Why I’ve parted company with Facebook

January 20th, 2012

Dislike stampLast weekend I had a bad experience that made me re-evaluate a lot of things I took for granted. I do recognise that my posts often tend to be contentious and sometimes downright controversial.  Last week I questioned a statement made by Pope Benedict about gay people which resulted in over 100 comments – strongly disagreeing with one another but good-natured and reasoned debate for the most part. For those who wonder why I often raise gay issues, it is simply because I believe gay people are treated appallingly by society and especially by Christians who should know better. My son Chris is gay and I’ve come to learn a huge amount as I’ve addressed the issue objectively. For me, it’s a justice issue. My equal opportunities statement says simply,

Every person is significant, important and of value and deserves to be treated with dignity, honour and justice

My review of  The Iron Lady ruffled some feathers as I was anything but sympathetic to the frail old lady portrayed in the film. It attracted positive and negative responses – but all friendly. My blog on Why I am a Welshman didn’t upset anyone but I was forced to issue a fatwah on my good friend Luke for his outrageous comments.

So last Saturday I read a claim in the Guardian that a drop in Tesco’s share price was ‘due to an answer to prayer’ for Stephen Green of Christian pressure group Christian Voice who protested outside shops last year after Tesco decided to sponsor the family area at London Gay Pride celebrations. I was angry about this as Stephen Green spouts absolute rubbish at the best of times, but to claim that God would answer such a vindictive prayer was insane and ludicrous.

As a result I posted that Stephen Green’s claims that God had judged Tesco were nonsense and that Green did more damage to Christianity than Hawking, Dawkins, Hitchens and militant Islam combined. What I didn’t expect were flames from my Christian friends quoting Bible verses: ‘Let him who is without sin cast the first stone…’ and various other personal attacks.

I’m pretty thick-skinned generally but this penetrated all my defences. I have worked hard for some years to build bridges between the Christian community in which I place myself and my many friends who don’t share my faith. Because I live and die by my equal opportunities statement above, I value all my friends equally. The friends who have touched my heart the most are those who formerly were part of a Christian group who have gone through divorces, or have come out as gay, or simply have lost their faith. They have been subjected to cruel, bitter, judgemental criticism by Christians and have been totally rejected. All of which is utterly contrary to the teachings of Jesus Christ whom the critics claim to serve. When I read the comments on my status I understood how they felt: despised and rejected of men.

I suspended my Facebook account and have just resurrected it to give this explanation to my friends and to give myself some time to reflect and regroup. And what is the ultimate irony? I received three concerned emails from friends who had noticed I’d disappeared and were checking on me. Two of those people were gay and all three would identify themselves as atheists.

The Iron Lady – an unlikely night out

January 13th, 2012

The Iron LadyOf all the strange places for an outing of the Bangor University Labour Society (of which I am a member), a visit to a film about history’s most vilified opponent of the Labour movement seems the most unlikely. However, a group of us from the Society went to see Meryl Streep’s portrayal of The Iron Lady at the cinema in Llandudno.

I felt rather out of place with this group, as only one of them was born when Margaret Thatcher came to power, whereas I had already voted in the 1970 General Election before that dark day in 1979 when she became Prime Minister. NB: I didn’t vote for her! My expectation and fear was that this film would sanitise her historical role and leave us feeling sorry for her in her confused state of Alzheimer’s disease. I had read reviews that  she had been portrayed very sympathetically in those autumn years of her life so I steeled myself not to feel any undue compassion.

The film alternates between the present day and flashback throughout and it is the skilful make-up worn by Meryl Streep thet helps the viewer get the chronology correct. From the very start, in her role as the grocer’s daughter, you saw the determination, ambition and sheer bloodymindedness of Margaret Roberts, later Thatcher, in her determination to achieve her political goals.

The portrayal of Margaret Thatcher through her period as Education Secretary and then as Prime Minister was very much as I remembered it –obstinate, insensitive, arrogant and even cruel. It put me very much in mind of a sketch in the vicious satire Spitting Image where she is treating her cabinet to a meal in a restaurant

Waitress: Would you like to order, sir?
Thatcher
: Yes. I will have the steak.
Waitress
: How would you like it?
Thatcher
: Oh, raw, please.
Waitress
: And what about the Vegetables?
Thatcher
: Oh, they’ll [The Cabinet] have the same as me!

The only thing that caught me out was the scene that portrayed the killing of Airey Neave by a car bomb in the Palace of Westminster. Although the INLA (an Irish terrorist group) claimed responsibility, a Wikipedia article suggests the security services or even the Americans were responsible. I always wondered how the INLA could get into the underground car park at the Housees of Parliament. I remember the incident well and how affected I was at the time, emotions I relived while watching. The film then showed Mrs Thatcher running up the car-park exit ramp seconds later, having just said goodbye to Neave. I suspect that was just poetic licence!

I felt again that same surge of anger that I felt at the time of the events when the film covered probably her most controversial policies during the Miners Strike (1984-85) and the Poll Tax Riots (1990) Seeing again the newsreel scenes of appalling police violence reaffirmed my long-held views of anger and incomprehension of her coldness and brutality.

Ironically, I had always promised myself that if I were ever to meet Margaret Thatcher I would tell her exactly what I thought of her. In fact, I met her on two occasions but both times “on duty” where I was representing another organisation and had a prior obligation directing my conduct. I would not have been discourteous, I would simply have asked her if she was aware of the hurt, damage, pain, distress, hardship, and loss of hope that she had caused to the poorest and most vulnerable people in society. This is probably the closest I’ll ever get to having asked that question.

The portrayal that I struggled with the most in the film was that of Denis Thatcher. He came across as an affable, slightly dotty, harmless old man. The reality is that he was a sharp businessman and from all I have ever heard of him, not a particularly pleasant person to know. There is no doubt that Margaret and Denis had a remarkably close relationship and the film betrayed that well. Meryl Streep’s acting was breathtakingly good and one of the few good things that I can take away from the film that stirred up powerful negative emotions in me.

Why I am a Welshman

January 11th, 2012

Welsh flagWell, surely one is or one isn’t! It’s actually far more complicated than that. Being Welsh isn’t a simple matter of your parents’ nationality, the location of your birth, or even where you live at present. Indeed, many nations of the world give the opportunity for citizens of another country to become naturalised citizens of their land and adopt a new nationality – once they go through a considerable number of hoops.

My passport confirms I am a citizen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. As an aside, I have discovered that since 1983 I am no longer a British subject but a British citizen. Concealed in all that complexity is that fact that qualifying people in Wales, England, Scotland and Northern Ireland all have the status of British citizen and there is no mechanism to become a naturalised citizen of just one of those three nations or one province. This is all beginning to get very complicated and I recommend you take five minutes out to watch The United Kingdom Explained. It’s a fun piece but beware of some inaccuracies such as Anglesey, the Isle of Wight and the Scottish islands NOT being part of Great Britain and England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland being “sovereign nations” with their own “Parliaments”. Ah, that it were so!

Anyway, I digress. This is all about me being Welsh. Was I born in Wales? No, sadly. I entered this world six weeks after the creation of the National Health Service (Architect: Aneurin Bevan – a Welshman) so I was free at the point of delivery which was Battle Hospital, Reading. My father? Born in London to English parents (with Irish and French one generation earlier). My mother, however, was born in Cilfynydd, a coal-mining community in the Rhondda Valley, to proud Welsh parents with many generations of North and South Welsh ancestry.

I loved our visits to South Wales as children and our times with our Welsh family and in the 1980s and early 90s I always felt at home when I travelled in Wales in my role of Wales Liaison Manager for the British Tourist Authority. The tipping point came when our elder son Mark moved to Llanberis in 2002. We visited regularly and both fell in love with North Wales and moved here in January 2007.

I realised almost immediately that for the first time in my life, I felt as if I’d truly come home. Some people scoff at the Welsh concept of hiraeth – a deep sense of longing for, and connectedness with, the land of Wales to its people and to its history. Hiraeth is probably the most tangible and real explanation I can give for my Welshness as it’s nothing to do with the more conventional Welsh icons all of which, other than the Red Dragon, are recent inventions. Rigby ball It’s only slightly connected with rugby – that’s only been the national sport since December 1905; it certainly has nothing to do with thick woollen shawls and silly tall hats – an invention of Lady Llanover in the 1830s;  daffodils only became a Welsh emblem in  1911, courtesy of David Lloyd-George, and the Welsh flag was only officially recognised in 1959!

No, I’m a Welshman because I know I am. I cry when I sing Calon Lân or Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau. I’m profoundly moved when I hear Katherine Jenkins, Bryn Terfel or Cerys Matthews. I am joyously transported 1400 years into Celtic history when I sit in Penmon Priory and think of St Seriol and St Cybi in their daily meeting at Llanerchymedd after a 20 mile walk. I long for their connectedness with God and with the land.

Welsh £1 coinsIt’s all summed up in a line from our National Anthem (also found on the edge of Welsh £1 coins) – Pleidiol wyf i’m gwlad – True am I to my country. 

Dw i’n Gymro balch.