Brexitcast is absolute joy to me recently. I think, though I never can b a journalist considering my lame language, I always enjoy having time with a group of journalists, esp in a pub chatting setting, grinning knavery and tongue in cheek about how useless a group of politicians in doing their job.
I really enjoy katya Adler and esp Laura k. Quite different from my remain friends, I really admire her. At least she’s not from oxbridge is she?
First, I was planning to have this piece to introduce a book I was reading (and not yet end, I’ve been telling you many times I read very slow). “We were Eight Years in Power" by Ta-Nehisi Coates. But I knew right from start I had to fold my plan. Same old problem of mine: I was ambitious, but my knowledge, my capability, always couldn’t support my ambition of any respect. When one writes an article about a book, he supposedly writes what he knows about what the book told, before what he feels about what the book told. That’s what we expect an essay/review about a book should be. But I am not able, as always, to tell what I know about the book. I can only feel the rage the author emanated through his every word and phrase. In a very restrained, to an extent like choking himself from ‘splosion, way. Because of the oppression and toil his race has endured, and been enduring. Because of the utmost frustration he feels against the White America, and the not-so-subtle White Supremacy in that same America.
However I felt, and still feeling, about him as an author, as a human being, I could not write even a word about what I knew about what he wrote. Because I simply didn’t know. And still don’t know. I could highlight the best sentences in the book, as I really did. I could quote the Black Americans quoted by him– E.L. Doctorow, Fredrick Douglass, Ida B. Well, Malcolm X, but such and such would not do me favour to show off how much I know about the book; about Black America; about Obama; about American slavery and its long shadow. On the contrary, doing so would plainly spotlight my emptiness and shallowness in this subject. I feel a lot of jealousy and misgiving when I see on Twitter and other similar Social Media platform somebody able to write very good book review to showcase how well they know the book, the author, the subject matter, or all of them. I feel the same when I see them writing very good pieces to show off how great their knowledge are. I am honest I feel so jealous every time I see them, read them. I am equally honest I am equally eager to show off if I could, if not more so. But I know I simply can’t. So the best thing I can do is writing here thousands of words that are bullshit. Meaningless bullshit. Just as I do here.
Or, I shouldn’t have been so harsh on myself. As author did demonstrate through this book Black is never an easy subject matter to grapple with. Reading the book all along, I was so immersed into the book, that I was like keep hearing the shadow and ghosts in the book speaking, “Hey child, Black is too much for you Asians. Black is not your stuff. It’s not like the subjects you used to read, child. It’s way more difficult, child. It’s not for you." How immersed can one be to know them more? Does it help listening to African Unite by Bob Marley? Or ATM by J Cole? Or This is America by Childish Gambino? Does it help memorising speeches of Obama? or Martin Luther King Jr? Or William Barber? Or Stormzy (oh he is British)?
No, they all don’t help much. The same shadow and ghosts went, “Futile child. Black is Black. You ain’t no Black, Asian. Just skip it, child. It’s not for you." Does transrace operation help? Like what Rachel Dolezhal did? Does wiping my everything in the past help? Does wiping out my social media footprints, and all the history, like what I’ve been doing, help? Does boxing my hair, braiding my hair help? The same shadow and ghosts went, “No child. Black is blood thing, child. You can’t fake it, child. You can’t trans it, child. You can only inherit it. It’s not your Christian Jesus God, that everyone can be my son if thy say Hallelujah, child. Just skip it, child. It ain’t do you no good this time, child. Just skip it."
So I have to skip it. Surrender. And say, I don’t know a word the book said. Humble. It’s like the project is even more difficult to be immersed as 戀英青 (Honestly, I hate that name so much. Anytime I heard anyone call me so, it’s like the worst swear I’ve ever heard. 難聽過粗口). So I really have to skip it, fold it. Nothing to tell you. You can read it if you want, though. It’s a really good book. Rage aside, I feel quite connected with him when the Author told writing, as much as activism, is like a business that’s doomed to fail. The only value, and meaning, of it is that you know you are still writing, and fighting, for a battle you know you never gonna win. I feel the same. I never have any feeling of winning anything. I always feel the time I was born, I was born to lose.
That’s fine. At least finer than when I was born to kill.
You used to be like my brother in Twitter. You know. Until one night, the whole world changed between you and me. The cyberspace we used to meet every day hasn’t changed much since then. But it did. And it’s seismic to me, to you, as to everyone else we used to hook with time to time. And I think we (or at least I) would look silly if we pretend nothing has ever changed.
Since then, I kept on asking myself, what if the way I used to be, the thought I used to keep, is all wrong. Or not all wrong, but just part of the truth? That’s how I started listening to different groups of people with whom I didn’t used to encounter much. That’s how I started to listen to people who are not as intellectual as you and I used to stick to before that seismic change. After all, it may suit me more, as I never am one of that intellectual kind of people.
This article strikes me and recalls that feeling I have talked about. Keeping oneself with the same group of people, however intelligent and knowledgable they are, catching up the same topic and same side of the argumentation for a long period of time, may blind us rather than enlightening us. It’s so unlike Confucius. In that same group, I now see you guys keep saying those who believe Brexit are either racist or nostalgic towards that British Empire that has long disappeared or little British shutting their eyes on what is really going on in Europe and in the world. In that same group, I now see you guys keep your accolades of anyone on the panel of Question Time as long as they were on your side, even though sometimes their viewpoints were plainly incorrect.
I have been witnessing what the article elaborated –the feedback loop. Your thought keeps being reinforced and shielded by similar thoughts, from the side you care not (or dare not) taking a glimpse.
In the 26/4 Question Time Extra Time, I once again heard something very different from what you think, which is very interesting however. One woman who phoned in said she supported Brexit, because EU is a group of elite rich countries which set very high tariffs against products, esp. agricultural produce, of very poor countries like those in Africa. She is right. This is exactly what EU is about. Rather than what you guys always proclaim, EU is not a manifestation of Free Trade. Rather, it is a concept of setting a wall around a continent called Europe with a bunch of very rich countries at its centre. It is a concept of protectionism at the peril of many countries whose GDP not even a fifth of any one of those very rich countries. You and I used to catch up with Greece debt problem a couple of years ago like day by day. We both witnessed how EU can exhort a poor peripheral Eastern European country, and all the people living in it, with wicked slyness, with hoax, with verbal and political intimidation and humiliation, to stick to the EU prerogatives, to all the benefit of those rich central countries; to all the humanitarian plunder of those poor people. We witnessed together how contrary EU can be to what they now profess: egalitarian, freedom, democracy. Now I see you guys never talk about that. It’s like all the above have never ever happened. It seems to me you guys try to wipe out those memories to pursue your cause.
But that woman on the phone didn’t forget all this. While she is a Brexiter, I didn’t see an anti-free trade sabotage from her. I didn’t see a nostalgic little British from her. I didn’t see a racist yelling close the border all day of her. Rather, I see an internationalist perspective of Brexitism. I see a humanitarian perspective of Brexitism. For pointing out the injustice and centre-periphery domination perpetuated and ever proliferated by the so called Europe Project.
Time to time, I think of you. I really want to talk to you. But I many times asked myself, if I really talked to you, what should I say? I don’t want to make it too personal. But it’s really something personal. This is a piece for you. To conclude at this stage what I want to tell you.
Stop writing any story because I just can’t without feeling bad.
But I still like reading story. Especially short one. Because I’m quite a slow reader. I can only read 7-12 pages of a normal size paperback book every half an hour. That means, it takes me at least 50 days to read a normal novel of about 700 pages. (I can only have 30 minutes for my reading everyday). Now you know how slow. Pathetic slow.
So short story suits me. That’s why I like New Yorkers which have new short stories posted every issue. And the short story I share above struck me. Because Yiyun LI, the author, gave us some hints to answer a question stuck in my heart for so long: Why Chinese Americans in USA voted Trump. It’s not even some Chinese Americans voted Trump. It’s quite a large proportion of them who vouched their choice, which is still safe, and stuck around in their community.
I used to say I cannot make any sense of it. I can’t connect a Chinese with White Supremacist ideology. But this story suggested that linking Chinese with Trump may not be as crazy fantasisation as I used to think, though such a link is still to be a discombobulation.
Chinese inner-drive towards Confucius-style conservatism (i.e. steadfast power domination of male over female; centre over periphery; ruling over ruled) (i.e. treating everything with an analogy of family, i.e. an only male on top and in charge of everything no matter how stupid he is, here I define as phallic male) may be a very good explanation, at least speculation. There might be other reasons which she didn’t tell in her story, or she didn’t know yet. Maybe most of the American Chinese are pious Christian who treated every Republican candidate as God Send. I don’t know. I really don’t.
The author gave you a narration of the story as well. You may not like it. As I know many Hong Kong people hate Chinese accent, to an extent that they turn into racists against their own race.
Ahh….maybe….that’s another explanation. The inherent racism of Chinese. I don’t know. I really don’t.
Just checked out this podcast of chatting between Alice Fraser (an Australian comedian I barely know) and Kirsty Webeck (an Australian comedian I don’t know). That I find it quite meaningful, at least to me, and I hope as much to you my friend, the only one I truly see as friend in Twitter.
Your listening is better than me, so you may get something I simply couldn’t get. So, you may find the conversation more, or less, enjoyable.
I don’t get much, as I am so used to have my mind sleep-trotting when I check out my podcast. But something in the middle nails in my head, that I suddenly think of you, a self-declared combative centrist. That, if you find someone doing something really wrong, that you want to correct it, to make things right, saying “you’re completely nut you dickhead" (very suitable to BoJo) / “you’ll be damned, you’v ruined every single thing, you bitch" (maybe suitable to Isabel Oakeshot) is going to get you nothing, but a reciprocal hate/block/unfollow, and then the whole conversation stops from then. That’s how we netizens work nowadays, typical tribal combatism, only that we do it without spears or swords or bows (you would hurt your monitor even you did have), and I’m telling you it’s not gonna work. And, it’s simply not OK.
I am starting getting myself a bit too personal now. So, I got to stop. And hope you’ll be OK.
I love Emma Barnett, and can’t get enough of her voice, so mystic that I sometimes find myself lost somewhere in her show and not able to listen to her clearly. I’ve been loving her since about 2 years ago when she sub as presenter of Newsnight. Sound a bit stalker…hha.. Not pathetic love like the stalker of another Newsnight presenter Matlis, but like the love I have with Nish Kumar! I feel relieved and refreshing when I can hear them around.
Sounds abit 戀英青 right? Even my wife calls me so….Fuck it! OK, I love listening to and watching English programmes. If that makes me 戀英青, so be it. I think, sometimes, when I’m branded once it’s difficult to unbrand myself. Futile, even I suddenly get circumlocutory about 蘋果日報 and everything local. So, fuck it! If you say I am, so am I.
Yesterday I listened to another Emma Barnett show – Eye of the Storm
It’s about Nemone Lethbridge (I knew nothing about her prior) this time. One of the first female barristers in UK. She had to quit because she suddenly became the eye of a storm, epicentre of a quake, when she was married to a convicted murderer, Jimmy O’Connor, who had served 11 years of life imprisonment and been released on parole. She did something the society deemed too controversial, at the times; made a decision that caused a damage to her highly respected profession deemed irreversible, at the times. And she quit. Painful. But if she had to quit, so be it.
I know that the activist teacher, Miss Lam, quit her school this week. I feel that these two women, 40 years apart, have mystic connection with each other. I feel, just feel, that they share the same fate in one way or another. I still find it inconceivable a teacher who swears after work, in a circumstance completely unrelated to her job / profession, like Miss Lam did, would be deemed too controversial or even unacceptable by the society at any time. Same as I feel a barrister who love a citizen, who has already served his life imprisonment and been released on parole (i.e. judged safe to be integrated into the society as ordinary citizen), would be deemed catastrophic by her institute, by society, by Daily Telegraph. But who am I to judge inconceivable from conceivable? Who are they, them two women, to resist the decision by the times that is final judge? If the times has branded one at her peril, one cannot un-brand her. I cannot un-brand her. Futile, as I cannot release her on parole.
Only times can undo things he done. Only times will tell.
After decades she was barred from Bar Association, Nemone Lethbridge, in exile, was rescued by an old-fashsioned chap, as she called him, who thought she had been being unfairly treated, and took her back to the chamber. Hurrah! After decades, the times reversed the decision that used to be irreversible. The times re-brand hero who used to be shithole! Only times is flexible. Not so flexible though, as it has been taking him fucking decades.
To Miss Lam, I feel you have been so utterly unfairly treated by Hong Kong, a place I hate so much (I am more 憎港青 than 戀英青), but at the times. And I don’t try to guess how long the times will take to reverse the decision, that everyone, even teacher, who swear a swine, get fag, after work is no fucking big deal. I don’t know. Maybe another fucking decades! Who fucking knows?! But the times will tell.
But Nemone Lethbridge did one funny thing in the show. She asked “can I swear". Emma let her, and she did swear, but with a beep. Maybe Miss Lam, next time you can ask before you swear, with a beep. It would be better. Not now though. Maybe another fucking decades later.
上面那篇文章是我回想自己看Jane Jacobs Death and Life of American Cities的一些反思。那時是自BASH自己靠左的思路，希望自己從頭來過，做一個較以前中肯持平溫和靚仔的人。但最近看了BBC Documentary一套達個半鐘的Jane Jacob回顧。
今次大家都可以看，沒有Licence所限。而我今次推薦，因為編輯用了一個更跨越地理及規劃的角度。而集中去看Jane Jacobs 和當時紐約市重建統領 Robert Moses 的對決。當然，那幾場仗Jane Jacobs動員了當區的居民，社運團體，成功阻礙了幾個指標性的重建項目，包括穿越Washington Square Park的公路，Green(定West?) Village (即珍妮住的地頭)的重建項目。情況有點似你們保衞菜園村，問why not 橫洲的個案相似，分別只是你們得不到相同的結果。
這兩個著名人物最強烈的反差就只是，如何才能改善住在這裡的人的生活。只是Robert仔是當時的現代主義學院派。用一句非常Catching的田生廣告以概之: 沒有舊，哪有新？在片中，Robert仔被Quote幾次他的比喻 –舊城區的貧窮問題就像癌症，你冇其他辦法架，就只有Chemo的啫。而Chemotherapy，又有一個非常好的比喻，在我最近看的一套無聊劇Ill Behaviour內那個女醫生的解釋 (Chemo is basically killing you. And I keep killing you once every single week for three months, hope you rebuild a new life)。就是咁 –I fucking evict you, kick your fucking arse out of ere, demolish your every shit (literally) here, and I will build something new. And everyone will then be fucking better! Fucking better. Everyone.
記住，我講上面嗰段野是真心，完全冇Cynicism成份的。而只有文學及新聞訓練的珍妮，則認為用Bulldozer 的城巿重建，對當區巿民的生活影響力太大，尤其是你get em the hell out of ere. 佢就返唔到原來的地方了。好地地你搞佢做乜？
從前的我看Jane的書，真的覺書中的她人很浪漫，全無政治。但這太天真了。那齣紀錄片中的珍妮，卻是政治動員的能手。亦深曉只有超棒的政治動員，才能逃離單一城巿軌跡的命運。即舊的必然被新的取代。她不是城巿無政治化，卻是local politics的始祖。即地理-城巿-政治密不可分。因為城巿實是一個連誰人有權話事都是case by case的contingency。這令我想到我現在看的書
嗱老實，都是左膠讀物。不過現代一點了，不再無產階級必勝。但真是頗艱深，不能如Tempo一樣做書評 (總不能在書評上寫其實我唔知她嗡乜7的)。但她提到的，無論是資本主義，共產主義，以至後現代的結構主義，都傾向看世界再沒有歷史，亦沒有了地理。話之你是巴黎定是越南小巴黎，只要你開放巿場，你就會變成另一個紐約。香港是亞洲國際都巿，上海是亞國際都巿，Bangalore只要肯努力，最後都是會變成亞洲國際都巿。再沒有地理的分別，再沒有文化的分差，再沒有時空的交纏。One World One Dream。Doreen就是說，這不是很悶嗎？為甚麼不看世界每一個local都是story-so-far？為甚麼我們所有城巿的命運都是這樣沉悶地相連？為甚麼我們不能構造不同的結局？
放諸城巿重建就是：可不可以再不問是Robert Mose遇是Louis Mumford還是麥理浩還是Jane Jacobs才是對呢？是不是沒有領展，所有公共房屋的商場就會更好？那太和街士多了很多人買餸你又怎解釋？但頌安街巿仲係咁撚廢又點解釋？有一些地方如十三街 45J 等舊區，是否真的能如珍妮說的，Cities need old buildings so badly it is probably impossible for vigorous streets and districts to grow without them…….? 入面的居民居住環境去到索馬里級數還怎樣Dance a ballet dance呢？是不是唔同的地點唔同的人唔同的歷史組成，就應有唔同的策略呢？
本書我去到看以公共空間商品化變成大商場，削弱其開放的程度。Doreen在這裡跟珍妮有點唱對台，問一個問題，原來的public open space其實是否真的完全open？open 得好像某乘客airdrop其賓州一樣呢？還是在所謂的public open space定一誰有權用，跟其他城巿物件一樣，連誰有權定權去決定誰使用都政治，都有討論的需要？商場加多幾張凳不就解決香港熱到仆街36度的特有問題嗎？但誰有權要信和在商場加多張凳呢？
我很希望我已如我所願變成一個較以前中肯持平溫和靚仔的人，但如果未如願，亦止少明白，即使做左膠，都可以做一個比較冇咁黑人憎的人，不需要因為我是左膠就走去擁抱Maduro，而不去說，屌你老母你走啦。不需要因為我是左膠就說UBER萬惡，全力支持世上服務質素最撚標青的的士佬 (honestly, I enjoy Uber so much)。每件事都一單還一單。No single trajectories. All on contingency.
Tick tak tick tak. Clock is ticking. We are heading for 71, the First of July in 2017; or July First Twenty Seventeen –American way. And, we are going to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Hong Kong being a part of Chinese authority, with our President Xi Jing Ping.
Tell you what. Despite all my different pranks in this week in the name of #我愛你我的國 家 (i.e. I love you my country), it is sometimes true, and I mean what I say literally, sometimes. I like dreams, so do I talking about dreams. It has been so nice to hear of a president like Xi who is rejuvenate his country with the notion of “Chinese Dream". Yeah…it’s a plagiarism of “American Dream" but…you know…if the copyright owners have not litigated about theirs being infringed upon there is no infringement case, is there? It will be fascinating and inspiring when our President dares to dream; and encourages his people to be as audacious, to act on their dreams. It should be very powerful. It should be steaming. It should be skyrocking. It should be catapulting. It should be explosive full of possibilities and opportunities, from the western most mountains to the ocean in the east and south.
Dream is….without boundary, without oppression, without censorship of any kind, any religion, any political ideology, any ethnicity and social mores. How powerful, would it be that our President inspires all of us to act on our dreams. Last night, I went to APM, a big shopping mall in Kwun Tong, Hong Kong, China, to wait for my taxi as I usually do after work. When I saw the big promotion picture of Arimura Kasumi in SKII the cosmetic shop, I remembered I used to dream I would dare having an affair if it were for her. If there is one thing as Dream Incorrectness (D.I.) gone mad, it should be this, which would lead my life to devastation in the name of aphrodisiac! Act on dream, China. It should be Pragmatic Conscience (P.C.) gone mad, leading us to get back our ancient glory at the apex of our political and diplomatic power.
The best leaders always are the ones who are telling their own dreams, that resonate with the crowd of people whom they address. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, Nelson Mandela, Chairman Mao, JFK, Ronald Reagen, Steve Jobs, Gorby, President Barack Obama (I many times say proudly I cried shamelessly in MTR the first time I read his Victory Speech in 2008 about American Dreams), Bernie Saunders, Jesus Christ,…. my list seems short just because I don’t read a lot. But it will never be exhaustive. They all sell dreams that work for their crowd. The crowd of people, with exception, get inspired by the dream, and act on the dream together, crossing their own comfort zone and boundaries, to make changes, massive movement, massive something. It is because they find something beyond selves. That’s the power of dream.
Having said the above, our President Xi, like all great leaders, has been posing some philosophical challenge to me –at least, when he seemed to imply that “Chinese Dream" can only point to certain directions, rather than being radial, sporadic and amorphous. Or….I put it this way…..our President Xi’s version of dream, like any other things in China, has freedom, but within bound that we are all sure is there but can never be sure where it is exactly. It is exactly what they meant when David Remnick interviewed Ai Wei Wei in New York recently.
It tickled me when David asked Ai, “I know there are many limit Chinese should not cross. Democracy is one of those, so is earthquake in Sichuan….now Ai Wei Wei is now another one is it?" And Ai replied, “the power of Chinese oppression is that we all have guess that limit, while they never tell you where the limit is because they are always ready to change that limit." OKay. It basically means I am wrong. “Chinese Dream" is not amorphous and static. In stead, it has been very dynamic, like video games in PlayStation. But one thing is sure, the control is definitely in our President’s hands (it may be single noun if he is playing Wii).
In that podcast, I heard of many different dreams of different people in China. Mr. Ai Wei Wei dreams of having a China who can take responsibility for the victims in Wenchuan. He dreams of having a China who allows freedom of speech. The girl in NYU dreams of having a China who enshrines and embraces feminism and gay rights. She said many girls in China dreams of being Ivanka, being pretty as much as being free of having to choose an all-or-nothing choose between family and career. There are many other dreams in China. One girl dreams of having the allowance of breathing air free of carcinogenic pollutants. Workers in Foxconn may dream of having a toilet time unchecked, and having OT paid. I have a friend who always dream of China getting involved in World War III, so that there may be a glimpse of hope of having it defeated and having it getting rid of Hong Kong. Silly though, I think his dream is always his entitlement that I can judge but not crush. Liu Xiaobo had a dream, in his “I have no enemy", of having friends in the prison he was in for fucking 8 years until liver failure recently, only because he used to have a dream that China acknowledges what he wrote in his Constitution. Hong Kong Umbrella Movement was a spasmodic collective dream of a group of people who dreamed of having a China who could regard what was written in our mini Constitution, letting Hong Kong people have a real progress in democracy. Some ideologic ideotiques in Hong Kong have a dream of severing Hong Kong from China politically. Again. Frenetic, masturbation gone mad, Singaporean Dream (S.D.) gone mad, but they have 100% entitlement to their dream. I can judge, not crush. Ethnic minority in Tibet and East Turkijistan have dream of having equal rights with Han majority. Jailed human rights lawyers and journalists in China dream of having China honour the basic livelihood of ordinary people, and bare minimum of justice in front of abuse and corruption of Chinese officials and party camaraderie. I don’t like Mr. John Tsang. But his campaign for an election long decided was so impressive, esp. when he said, “I really hope people from all walks of live in Hong Kong come together, dream together, even for just one night." His way of giving his statement a stain of irony and dark humour did make me feel something.
It is even more ironic when I review their dreams, I am gobsmacked by the blur between dream, which is supposed to be audacious and boundless, and humble wish, and basic requirement of living in a civilised country. What Chinese have been dreaming, as far as I know, has shrunk into a bucket of wishing sticks in Wong Tai Sin because not only can we grasp the limit pre-set of our dream to keep us save, but also can’t we get what has been promised in Constitution, laws and other forms of agreements between us and our Government in Beijing.
I also have my dream. I dream of all people in China, having their wrap removed by that “Chinese Dream" so that they can get back their entitlement to dream of anything they want to dream. I dream of all people in China at least getting back the right to dream. I dream of all people in China really mean it when they say, “I am dreaming. Just dreaming." I dream I have no irony or sarcasm, when I say, “I so fucking love you my Country."
It will be one of the numbers I will keep in my mind, my vein, until I die.
Just like 623 2016, 118 2016.
For a long time, I have tried very hard, very hard, not to talk about politics. I have been so afraid of myself being full of myself, fool of myself, talking politics, since 623, 714, 118. I know I used to be like that before those numbers, those dates. Being egotistic, I know I used to sound like, smell like, a left-leaning hypocrite. I know I used to sound like, smell like, I know a lot of things about politics, about society, about economy, about class, about votes. There used to be a twitter mate who I guess studied sociology and philosophy. He told me, at the crest of my pomposity about left-leaning ideologue about 2 years ago, that he didn’t see left leaning ideas would come back to hit any time soon. Traditional industries are not here anymore. Traditional sectors that can create a large horde of workers to work together, get a drink together, form a club together, form a bondage to each other, together, are long gone. At the time, I just heard something, but couldn’t listen to anything. Just can’t, have anything that could be put into my brain, except what I thought was true. That used to be me, until the numbers, 623, 714, 118.
So, I felt I was completely defeated by those numbers. When I felt defeated, I reflected, oftener than not the words from the keyboard of that socio-philosophist. Since then have I always remind myself, don’t talk about it. Don’t ever talk about it. Avoid it. Foil it. Not because I finally got a sense of remorse, but I just don’t want to be my laughing stock. So I stop.
Until a couple of weeks ago, that snap poll called by Theresa May, that woman who now still clings on in her parliament, who always takes for granted that Westminster is nothing but HER OWN parliament. Out of something I still can’t explain fully, I called that bet again, that I will have a table for 12 for anyone who comes, if SHE can take a majority larger than 3. That means, I just know, 328 out of 650. I just don’t know. I still don’t know, how I figured that bet. Like Labour, I was not very good at counting and maths. It might be just a gambler’s intuition, always bet on riskier side, always bet on weak, because if I lose, just a bet, while if I win, I win big.
It seems I did win. But that I won doesn’t explain anything about myself. So I am not going to give you explanation about how Labour won big. And literally they didn’t. They have just got back to where they used to be in 2010 under Gordon Brown, a hung, a stalemate, a tell-tale that there are still about a million people who feel alienated by Labour. And, to be most humble, I still don’t know what has been through. I just want to share my feeling, a tinkle of being a little smart ass when the result is all clear.
- I actually think that Labour was smart not ever taking strong view about Brexit. Some people used to blame Labour on their anaemic, or retreating, stance about Anti-Brexit, about Article 50, about Second Referendum against Brexit. From what I have heard from British saying, in TV show interview, in Radio Show, I have a sense many of them don’t feel pain about what they decided on 623. They are conscious they will have a hard time leaving EU. But they haven’t winced or wailed. That’s just not what they are. They just want to get it on. If my sense was right, that Labour sounded retreating about Brexit/ Anti-Brexit might be viewed by people as honouring a majority of people who made that decision, while they won’t be so high and hard sounding about severing any tie to EU at all cost, thus alienating the young voters. After all, Brexit as an issue to Labour is just “Not My Problem". Brexit is in all sense a Frankenstein invented by Tories and Tories themselves.
- “For the many, Not the few" was the campaign motto/ tagline of Labour in this election. It sounded quite silly to me when I first heard of it. But the message turned out ringing so ear-poppingly clamorous to voters, esp. those who have suffered the most in the last 5 years of austerity, the disabled, the people working in National Health Service, the singled parents, the people who have had their benefits and allowances cut to bare minimum. To them, the message pierced right through their mind to create pictures, movies of what they’ve been through, and their future, to the brink of something like clairvoyance. The message was proven today so powerful, like cannon that was shot right through the heart of where Labour voters used to be, Wales, Glasgow, Northwest, Northeast, Islington, Haringey, Bromley, Liverpool Tooting, Leeds, Sheffield, Hull. I have to confess even I underestimated him, and this message of his. I have never, even a minute, thought that it could be so powerful, so majestic.
This passage from New Yorker I read today is the one I like most among all the opinions I read: http://www.newyorker.com/news/benjamin-wallace-wells/how-jeremy-corbyn-moved-past-the-politics-of-2016?intcid=mod-latest?reload
“Rise, like lions after slumber / In unvanquishable number! / Shake your chains to earth like dew / Which in sleep had fallen on you: / ye are many—they are few!”
“For the many, not the few.” “protect this, defend that, support this person.” “Tonight is different….We’re not defending. We’re not defending. We don’t need to. We are asserting. Asserting our view that a society that cares for all is better than a society that only cares for the few.”
2008 I cried like mad in MTR reading the victory speech of Barack Obama. The above speech is comparatively short. And I didn’t cry because of it. But it doesn’t mean it is anything less than Obama’s. At least it is what I think, at the moment. Comparatively, Corbyn’s is ridden of that academic snob of Obama’s, while adding a tint of Street smart. And, most of all, Corbyn’s is even more genuine. He has been standing in Islington, defending for whatever he thinks is worth a stand, a sit-in, for 30 years. Once again, his message pierced right through his supporters’ mind to create pictures, movies of what they’ve been through, what Corbyn’s been through, and their future, their common future, their calm and spirit even their future would be so uncertain (and it’s true), their not giving a shit of their lose come what may (as they’ve been losing for 30 years) to the brink of something like clairvoyance. How powerful, how majestic.
Irony is. He still hasn’t won.
So. I keep on what I have been doing, avoid it, eschew it. foil it. As I really don’t know much about politics, about society, about economy. And, above all, I did’t win.
Fight on, mate.
64 64 all gone and gone along the pathway from
Hayday, which ‘as been what, when?
1997? 1992? 1989? 1978? 1967? 1956?
What are they numbers? Fading in memory but not in tapes,
Teasing in some lips but honoured in scripts
Archived in history, the absurdities the atrocities the hysterical delusion that define me, and so many others who, year on year, year on year, fainting but still saintly shinin’ lights passing, year on year, year on year, together and union, become part of me, and part of my history, our history, mine history, ours history, interweaving into one and wholely, the light vs the dark, the repression vs the democracy.
So many used to stand up in the legislative hall, in Victoria, against authority, initaiting motion that that authoritarian barbarity, to admit what they did, as guilty, as history and witnesses have imputed with crystalline clarity, the atrocity. Year on year, being refused, scorned, mocked and teased, by all sides, even some of our side, but still stood up, year on year.
Because, it is the only one thing that defines our identity. Just one thing. Not money. But fear. We fled, we sit in, we protested, we shed tears, because of this
Fear. And anger. The hair straightener fear. And heart piercing anger that melts down into tears. Out of conscience. In front of such a massive criminal, who can crush anybody just for clinging on with power, money, jail, brutality, and anything that have defined what they always be.
So they were standing, year on year, until the last breath of the air. And we are, the heir.
So we still stand, even in such an circumstance, that some say there is no more stage for it to stand, to be so disheartening so futile to stand. But we stand. Coz’ we are the only heir.
This is the responsibility of being an heir. To stand in front of such a massive and filthy thing. To stand for showing, such grief such anger such fear such thing that solely defines us. Solely decide us.
So we stand. Always we stand. Repetitively we stand. In that place we stand.
Year on Year.