Petition, Petitions, Petitions.

This blogpost isn’t about the bombing of Syria. Or maybe it is.

Petitions have been with us for decades. But they’ve taken on a life of their own in recent years. The internet has made it easy for anyone to set one up, and to reach thousands (if not millions) of people. The government has promised to discuss a matter in parliament if a petition attracts more than 100,000 signatures. (They haven’t, of course, promised that more than two people will be present in parliament for that discussion.)

At first glance, surely this is a wonderful thing? It means more people will think about and engage with matters that affect us all. It widens democracy, keeps people involved. Given past concerns that most people were disengaged we should, surely, be encouraged that so many are willing to express their opinions.

Or, we could argue, the sheer proliferation of petitions effectively weakens them all. I’ve lost count of the different petitions I’ve seen demanding parliament has a vote before Brexit terms are agreed - all phrased slightly differently. There are petitions to ban plastic straws, restore hunting (I’m trying to be balanced here - personally I’d keep the ban), provide sanitary products for girls in schools ... the list is endless. And yes, they all matter. But are all these petitions really an effective way of promoting change?

Speaking personally, I’ve stopped signing any. 

I have two reasons. For a start, I can’t sign a petition without giving my email address, and that results in a bombardment of spam. There is no way I can sign and insist that my contact details remain private. Who else are they selling my details too? And what use are they put to?

Secondly, I have yet to see one petition that actually made a difference. While I’m delighted to see so many people feel strongly about Brexit or badgers or milk bottles, there is no evidence that those in power give a monkey’s toss what we think. Which is deeply depressing, given the mess the world is in at the moment.

To believe, or not to believe (and I’m not talking about God)

To believe, or not to believe - no I’m not talking about God.

But I am talking about the News - with a capital N because it seems to be shouted at us from all corners of social media at the moment. But how much is actually true?

Some, of course, is verifiable. If England, say (just supposing), were to win a football match 1-0 there can be no dispute about the score. But the meaning of that score depends on who you believe - they might have played wonderfully and only the referee deprived them of another five goals, or they might have been lucky to scrape a win. 

And there are many times when even the facts can’t speak for themselves. Those of in the UK know that the promise to put £350,000,000 a week into the NHS after we leave the EU was a lie - but that didn’t stop politicians quoting it. This last week, some health service workers have been promised what looks, at first sight, like a generous pay rise. But when you work out their loss of real income over the last ten years this comes nowhere near making up for it.

Ideas ... facts ... the two become jumbled on social media. I’ve seen demands that supermarkets stop using single-use plastic - all very laudable, given the rubbish in our seas (verifiable) but without reminding us that significantly more energy is used to make glass bottles than plastic. I’ve seen a petition that demands the government does not sign a trade deal with the US as it will jeopardise the NHS - but without any evidence that is the case. Instinct tells me that such a deal is a Bad Idea, but that isn’t enough - I want to be presented with enough information to make an informed decision and not just sound-bites and petitions.

Does it matter? I think it does. In this instant-information world few of us have the time or inclination to research anything with enough vigour to develop informed opinions. We are dependent on the media to keep us informed - but the media simply feeds us snippets of largely unverifiable facts and great tracts of opinion. 

Which means politicians can talk about listening to the electorate safe in the knowledge that we have no idea what is true and what isn’t.

On laughing through the bad times

There’s no escaping the news at the moment. A buffoon is in the White House (a man who thinks climate change is just ‘weather’ has his finger on the nuclear button). Here in the UK the referendum has exposed deep divisions which are exploited by extremists on both sides. Years of austerity have left those who look out for us impoverished and demoralised; the horror of Grenfell Tower is a testament to the powerless of the poor.

It is enough to make anyone wants to retreat into a corner and chew their own arms off. How can we feel anything but useless when those who are meant to take decisions on our behalf continue to disregard the needs and feelings of the disadvantaged? In the U.K. David Cameron’s suggestion that those who wanted nurses and firemen and women paid reasonably were ‘selfish’ (when he is paid however many thousands for one after-dinner speech) seems to sum up how little politicians care about those who elected them.

Most of us are totally powerless to change anything - other than being kind to those around us. And we must never underestimate kindness. It is, surely, evidence of our continued humanity in spite of everything. Small kindnesses can make a huge difference. 

But I think we need more than that - we need fun. How, you might ask, can we be frivolous when we are surrounded by misery and uncertainty? Isn't it somehow insulting to those in abject need if we take time out from breast-beating to have a good party? Doesn't spending time in unnecessary jollity imply a lack of concern for the general political and social mayhem?

But I think it's essential to take time out occasionally. Laughter is, in itself, restorative. Good food, especially eaten with those we love, nourishes far more than our stomachs. Even a dance round the kitchen is oddly energising.

It's probably not possible to manage a precise balance between frivolity and general angst. While it might be tempting to ignore the dreadfulness and live hedonistically, such a view is an abdication of any responsibility to hold our politicians to account. But spending every minute fighting injustice, in the light of apparent indifference from those in power, must be hugely demoralising. 

Somewhere there must be a balance - and maybe that changes from day to day. But I think it's worth striving for, even if we get it wrong most of the time.

Post for those who think Britain is the centre of the world.

I can’t bear to write about Grenfell Tower. Besides, I don't believe anything I wrote could approach the horror that so many families are living through. 

Behind that tragedy, the political shenanigans continue - both here in the U.K. and across the Atlantic in America. And there is a risk, with all the media attention on the comings and goings, that we believe we are the most important people in the world.

Meanwhile, riots continue in Venezuela. The country has one of the richest oil fields in the world, and still people are starving. The western press, at last, are following the riots - but will we ever really know how many people have died there?

Mugabe is still in power in Zimbabwe. It is a beautiful country with brave, resourceful people - who are still living from hand to mouth … if they are lucky. There is no freedom of speech - so can we ever really know how many people are dying of hunger?

Some years ago I went to Laos. It is the most bombed country in the world - there are more unexploded bombs there than people. They can be anywhere: beside the road, behind the villages, in school playgrounds. How do people carry on living with that?

Refugees still flee from Syria and conflicts in Africa. The lucky few are made welcome in new countries. Some find themselves in camps, waiting for some nameless authority to make decisions about them, as if they are no more significant than luggage. Many are wandering and frightened and alone. Nobody chooses to live like that.

As many of you know, I was in Malawi in the winter. It's the first country I've visited which left me pessimistic about the depth of the poverty and the lack of co-ordinated efforts to address it. Over eighty per cent of the population is deemed to be in need. My efforts to highlight the plight of Malawians will soon be published.

While we're busy (and we need to be busy making sure our politicians are accountable) people across the world are suffering. One of the things I've learned from my travels is that we all need the same things: enough to eat, somewhere safe to sleep, and to love and be loved. Surely those of us who can take that for granted can find the energy to think about men and women all over the world, from Grenfell Tower to Caracas to Lilongwe, who wake without knowing when they might eat again.

Democracy is a messy business.

I was, as some of you know, in Malawi in the winter.

In 1964, Malawi emerged from the British Protectorate and became a fully independent country. After years of protests, Dr Banda stepped into the role of President. My guide, Everlasting, worked for him at one stage - I think he was a mechanic looking after the Presidential vehicles and he was in a prime position to observe the machinations  of the system. He told me at length about Dr Banda's diplomatic skills, notably his efforts to bring the apartheid regime in South Africa back into the international fold. Everlasting was, however, reticent if I raised the question of Dr Banda's abuses of power at home.

In 1994, under pressure from within and outside Malawi, Dr Banda agreed to a referendum to introduce a parliamentary democracy and this launched the current multi-party system. There is, now, a proliferation of parties - but rarely a transfer of power. If an election produces a surprising result, ministers simply change parties so they can stay in office. Roads leading to ministerial homes are maintained while others are full of potholes. Ministers' friend and family live in luxury while it is common for teachers and other public servants not to be paid. None of this is hidden; I heard people discuss is openly and read stories of mislaid funds and unpaid teachers in the newspapers.

'So,' I asked, 'was life better under Dr Banda - before the multi-party system?'

Everlasting thought for a long time. 

'Now we have freedom of speech,' he said eventually. 

And that's the point. Now he can complain about his government and its incompetences. Yet even now he can't talk about the atrocities of the Dr Banda years, though he must have known about them.

This is democracy. It's messy and imperfect and can expose deep divisions. But it's precious. So maybe we should celebrate our current chaos - it's what we have the privilege of voting for. 

Thinking in Paris

I said I'd tell you more about Frogs and Frigate birds - which is it already hopping about on Amazon (you can find it here). But it's going to have to wait, again, as I've been in Paris for a few days.

It is, of course, a beautiful city, with its boulevards and cafes and wonderful art galleries. I've gazed at paintings and sculptures, riffled through stalls on the Left Bank. And I've been to Versailles - a reminder, should I need it, of what happens when the rich and powerful make assumptions about the downtrodden. (It's also, with the weakened pound, an expensive city - so anyone thinking of bringing a family over at the moment might need to raid the kids' piggy banks).

And, while I've been wandering around contemplating the river and the wine, things at home haven't quietened down. Our politicians, it seems, are intent on eating each other. The situation is degenerating into farce.

I've not avoided the questions here - from the woman in the tourist information, the young waiter, the couple in the queue at Versailles. And I've been honest: I'm still saddened by recent events and appalled by headless-chicken behaviour of our politicians.

The response: unequivocal kindness and support. They love us, and want us to stay in the EU. Just because our leaders are failing us doesn't mean we can't continue to join hands across La Manche. We will not allow the duplicity and hubris of those in power to get in the way of our day-to-day determination to rub along together. It has been humbling - don't apologise for the behaviour of others, I've been told. Just continue with my efforts to sustain respect and mutual understanding and all will be well.

I'll do my best, I tell them. I can't speak for anyone else, but, like Rodin, I have a lot to think about.

Ah, the salsa!

If you're looking for thoughtful - I've over at the Authors Electric blog today, writing about the dialogue between politics and culture and literature. You can find their blog here.

So, I thought we'd better have a bit of contrast here.

That's all there is to it ...

I don't know about you, but my hips didn't do that when I was twenty, and they're certainly not going to do it now. But oh, that energy, the sensuality of it.

So, next time you have an urge to read something serious, how about a quick salsa round the kitchen to recover. No one is looking!