On loving thy archbishop as you suggest he loves himself

Some harsh words, at least by Anglican standards, are brought to our attention by Barbara Ellen at the Guardian: 

This week, a somewhat unusual religious story. After Justin Welby's recent anti-gay marriage speech, Rev Marcus Ramshaw went on to Facebook to denounce him as a "wanker" (yes, you did read right). Saying that the archbishop did not speak for him, Ramshaw also called Welby a "massive mistake" and said he was getting up a petition for him to resign.

Some of us took a moment at this point: did a reverend just call the archbishop of Canterbury a "wanker"? Was it a communal hallucination, or perhaps a long-lost Chris Morris sketch? Could somebody step in and control this situation please! As if on cue, Church of England director of communications Rev Arun Arora went online to admonish Ramshaw, saying: "Calling another Christian a wanker doesn't work for me as a priestly response." An agreement was reached for Ramshaw to delete his comments. Arora added: "I think any right-minded person would find a priest calling his archbishop an onanist to be utterly outrageous." 

Or, of course, a right-minded person might find it utterly amusing. 

Not least since the church has now done its bit to resurrect the under-used word 'onanist'.

Hey, stop being so mean!

Just another example of that horrible, nasty, 'militant' secularism at work: the discussion of a poll commissioned by Richard Dawkins's Foundation to explore the social attitudes of British Christians.

Example:

[O]ur findings show that the majority of UK Christians share the secular, liberal, humane values that are the hallmark of a modern, decent society.

This won't come as a surprise to most Christians reading these results, I suspect, nor to those of us who count liberal Christians among our friends, families and colleagues.

Now, that is really over the line.

I mean, how divisive and insulting. 

Damned militant atheists. 

A bit black over Bill's mother's

I am, I freely admit, perhaps the last person whose political instincts you should trust.

When I became a German citizen last year, it was just in time to vote in the September federal elections. Given my political leanings, I had two options: the Social Democrats (SPD) and the Greens.

(I must say in passing that I feel fortunate, as there are two mainstream parties in this country that -- despite various frustrations and discontents with each of them -- I can vote for, with at least some degree of conviction and enthusiasm.)

Anyway, I was, in the end, convinced to give both my votes to the SPD because: 1) I thought they hadn't done nearly as bad a job of governing as the general opinion held (so, they had my sympathies) 2) I wanted to ensure that the Liberals (FDP) didn't make into government 3) I sought to strengthen the SPD against the competition they were facing from further left (Die Linke) and 4) I felt satisfaction in voting -- for the first time in my life -- for a genuinely social democratic party with a tradition reaching back into the nineteenth century whose history, all-in-all, I think holds up quite well.

The result of that election: the SPD had its lowest vote ever in a federal election and the FDP and Die Linke had their highest.

I am truly someone with his finger on the pulse of German political opinion.

Still, in retrospect I feel a certain sense of vindication, partly since the government that did come into power has, largely because of the FDP, become a bit of a (bad) joke. But it is also partly down to the (perhaps sentimental) feeling of having 'voted my conscience', since, to be honest, I hadn't really studied the pros and cons of any major party's policies on pensions or health insurance reform.

These somewhat random thoughts are inspired by another election, one taking place today across the sleeve.

My connection to the British political world is, in one sense, rather abstract, since I don't live there but merely work there. (And, as things are looking, this connection may soon become more abstract still.)

Nonetheless, I've been paying attention to this short but intense campaign (the one main virtue of British elections is that they are mercifully brief): this has partly been because of getting swept up in the issue 'on location' from my various regular haunts in London and partly out of the usual mixture of personal and professional motivations that keep my attention glued to that oddly compelling little North Sea archipelago.

(Moreover as someone who -- in a former job -- sought vainly to explain to German law students the intricacies of the 'unwritten' (or, more precisely, partly-written) British constitution, I'm as fascinated as anyone to see how it holds up if it should come to that situation described by the wonderful phrase 'a hung parliament'.)

And I've also been paying attention to the opinions of friends and of the fellow bloggers I regularly read on the election.

It's a bit of a mixed bag.

I've found that one (somewhat older) friend in London will be voting Tory for the first time in his life as a result of a fairly unhinged rage at New Labour that, to be honest, I find a bit hard to comprehend (not the anger, but rather the intensity and consequences). I've heard a couple of others say that they're leaning toward the Liberals now that it looks like that vote won't be a complete waste. Norm is supporting Labour, on the basis of social justice. Ken McLeod sides with Labour as 'Labour is still the only party that the British working class has come up with.' Geoff thinks the Liberal Democrats deserve a chance. Francis offers some thoughtful and personal perspective the issue and urges, with the aim of electoral reform, a strong vote for the Lib Dems.

It is that issue (along with their, by British standards, remarkably unconstipated view of 'Europe') that, in my view, makes the Lib Dems certainly appealing.

Still....

At a conference in Belgium recently, a conversation with a dear friend and colleague turned to politics. Somewhat wearily, he admitted that his political commitments had cooled somewhat over the years. If I recall correctly, he said he had essentially boiled them down to the relatively straightforward principle that he will vote for that party which will likely, however slightly, move Britain's level of inequality closer to that of Sweden and further away from that of Brazil.

I've been thinking about this ever since, in the context of considering my own declining political expectations, and I find this a perfectly sensible position. It (along with my irrational and sentimental attachment to family history) tends to move my support, however virtual, slightly toward Labour.

But I think that Francis may have it right when he concludes:

I have every confidence that the people of Britain will following this general election get the government they deserve. And it will at best be mediocre.

It's a very gloomy day here on our bit of the Rhine. I hope it's a bit more cheerful on the Thames, Mersey, Humber and Tyne (and wherever else) for those of you off to the polling stations.

Given the problems we (as in we Europeans and human beings) face, I think we're going to need all the cheering up we can find.

(Title reference)

[UPDATE] It seems I may have somewhat misrepresented Francis's argument. Which he explains clearly here.

Britain enters twentieth century, loses last remaining bit of style

I'm sorry, folks, but this:



Via le Grauniad.

Just reminds me of this:



And that was a silly little spoof in the first place.

They don't get modernity in Blighty, do they?

Or - hang on: Is this maybe the Empire designing back? Haha, I got it! This is a piece of postcolonial public art - Anish Kapoor's answer to the Brighton Palace (or Royal Pavilion or whatever you call it).

I'll be watching you ...

I know that I keep harping on about about how I always find the UK somewhat Orwellian, what with the omnipresent announcements on public transport, the CCTV and the sense of rottenness and corruption underneath the "clean, modern surfaces" so beloved by property development shows and the Sunday supplements.

While in London, we watched Children of Men, a movie which is so disturbing precisely because its dystopian set up seems frightfully adjacent to the real world. Of course, contemporary England is not a civil war zone laid barren by decades of infertility. Nevertheless, one is inclined to feel that the country is always on the brink of tipping over into its own uncanny other - a place where nobody can be trusted and your own condition is far from certain (hell, I'm beginning to sound like Peter Hitchens on post-structuralism, something which I'd prefer to avoid).

Maybe, however, this feeling is just conditioned by the ubiquitous undertone of hysteria which to the innocent foreign bystander currently marks the tone of public debate in England - the country where all social commentary comes with a mandatory exclamation mark: "Drinking Women!", "Feral Youth!", "Working Mothers!", "Negative Equity!", "Frogs and Locusts!" - oh, it's bad, bad, bad.

But, to quote Noël Coward, there are good times just around the corner, as the Ministry of Defence has come up with the brilliant idea of using of unmanned drone planes to keep an eye on ... well, how would you call human beings under constant supervision? "Citizens", I feel, would be a euphemism. Subjects, more likely. Or: Suspects?

Now, this isn't exactly supernews (see here and here). But maybe it's the time of the year when the drone story needs to be dug out to keep the rabble in awe and wonder. Lest they forget those exclamation marks and get too comfy.

Tellingly, the the Chinese government will use similar technology during the Olympics. And that is less of a joke.