away, gripped by the jaws of death. The world has lost another icon, a voice of inimitable force, a tower of strength.Of all the singer-songwiters of his era labelled as poets, Cohen perhaps was the only one who truly bridged the divide.
Cohen who never married is survived by his daughter Lorca and his son Adam. So long Leonard Cohen. R.I.P
Leonard Cohen - hallelujah
Old poem that once dedicated to him
https://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.co.uk/2016/02/theres-crack-in-everything-thats-how_11.html
There's crack in everything that's how the light gets in
( Thank you Leonard Cohen.)
There's a crack in everything
that's how the light gets in,
through empty gestures of times exhaust
that vent bitterness on tonque,
scars trace the nights laughter
sailing on ripped tides at dusk,
allow resurfacing days shadow to ignite
fizzing and nudging, in the process of awakening,
through depths of minds endeavor
moods of restless toil,
voyages of troubled sleep
deep in mood innate.
The magic of the moon,
in the dark shines bright,
waiting for dawns page to turn,
golden tickets of imagination,
in the ever present of eternity,
to purify and illuminate,
because there's a crack in everything,
that's how the light gets in.
Thursday, 10 November 2016
Keeping hope alive
Good morning/bore da
are we all still dreaming,
as the foul stench of fascism lingers
and all round we feel so much pain,
dark shadows move among the morning light
but dreams of every man and woman can not be usurped,
in the act of simply believing
we can move all obstacles in our way,
we can still pull tomorrow down
keep rattling kaleidoscopes of change,
our thoughts are currently bruised
but together with love and persistance ,
we can grow stronger, singing songs of love
beyond the confusion, with deep yearning,
messages of faith and hope we can spread
with hard work we can change the locks,
here and there is life's true ideal
that can keep happiness alive,
the chains used to contain us
will no longer be required,
the air still smells of freedom
keeping hope alive.
Wednesday, 9 November 2016
Donald Trump elected new President of the USA : The stuff of nightmares.
Please pinch me, I seem to have woken to a nightmare. I am currently feeling shell-shocked along with many others across the globe with
the news of Republican candidate Donald Trump’s ascension to the White House. It seems inconceivable that a
man with such extreme and unpleasant views could ever be elected
President.But the fact is , he bloody has, I dread to think about what this means for the US and the
rest of the world. I truly feel sick in the stomach.
From the start of his campaign this sorry excuse for a man has relentlessly released a barrage of hate and abuse. In a country the size of the USA the fact that they could not find a worthier candidate to counter him makes my mind truly reel. Donald Trump's victory exposes how decrepit the U.S. political system has become after decades of two-party oligarchical rule. This is a man with ties to the racist far right, a pathological narcissist, xenophobic, authoritarian, climate-science-denying, misogynistic, who only entered the race intending to boost his media brand, and who horrifies and disgusts not just millions of working people, but a majority of the American ruling class.
This one-time leader of the racist birther movement entered the race calling Mexicans racists and repeatedly refused to condemn white supremacists, and issued policy proposals that seemed unbound by the limits of basic human decency.Trump promised to “bomb the shit” out of Middle Eastern countries, kill terrorist’s innocent families, do “a hell of a lot worse than waterboarding,” and suggested that dipping bullets in pig's blood may be sound counter terrorism policy.He has also promised to build a wall between the USA and Mexico, who has threatened to expel millions of people, wants Muslims to be banned from entering the US. Lewd and openly provocative an alleged sexual predator and molester who has bragged about women letting him kiss and grab them because he is famous."When you're a star they let you do it," Trump said. "You can do anything." "Grab them by the p----. You can do anything." Unforgiveable and shocking, he has also managed to upset the LGBT community who are no doubt quaking with fear at this moment in time.
Despite all of this he still managed to win the election for President of the United States. What a damning testimony for the world's so called greatest democracy.We are truly now entering a time of great fear and uncertainty, there has simply been an abject failure of progressives both here and abroad to understand this, let alone counter it. And when right-wing demagogues tap this pulsing vein of resentment.His victory will have a profound effect on all of us. Further empowering and strengthening the forces of the far right with his anti-immigrant policies. Deeply troubling times with echoes of the 1930's.
Europe’s far-right party leaders are currently cheering Trump’s win, including Britain’s Nigel Farage, the outgoing leader of the UK Independence Party, and France’s Marine Le Pen, who sent Trump a congratulatory tweet early Wednesday, adding a pat on the back for the “free” American people.
Le Pen’s father and founder of the National Front, Jean-Marie Le Pen, took to Twitter to say “long live President Trump!” and claim Trump as part of a worldwide populist wave.“The American people want Donald Trump to be the people’s president. Today the United States, tomorrow France. Bravo!” Le Pen wrote.Far-right leaders in Holland, Belgium, Russia, the Czech Republic, Italy and Serbia, among other places, have also voiced support for Trump. The hard-right Greek party, Golden Dawn, went so far as to make a pro-Trump video starring neo-Nazis.
How the hell did Donald Trump become President of the USA with his blatant bigotry and disrespect towards women, minorities, and immigrants, get in to this position of power, this is a sentiment that many of us are currently expressing as we wake to this nightmare.We are simply living in terrifying times.This deeply upsetting news effects us all. Donald Trump's election should be of concern for all who care about injustice.We should feel our anger, mourn, pray, and then do everything we can to fight hate and oppression. We must stand strong and united all over the world.Fear might have won for the moment but we should never give up hope, after all for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.We must build and strengthen the forces of resistance to this odious horrible man.
Here is a poem I wrote earlier, with tonque fully in cheek never truly expecting that Trump would actually become President.https://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.co.uk/2016/07/intolerantina-poem-for-donald-trump.html
( Here's a poem for Donald Trump that I dropped down the panFrom the start of his campaign this sorry excuse for a man has relentlessly released a barrage of hate and abuse. In a country the size of the USA the fact that they could not find a worthier candidate to counter him makes my mind truly reel. Donald Trump's victory exposes how decrepit the U.S. political system has become after decades of two-party oligarchical rule. This is a man with ties to the racist far right, a pathological narcissist, xenophobic, authoritarian, climate-science-denying, misogynistic, who only entered the race intending to boost his media brand, and who horrifies and disgusts not just millions of working people, but a majority of the American ruling class.
This one-time leader of the racist birther movement entered the race calling Mexicans racists and repeatedly refused to condemn white supremacists, and issued policy proposals that seemed unbound by the limits of basic human decency.Trump promised to “bomb the shit” out of Middle Eastern countries, kill terrorist’s innocent families, do “a hell of a lot worse than waterboarding,” and suggested that dipping bullets in pig's blood may be sound counter terrorism policy.He has also promised to build a wall between the USA and Mexico, who has threatened to expel millions of people, wants Muslims to be banned from entering the US. Lewd and openly provocative an alleged sexual predator and molester who has bragged about women letting him kiss and grab them because he is famous."When you're a star they let you do it," Trump said. "You can do anything." "Grab them by the p----. You can do anything." Unforgiveable and shocking, he has also managed to upset the LGBT community who are no doubt quaking with fear at this moment in time.
Despite all of this he still managed to win the election for President of the United States. What a damning testimony for the world's so called greatest democracy.We are truly now entering a time of great fear and uncertainty, there has simply been an abject failure of progressives both here and abroad to understand this, let alone counter it. And when right-wing demagogues tap this pulsing vein of resentment.His victory will have a profound effect on all of us. Further empowering and strengthening the forces of the far right with his anti-immigrant policies. Deeply troubling times with echoes of the 1930's.
Europe’s far-right party leaders are currently cheering Trump’s win, including Britain’s Nigel Farage, the outgoing leader of the UK Independence Party, and France’s Marine Le Pen, who sent Trump a congratulatory tweet early Wednesday, adding a pat on the back for the “free” American people.
Le Pen’s father and founder of the National Front, Jean-Marie Le Pen, took to Twitter to say “long live President Trump!” and claim Trump as part of a worldwide populist wave.“The American people want Donald Trump to be the people’s president. Today the United States, tomorrow France. Bravo!” Le Pen wrote.Far-right leaders in Holland, Belgium, Russia, the Czech Republic, Italy and Serbia, among other places, have also voiced support for Trump. The hard-right Greek party, Golden Dawn, went so far as to make a pro-Trump video starring neo-Nazis.
How the hell did Donald Trump become President of the USA with his blatant bigotry and disrespect towards women, minorities, and immigrants, get in to this position of power, this is a sentiment that many of us are currently expressing as we wake to this nightmare.We are simply living in terrifying times.This deeply upsetting news effects us all. Donald Trump's election should be of concern for all who care about injustice.We should feel our anger, mourn, pray, and then do everything we can to fight hate and oppression. We must stand strong and united all over the world.Fear might have won for the moment but we should never give up hope, after all for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.We must build and strengthen the forces of resistance to this odious horrible man.
Here is a poem I wrote earlier, with tonque fully in cheek never truly expecting that Trump would actually become President.https://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.co.uk/2016/07/intolerantina-poem-for-donald-trump.html
crumpled wet and soggy, maybe I shouldn't have saved it,
the original resting place captured the true essence of the man.)
Storm clouds billowing now across a frightened sky
Voice of hate and division spreads discordant cry,
The well of hope seems to have dried
As arrogant voice rises making people blind.
Fractured freedom try's to hold it's breath
In times of sadness between life and death,
As walls are proposed to keep people out
Waves of tears grow among seas of doubt.
If Trump triumphs and closes all the doors
Lets fear for his country as kindness gets lost,
As divisions get wider, faultlines grow bigger
Waiting in the darkness, unreason cruelly sniggers.
Hate-mongers and right wing bigots dancing now
In the land of liberty, the home of the brave,
Is this the beginning or the end, as intolerance consumes
Is it not the time to mend existing cracks and wounds?
Lets pray for America, lets pray they are not too blind,
Lets pray for sanity, lets pray for human kind,
Lets pray for the world, lets pray for peace,
Lets pray that one day blinkered thought will cease.
Monday, 7 November 2016
The Tonypandy riots and why Winston Churchill's name is not revered in the hearts and minds of the Welsh people.
On 7 November 1910 the South Wales Miners’ Federation called a strike of all 12,000 men working in the Cambrian Combine’s pits in the Tonypandy area. They had walked out over mining magnet D.A Thomas's decision to sack the whole workforce at the Ely Pit in Penycraig, Rhondda.It had initially begun when miners had protested at the rate for working in a difficult seam. Which meant a seam 18 inches high with a couple of inches of water under their backs. They demanded better pay and working conditions. The miners found that Leonard Llewellyn, manager of Llwynypia’s Glamorgan Colliery, was using blacklegs to keep the pumps working.After one striker had been killed, a miner called Samuel Rhys and mass pickets had failed to stop police from scab herding,( they had bused in scab workers from Cardiff to keep the colliery running,) few expected what came next, but tensions already high erupted, and an uprising ensured, which is now known as the Tonypandy riots.
Strikers attacked shops in the town which had put families on a credit blacklists not allowing them to buy enough food, thus aiding the bosses. Blackleg trains were stoned and halted. It would continue unabated for almost two days and would involve violent clashes between striking miners and the Glamorgan Constabulary, reinforced by both the Bristol and Metropolitan police forces.
The anti socialist Winston Churchill, then the Home Secretary ordered the troops in to confront the striking Welsh miners at Tonypandy who justifiably saw this as a defense of the coal owners, Churchill getting the army involved with the sole intention of protecting the bosses interests alone, instead of those of the miners and their families. I is said that he commented: “If the Welsh are striking over hunger, we must fill their bellies with lead.”
The question of whether troops fired on striking miners remains controversial to this day, as there appears to be no documentation, but they were certainly there and played a support role to the police and as a result there was deep anger at the troops being present at all.
Although no authentic record exists of casualties, as many of the miners would have refused treatment in fear of being prosecuted for their part in the riots, nearly 80 policemen and over 500 other people were injured,One miner, Samuel Rhys, died of head injuries that were said to have been inflicted by a policeman's baton, but the verdict of the coroner's jury was cautious: "We agree that Samuel Rhys died from injuries he received on 8 November caused by some blunt instrument. The evidence is not sufficiently clear to us how he received those injuries." Thirteen striking miners from Gilfach Goch were arrested and prosecuted for their part in the unrest.The troops would remain in the Rhondda until October 1911.
After almost one year on strike these brave miners who had to
endure so much hardship returned to work. Though their demands were not
met, the strike helped change the face of British Trade Unionism, still
inspiring workers fighting for better conditions today, giving rise in
South Wales to increased militancy, the growth of revolutionary
syndicalism in the workers struggle against their bosses.It would however leave bitter scars in the Rhondda, particularly as
the miners were forced to return to work after having to agree to a paltry sum
for the coal extracted, and because of Churchill's stance against the miners it would also also see thousands of miners blacklisted.
Because of this at the time it would see Churchill being despised by many in the South Wales Valleys, and until his dying days, reviled by many as " the man who sent in the troops" and remains deeply unpopular to this day for the actions that he took, becoming a hate figure for generations of Welsh men and women.A major factor in the dislike of Churchill's use of the military, was
not in any specific action undertaken by the troops, but the fact that
their presence prevented any strike action which might have ended the
strike early in the miners' favour.
The troops also ensured that trials of rioters, strikers and miner
leaders would take place and be successfully prosecuted in Pontypridd in
1911. The defeat of the miners in 1911 was, in the eyes of the local
community, a direct consequence of state intervention without any
negotiation, and this action was seen as a direct result of Churchill's
actions. In 2010, 99 years after the riots, a Welsh local council made objections to a street being named after Churchill in the Vale of Glamorgan because of his sending troops into the Rhondda. Jackie Griffin, clerk of Llanmaes council, stated he was
unable to support such an “inappropriate name change” due to the fact
that there is “still a strong feeling of animosity” towards Winston
Churchill in the community.Sadly along with Margaret Thatcher he has now become an official saint of the right wing of the bourgeoisie.
And now adding further insult to the injury he once caused we have to put up with Winston Churchill’s tawdry image on every £5 banknote, along with his “blood, toil, tears and sweat” quote to a backdrop of parliament . He has replaced Elizabeth Fry, the progressively-minded social reformer and Quaker known as the “angel of prisons”, who has been on the note since 2001.The image of Churchill on the new five pound note is seen as a deeply political act which also obscures and distorts the many other heinous acts that he committed through the course of history, and simply extols a mouthpiece who advocated the crushing of strikes using military force here in Wales and other parts of the UK. His political philosophy alone is not one that I feel should make him worthy to be recognised in this way either, after all this was a man who was, inclined at all times to further the expansion of Empire, which resulted in famines, territorial theft and mass suffering, which were based on racist prejudices and a bigoted belief in the superiority of an imagined Anglo-Saxon race.Today the Churchill myth still prevails, and adding his face to the new bank notes will only repress and distort history further. In reality, Churchill was a warrior for the ruling class and a darling of British imperialism; he was racist, sexist, eugenicist and virulently anti-working class, endowed with an immense ego and a capacity for callous destructiveness. No number of five-pound notes can pay for his crimes. Lets not rewrite him out of history though, we should continue to teach generation to come of the true values he represented. Along with many other Welsh people, I do not consider him a man worthy of being used in this way.
The role of Churchill played in the above dispute is outlined in the book 'The Tonypandy Riots 1910-1911 by Gwyn Evans and David Maddox.
And now adding further insult to the injury he once caused we have to put up with Winston Churchill’s tawdry image on every £5 banknote, along with his “blood, toil, tears and sweat” quote to a backdrop of parliament . He has replaced Elizabeth Fry, the progressively-minded social reformer and Quaker known as the “angel of prisons”, who has been on the note since 2001.The image of Churchill on the new five pound note is seen as a deeply political act which also obscures and distorts the many other heinous acts that he committed through the course of history, and simply extols a mouthpiece who advocated the crushing of strikes using military force here in Wales and other parts of the UK. His political philosophy alone is not one that I feel should make him worthy to be recognised in this way either, after all this was a man who was, inclined at all times to further the expansion of Empire, which resulted in famines, territorial theft and mass suffering, which were based on racist prejudices and a bigoted belief in the superiority of an imagined Anglo-Saxon race.Today the Churchill myth still prevails, and adding his face to the new bank notes will only repress and distort history further. In reality, Churchill was a warrior for the ruling class and a darling of British imperialism; he was racist, sexist, eugenicist and virulently anti-working class, endowed with an immense ego and a capacity for callous destructiveness. No number of five-pound notes can pay for his crimes. Lets not rewrite him out of history though, we should continue to teach generation to come of the true values he represented. Along with many other Welsh people, I do not consider him a man worthy of being used in this way.
The role of Churchill played in the above dispute is outlined in the book 'The Tonypandy Riots 1910-1911 by Gwyn Evans and David Maddox.
Sunday, 6 November 2016
Virginia Woolf ( 25/1/ 1882 - 28/3/ 41) - Death of a moth
Virginia Woolf is one of my favourite Women British writers of the the 20th century who published short stories novels, including, "Mrs. Dalloways", "To the Lighthouse", and "The Waves" "A Room of One's Own" which focused on women's history in writing.Recognized as one of the major figures of modern literature, Woolf is highly regarded both for her innovative fiction techniques and insightful contributions to literary criticism. In her short fiction, she explored such themes as the elusive nature of storytelling and character study, the nature of truth and reality, and the role of women in society. Like her novels, these highly individualized, stylistic works are noted for their subjective explorations and detailed poetic narratives that capture ordinary experience while depicting the workings and perceptions of the human mind.
Virginia Adeline Stephen was born on the 25th of January 1882 the third child of Leslie Stephen, a Victorian man of letters, and Julia Duckworth. The Stephen family lived at Hyde Park Gate in Kensington, a respectable English middle class neighborhood. While her brothers Thoby and Adrian were sent to Cambridge, Virginia was educated by private tutors and copiously read from her father’s vast library of literary classics.
She later resented the degradation of women in a patriarchal society, rebuking her own father for automatically sending her brothers to schools and university, while she was never offered a formal education.Woolf’s Victorian upbringing would later influence her decision to participate in the Bloomsbury circle, noted for their original ideas and unorthodox relationships.
Virginia’s mother died from rheumatic fever. Her unexpected and tragic death caused Virginia to have a mental breakdown at age 13. A second severe breakdown followed the death of her father, Leslie Stephen, in 1904. During this time, Virginia first attempted suicide and was institutionalized. According to nephew and biographer Quentin Bell, “All that summer she was mad.” The death of her close brother Thoby Stephen, from typhoid fever in November 1906 had a similar effect on Woolf, to such a degree that he would later be re-imagined as Jacob in her first experimental novel Jacob’s Room and later as Percival in The Waves. These were the first of her many mental collapses that would sporadically occur throughout her life, until her suicide in March 1941.
Virginia Woolf wrote the following essay "The Death of the Moth" before she drowned herself on the 28th of March 1941. In the essay she describes the circumstances revolving around a moth's death .In this powerful meditation she allows the reader to respect death and the power it has over us. She illustrates the universal struggle between life and death, portraying the valiance of the fight.but at same time acknowledging it's futility.As she examines the struggle of a moth trying to achieve something impossible by going through a windowpane to reach the outdoors, Woolf sees the moth in a new light, a light that identifies the moth not as insignificent and in demand of pity, but a small creature of the world, a pure being that was afforded the gift of being "nothing but life."
The moths purpose is pure. The moth does not fear death, it fears losing the struggle. This is worse than death for the moth, and the moths ability to overcome the living fear of death is what draws Woolf to her and causes her not to pity, but to admire it for it's simple existence and the courage to dance upon the windowpane that brings his death.
An admirable essay and sentiment, but one that still fills my heart with fear and dread, not for me per say, but for those other gentle beings that I do not want to see departing anyday soon.It has however helped me understand a little more,about the eternal power that death has over us all, and although we may stop and stand still or pass away, life continues without us for everyone else.Virginia Woolf was more than just a women's writer she was a delicate observer of everyday life.
.
The Death of the Moth - Virginia Woolf
"Moths that fly by day are not properly to be called moths; they do not excite that pleasant sense of dark autumn nights and ivy-blossom which the commonest yellow-underwing asleep in the shadow of the curtain never fails to rouse in us. They are hybrid creatures, neither gay like butterflies nor sombre like their own species. Nevertheless the present specimen, with his narrow hay-coloured wings, fringed with a tassel of the same colour, seemed to be content with life. It was a pleasant morning, mid-September, mild, benignant, yet with a keener breath than that of the summer months. The plough was already scoring the field opposite the window, and where the share had been, the earth was pressed flat and gleamed with moisture. Such vigour came rolling in from the fields and the down beyond that it was difficult to keep the eyes strictly turned upon the book. The rooks too were keeping one of their annual festivities; soaring round the tree tops until it looked as if a vast net with thousands of black knots in it had been cast up into the air; which, after a few moments sank slowly down upon the trees until every twig seemed to have a knot at the end of it. Then, suddenly, the net would be thrown into the air again in a wider circle this time, with the utmost clamour and vociferation, as though to be thrown into the air and settle slowly down upon the tree tops were a tremendously exciting experience.
The same energy which inspired the rooks, the ploughmen, the horses, and even, it seemed, the lean bare-backed downs, sent the moth fluttering from side to side of his square of the window-pane. One could not help watching him. One was, indeed, conscious of a queer feeling of pity for him. The possibilities of pleasure seemed that morning so enormous and so various that to have only a moth's part in life, and a day moth's at that, appeared a hard fate, and his zest in enjoying his meagre opportunities to the full, pathetic. He flew vigorously to one corner of his compartment, and, after waiting there a second, flew across to the other. What remained for him but to fly to a third corner and then to a fourth? That was all he could do, in spite of the size of the downs, the width of the sky, the far-off smoke of houses, and the romantic voice, now and then, of a steamer out at sea. What he could do he did. Watching him, it seemed as if a fibre, very thin but pure, of the enormous energy of the world had been thrust into his frail and diminutive body. As often as he crossed the pane, I could fancy that a thread of vital light became visible. He was little or nothing but life.
Yet, because he was so small, and so simple a form of the energy that was rolling in at the open window and driving its way through so many narrow and intricate corridors in my own brain and in those of other human beings, there was something marvellous as well as pathetic about him. It was as if someone had taken a tiny bead of pure life and decking it as lightly as possible with down and feathers, had set it dancing and zig-zagging to show us the true nature of life. Thus displayed one could not get over the strangeness of it. One is apt to forget all about life, seeing it humped and bossed and garnished and cumbered so that it has to move with the greatest circumspection and dignity. Again, the thought of all that life might have been had he been born in any other shape caused one to view his simple activities with a kind of pity.
After a time, tired by his dancing apparently, he settled on the window ledge in the sun, and, the queer spectacle being at an end, I forgot about him. Then, looking up, my eye was caught by him. He was trying to resume his dancing, but seemed either so stiff or so awkward that he could only flutter to the bottom of the window-pane; and when he tried to fly across it he failed. Being intent on other matters I watched these futile attempts for a time without thinking, unconsciously waiting for him to resume his flight, as one waits for a machine, that has stopped momentarily, to start again without considering the reason of its failure. After perhaps a seventh attempt he slipped from the wooden ledge and fell, fluttering his wings, on to his back on the window sill. The helplessness of his attitude roused me. It flashed upon me that he was in difficulties; he could no longer raise himself; his legs struggled vainly. But, as I stretched out a pencil, meaning to help him to right himself, it came over me that the failure and awkwardness were the approach of death. I laid the pencil down again.
The legs agitated themselves once more. I looked as if for the enemy against which he struggled. I looked out of doors. What had happened there? Presumably it was midday, and work in the fields had stopped. Stillness and quiet had replaced the previous animation. The birds had taken themselves off to feed in the brooks. The horses stood still. Yet the power was there all the same, massed outside indifferent, impersonal, not attending to anything in particular. Somehow it was opposed to the little hay-coloured moth. It was useless to try to do anything. One could only watch the extraordinary efforts made by those tiny legs against an oncoming doom which could, had it chosen, have submerged an entire city, not merely a city, but masses of human beings; nothing, I knew, had any chance against death. Nevertheless after a pause of exhaustion the legs fluttered again. It was superb this last protest, and so frantic that he succeeded at last in righting himself. One's sympathies, of course, were all on the side of life. Also, when there was nobody to care or to know, this gigantic effort on the part of an insignificant little moth, against a power of such magnitude, to retain what no one else valued or desired to keep, moved one strangely. Again, somehow, one saw life, a pure bead. I lifted the pencil again, useless though I knew it to be. But even as I did so, the unmistakable tokens of death showed themselves. The body relaxed, and instantly grew stiff. The struggle was over. The insignificant little creature now knew death. As I looked at the dead moth, this minute wayside triumph of so great a force over so mean an antagonist filled me with wonder. Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was now as strange. The moth having righted himself now lay most decently and uncomplainingly composed. O yes, he seemed to say, death is stronger than I am."
Virginia Woolf wrote the following essay "The Death of the Moth" before she drowned herself on the 28th of March 1941. In the essay she describes the circumstances revolving around a moth's death .In this powerful meditation she allows the reader to respect death and the power it has over us. She illustrates the universal struggle between life and death, portraying the valiance of the fight.but at same time acknowledging it's futility.As she examines the struggle of a moth trying to achieve something impossible by going through a windowpane to reach the outdoors, Woolf sees the moth in a new light, a light that identifies the moth not as insignificent and in demand of pity, but a small creature of the world, a pure being that was afforded the gift of being "nothing but life."
The moths purpose is pure. The moth does not fear death, it fears losing the struggle. This is worse than death for the moth, and the moths ability to overcome the living fear of death is what draws Woolf to her and causes her not to pity, but to admire it for it's simple existence and the courage to dance upon the windowpane that brings his death.
An admirable essay and sentiment, but one that still fills my heart with fear and dread, not for me per say, but for those other gentle beings that I do not want to see departing anyday soon.It has however helped me understand a little more,about the eternal power that death has over us all, and although we may stop and stand still or pass away, life continues without us for everyone else.Virginia Woolf was more than just a women's writer she was a delicate observer of everyday life.
.
The Death of the Moth - Virginia Woolf
"Moths that fly by day are not properly to be called moths; they do not excite that pleasant sense of dark autumn nights and ivy-blossom which the commonest yellow-underwing asleep in the shadow of the curtain never fails to rouse in us. They are hybrid creatures, neither gay like butterflies nor sombre like their own species. Nevertheless the present specimen, with his narrow hay-coloured wings, fringed with a tassel of the same colour, seemed to be content with life. It was a pleasant morning, mid-September, mild, benignant, yet with a keener breath than that of the summer months. The plough was already scoring the field opposite the window, and where the share had been, the earth was pressed flat and gleamed with moisture. Such vigour came rolling in from the fields and the down beyond that it was difficult to keep the eyes strictly turned upon the book. The rooks too were keeping one of their annual festivities; soaring round the tree tops until it looked as if a vast net with thousands of black knots in it had been cast up into the air; which, after a few moments sank slowly down upon the trees until every twig seemed to have a knot at the end of it. Then, suddenly, the net would be thrown into the air again in a wider circle this time, with the utmost clamour and vociferation, as though to be thrown into the air and settle slowly down upon the tree tops were a tremendously exciting experience.
The same energy which inspired the rooks, the ploughmen, the horses, and even, it seemed, the lean bare-backed downs, sent the moth fluttering from side to side of his square of the window-pane. One could not help watching him. One was, indeed, conscious of a queer feeling of pity for him. The possibilities of pleasure seemed that morning so enormous and so various that to have only a moth's part in life, and a day moth's at that, appeared a hard fate, and his zest in enjoying his meagre opportunities to the full, pathetic. He flew vigorously to one corner of his compartment, and, after waiting there a second, flew across to the other. What remained for him but to fly to a third corner and then to a fourth? That was all he could do, in spite of the size of the downs, the width of the sky, the far-off smoke of houses, and the romantic voice, now and then, of a steamer out at sea. What he could do he did. Watching him, it seemed as if a fibre, very thin but pure, of the enormous energy of the world had been thrust into his frail and diminutive body. As often as he crossed the pane, I could fancy that a thread of vital light became visible. He was little or nothing but life.
Yet, because he was so small, and so simple a form of the energy that was rolling in at the open window and driving its way through so many narrow and intricate corridors in my own brain and in those of other human beings, there was something marvellous as well as pathetic about him. It was as if someone had taken a tiny bead of pure life and decking it as lightly as possible with down and feathers, had set it dancing and zig-zagging to show us the true nature of life. Thus displayed one could not get over the strangeness of it. One is apt to forget all about life, seeing it humped and bossed and garnished and cumbered so that it has to move with the greatest circumspection and dignity. Again, the thought of all that life might have been had he been born in any other shape caused one to view his simple activities with a kind of pity.
After a time, tired by his dancing apparently, he settled on the window ledge in the sun, and, the queer spectacle being at an end, I forgot about him. Then, looking up, my eye was caught by him. He was trying to resume his dancing, but seemed either so stiff or so awkward that he could only flutter to the bottom of the window-pane; and when he tried to fly across it he failed. Being intent on other matters I watched these futile attempts for a time without thinking, unconsciously waiting for him to resume his flight, as one waits for a machine, that has stopped momentarily, to start again without considering the reason of its failure. After perhaps a seventh attempt he slipped from the wooden ledge and fell, fluttering his wings, on to his back on the window sill. The helplessness of his attitude roused me. It flashed upon me that he was in difficulties; he could no longer raise himself; his legs struggled vainly. But, as I stretched out a pencil, meaning to help him to right himself, it came over me that the failure and awkwardness were the approach of death. I laid the pencil down again.
The legs agitated themselves once more. I looked as if for the enemy against which he struggled. I looked out of doors. What had happened there? Presumably it was midday, and work in the fields had stopped. Stillness and quiet had replaced the previous animation. The birds had taken themselves off to feed in the brooks. The horses stood still. Yet the power was there all the same, massed outside indifferent, impersonal, not attending to anything in particular. Somehow it was opposed to the little hay-coloured moth. It was useless to try to do anything. One could only watch the extraordinary efforts made by those tiny legs against an oncoming doom which could, had it chosen, have submerged an entire city, not merely a city, but masses of human beings; nothing, I knew, had any chance against death. Nevertheless after a pause of exhaustion the legs fluttered again. It was superb this last protest, and so frantic that he succeeded at last in righting himself. One's sympathies, of course, were all on the side of life. Also, when there was nobody to care or to know, this gigantic effort on the part of an insignificant little moth, against a power of such magnitude, to retain what no one else valued or desired to keep, moved one strangely. Again, somehow, one saw life, a pure bead. I lifted the pencil again, useless though I knew it to be. But even as I did so, the unmistakable tokens of death showed themselves. The body relaxed, and instantly grew stiff. The struggle was over. The insignificant little creature now knew death. As I looked at the dead moth, this minute wayside triumph of so great a force over so mean an antagonist filled me with wonder. Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was now as strange. The moth having righted himself now lay most decently and uncomplainingly composed. O yes, he seemed to say, death is stronger than I am."
Saturday, 5 November 2016
Powers of earthly plot still carry much strength
( for Guy Fawkes)
Remember, Remember,the Fifth of November
Guy Fawkes and his co-conspirators,
religious fundamentalists of their age
who on this day tried to carry out their deadly plot,
because of passionate indignation
a message that still chimes with us us today.
Political corruption, in parliament
and backrooms woven with thickets of greed,
however I've never been to keen on bombs
currently I'm planting bulbs for springtime,
to allow freedoms petals to explode and inspire
waiting for winds of change to blow, energies to invoke,
that can help reveal truth's essence
beyond ignorant and irrational threads.
Down here below among bedrock of tears
we can still make those above tremble,
planting seeds of dissent and rebellion
putting right to wrongs, with the strength of conviction,
against the arrogance of those who cling on to political power
like nature we can grow wild and defiant,
with deliberation, courage, and fortitude
if we keep pushing, their days in control might crumble,
our powers of earthly plot, still carry much strength.
the above poen can also now be found here too :- https://iamnotasilentpoet.wordpress.com/2016/11/06/powers-of-earthly-plot-still-carry-much-strength-by-dave-rendle/
Friday, 4 November 2016
This spirit moves me greatly.
(some spontaneity released earlier after visiting the above light in hospital, the reason I guess this blog exists. She has encouraged it throughout its journey, so these are some words to this guiding inspiration.)
I’m not frightened of the dark, but of the morning when my eyes awaken, the uncertainty of a loved ones paths , I ignore the critics of my poetical meanderings, who try to dim our illumination, I carry on, and every night I try to light a candle, a gift of communication, beating deep within my heart, for a love that has guided me gently, taught me how to be, showing me resilience that carries no fear, epitomising all the strength, magic and beauty that is contained in this bitter world, carried me with affection, through days of confusion, like a mountain of thought , her mind will forever be free and alive, this mighty force will never fade, this darling’s smile will be carried within me, for ever more, and if she had time now to read these words, her eyes would light up,because she will know how her great spirit moves me greatly and she knows how much I like to be moved, long before prayers have ever been intoned, she wont blame me for writing, in tough times these are keys to my self healing. For within I possess this inner resolve. I guess it displays the deep convictions that I try to share every day from my heart.
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