When a the publisher friend contacted me and asked me to produce a few words about elections in the light of the upcoming US election, I was very excited. I wanted to talk about Hillary, Obama, Sarah Palin etc bring in thoughts about the various elections that have taken place around the world. However, when it came to actually writing something, I found I had nothing to say that had not been said before and the passion and drive faded away. When I found it hard to simply articulate what I thought was happening around me, I realised that I was (a) trying too hard and (b) attempting to passionately express other people’s opinions. I find writing most difficult when I endeavour to direct it down a path that my mind is not interested in.
So where to begin? In the past few years, elections have been conducted across a multitude of countries all over the world with varying results. The result in Russia was predictable, that in Taiwan might bring an end to a divided China and in Pakistan elections have led to the ousting of the military leader, Pervez Musharraf. In Africa, elections in both Kenya and Zimbabwe led to wide scale violence, after accusations of rigging, eventually culminating in negotiations between the ruling parties and the main oppositions. In Kenya, credit to the politicians there and their chief mediator, former Secretary General of the United Nations, Kofi Annan, there has been a power sharing agreement in place since early this year, which seems to be holding. In Zimbabwe, one of the great tragedies of the African continent, the bickering continues with no end in sight.
However, the election that has dominated media coverage, which appears to have captured the enthusiasm of people of all colours and creeds across the world, has been the election in the United States of America. There has been intense interest in what was going on in the Presidential Election in the USA from the Democratic Iowa Caucuses in January 2008 through to its conclusion on November 5th 2008.
There has been a great deal of talk about the historic nature of the US elections; these were the elections that would see either a black man, a woman or the oldest first termer walking into the White House. However, lets be clear and honest and not take away from the achievements of those that came before. The world has had women leaders such as Margaret Thatcher and Indira Ghandi, as it has had a multitude of Black presidents. We have even had a Black woman president, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, Head of State of Liberia.
The historic nature, I suppose, lies in the exceptionality of two of the potential candidates in a country that has been led been led from its inception by a variety of white men. In their eagerness to clarify the moment many Black people (and other non Caucasians) have made much of Mr Obama’s skin colour. On the other hand Caucasians have made much of his provenance. I will say my piece about this, as it appears I must, then I will move on to something I believe is more significant about Mr Obama.
Mr Obama is mixed race; there is no denying that he is the son of a white American mother and a Black African father. However, if he was walking down the street and you passed him, knowing nothing of his heritage, the majority of us would assume he would tick the box on the diversity form that says he is a black man. You can make what you will of these things but if perceiving him as one, the other or indeed neither, gives people in need of hope, of pride, the uplift in spirit they require then I see nothing wrong with that.
The man himself has attempted to avoid any sort of racial classification, or affiliation. He has attempted to preach the politics of unity rather than segregation. And this, I believe, is the most important thing about him.
He is an orator in the mould of Winston Churchill and Martin Luther King, who marches in the nation uniting footsteps of Nelson Mandela. It seems he has roused many Americans, many who lost hope in the Bush years, given them something to hold on to. Many have found something to relate to, something that has inspired them and motivated them into action. Many who had seen no point in voting in previous elections were moved to do so by his promise of change. It is this quality to bring people together, give them hope and make them act that gives me hope for the future of the role of the United States on the world stage. And yet it also brings me great sadness.
The contrast between Mr Obama’s stance and the various mediocre, factional or tribalist options that we are presented with in African elections shows how far our continent has got to go. African leaders seem to want power not to unite or to bring about positive change in their nations but simply for their own gain. For this reason they find it very difficult to let go of power, to the detriment of their people.
The prime example here is off course Zimbabwe’s despotic ruler, Robert Mugabe, who refuses to leave the helm despite the fact that his people are starving and his country’s economy is now a shadow of it’s former self with inflation rates in the hundreds of thousands. The regime is so blatant in its abuse of power and disregard for it’s people that recently it spent $1,300,000, money donated to fight tuberculosis, AIDS and malaria on some other purpose and has refused to give the money back or state what it has been used for.
In my own country, Zambia, there was a long running debate before the Presidential election in 2001 because the then President Fredrick Chiluba was seeking to have the constitution amended to allow him to pursue a third presidential term. He was unsuccessful but in a bid to ensure that he still had his finger on the pulse, he handpicked the next leader of the ruling party MMD, who was guaranteed victory in the Presidential elections. When his chosen successor began a campaign to bring him and several of those close to him to justice for the alleged abuse of state monies, it seemed to many that his endeavour to hold on to power was simply about attempting to continue to dip his hand deep into the public purse.
Zambia has recently had elections, as a result of the death of our president in July 2008. However, during the campaigning the rhetoric of most of the candidates was so filled with vitriol, so self-serving, that one can have very little hope for a united progressive future. The candidates themselves leave much to be desired. Of the four main parties, three are led by old men who have been in government before and the remaining one by a man who was chosen as party leader because he was the right tribe. The election was again won by the ruling party’s candidate, Mr Rupiah Banda, a former diplomat and minister in the one party government of Kenneth Kaunda, followed closely by the vocal Mr Michael Sata, who also held positions in the Kaunda governments as well as the governments of Mr Chiluba. He fell out with the MMD party after his bid to be named as Mr Chiluba’s successor failed. He has vowed to die in State House, the Zambian president’s official residence and has refused to accept the results of the presidential by election, calling on his supporters not to sponsor the policies of the new president. According to independent monitors there was no apparent evidence of rigging, but it appears standard in Zambia for the candidate that comes second to contest the results of the Presidential election. It appears they cannot believe that they are not the people’s choice.
In Nigeria, a troubled country renowned for the corruption of it’s politicians, the situation almost mirrors the events in Zambia. In 2006 Senate had to block an amendment that would have allowed former President Obasanjo to seek a third term. An election followed in 2007, whose results are disputed. To be fair it appears that the people who are calling for a recount or indeed a new election in Nigeria have a case. It seems that there were irregularities, with polling stations in some states remaining closed on election day and as a result several states’ results being omitted from the count. Nigeria is is a country that has seen much conflict, ususally along tribal lines. The contry has been unable to change president peacefully. The election of 1993 is a case in point. It was won by M.K.O Abiola then annulled by Ibrahim Babangida, the incumbent. Babginda was eventually ousted by General Sani Abacha who ignored Abiola’s claim to the presidency.
Even in South Africa, a nation that inspired many after the release of Nelson Mandela, things have began to fall apart, with the ANC splitting into two factions as politicians and citizens alike, put their feelings before the good of the nation. Supporters of the former president, Thabo Mbeki, have decided to split away from the ruling ANC party, as they are unhappy that Mr Mbeki was forced to resign. The nature of Mr Mbeki’s departure is typical of African politics. He was ousted after a judge accused him of attempting to influence the outcome of an investigation into the alleged corruption of his successor as party leader, Jacob Zuma. Mr Zuma, who is most likely to become president of South Africa next year, has been in court on charges of rape and corruption and appears to be a divisive, rather than uniting figure. Although he is popular with the party’s mainly black grass roots supporters, the country’s technocrats and business community are still distrustful of this grade nine dropout, whose rhetoric has brought fear to the hearts of the country’s minorities and caused foreign investors to think twice about putting their money in South Africa.
As South Africa, amongst other nations, goes to vote next year, my wish for the future is that Africans learn from America’s President elect and begin to look for ways to unite, rather than plunder, their nations.
A Little Hope...
Okay, this will be my shortest blog, (all those who know me, as well as those who ever throw a cursory glance at my attempts at writing, applaud!). I have today emerged from a world that I love but that consumes me completely whenever I have to submerge myself in it, the world of the chartered accountant.
I emerge from my revision stupor to find Obama (The Kenyan, as he is very fondly known in my circles, and heart, to be fair, ) has actually managed to win the Democratic presidential nomination and, touch wood, stay alive. So as I sit here, listening to Prince, trying to get over the crazy overload of reading about six sigma and project management I am again proud of the home of Brave and Free.
Lets see how far you ladies and gentlemen can take this. Whatever you do, from now on here, be aware the world is watching, very eagerly. Will America be the first non-African or Caribbean country to have a black man at it helm. We watch, not convinced it will ever happen.
Please convince me it can be...
I emerge from my revision stupor to find Obama (The Kenyan, as he is very fondly known in my circles, and heart, to be fair, ) has actually managed to win the Democratic presidential nomination and, touch wood, stay alive. So as I sit here, listening to Prince, trying to get over the crazy overload of reading about six sigma and project management I am again proud of the home of Brave and Free.
Lets see how far you ladies and gentlemen can take this. Whatever you do, from now on here, be aware the world is watching, very eagerly. Will America be the first non-African or Caribbean country to have a black man at it helm. We watch, not convinced it will ever happen.
Please convince me it can be...
Life on Mars
I write this burdened by an overpowering weariness, an incredible boredom with the world. I feel uninspired, as though I have seen most of life’s coming and goings before. From where I stand history simply repeats itself, in a never ending circle and in the period between the beginning and the beginning again, we forget what got us there. It has taken me ages to re-adjust to the real world and even as I write this I feel detached from what is happening around me, as though it is a programme on television.
I have emerged from the funk of exam revision to find that we are reliving the 1970’s, the economic environment has evolved into a much bleaker animal than I left it at the back end of March. The phrases credit crunch, rising commodity prices and stagnant real rates of pay are being bandied around; the outlook for the global economy is austere. The aforementioned terms are constantly being thrown at us by increasingly desperate sounding, distraught looking, economic experts. But what does all of this doom saying really mean?
My day job, in corporate recovery, places me at the frontline of the coming onslaught. I watch, counsel and take advantage, as some people’s businesses fail and others become unable to manage their monthly outgoings. They all come to firms such as ours seeking refuge from their financial woes.
There are all types of suffers, but for me the saddest are the individuals, especially the ones who did not really see this coming. A great number of them do not understand what taking loans from institutions means, the implications of it. They have no comprehension that using a credit card or an overdraft facility is borrowing money and you may be called on to pay the cash back at some point, most likely when you are least able to afford it. And most people don’t realise that if your house has any lending attached to it, effectively you do not own it; the provider of lending does, until the money is paid off.
This last misunderstanding is the most heartbreaking of all, we watch as people are dragged, quite bewildered, through the relatively painless bankruptcy process by their creditors and at the end of it they maybe forced to sell their properties to pay off some meagre proportion of their debts or perhaps they try to hide from their financial problems by doing nothing and then their houses are repossessed and they find themselves effectively homeless, with no financial cushion to assist them to resolve the situation. They were, unfortunately, over stretched.
There has, admittedly been mis-selling and careless lending on the part of the banks and other providers of finance, the once respectable institutions delving into the murky waters of sub-prime lending; this has, however, long been encouraged by the government, the very same government who are now attempting to continue to encourage financial intuitions to lend people cheap money to buy property while on the other hand endeavouring to stem the tide of commodity driven price increases. At the risk of sounding gleeful, at least the greedy behaviour of banks has come back to bite most of them in the backside, with their billion pound write offs and the many of them scrambling for ways to improve their capital positions without looking like wallies. One can truly say “that’s Karma” though how much comfort this will give a person about to be thrown out of their home is debatable.
As I came in on the train this morning a thought struck me; given that very few people actually finish paying off their mortgages before they die, given that the relatives of the majority of people who leave unencumbered property will likely have to sell the property in order to pay the inheritance tax on it anyway, why in the world is everyone clambering to get on the property ladder?
What is wrong with renting? After all, all you are doing when you get a mortgage and begin to climb the property ladder is swapping one landlord for another. If the going gets tough, it is very likely that this landlord may be less forgiving than a flesh and blood person; there is no respite just because you have your name on the deed. In fact, you are taking yourself out of a house where the landlord may not have many avenues for recourse if you default on your payments and into a situation where the effective owner of your house has billions of pounds behind any threat they make to throw you out of your home.
I find it interesting that logical, rational people would act in very irrational ways to put themselves in harms way, especially at this time of such great uncertainty. But it is a cultural thing; British people like to own their own homes, even if they have to give their limbs and vital organs to the bank as collateral to do it.
And in the coming economic downturn this cultural trait will be the cause of much embarrassment and pain.
I have emerged from the funk of exam revision to find that we are reliving the 1970’s, the economic environment has evolved into a much bleaker animal than I left it at the back end of March. The phrases credit crunch, rising commodity prices and stagnant real rates of pay are being bandied around; the outlook for the global economy is austere. The aforementioned terms are constantly being thrown at us by increasingly desperate sounding, distraught looking, economic experts. But what does all of this doom saying really mean?
My day job, in corporate recovery, places me at the frontline of the coming onslaught. I watch, counsel and take advantage, as some people’s businesses fail and others become unable to manage their monthly outgoings. They all come to firms such as ours seeking refuge from their financial woes.
There are all types of suffers, but for me the saddest are the individuals, especially the ones who did not really see this coming. A great number of them do not understand what taking loans from institutions means, the implications of it. They have no comprehension that using a credit card or an overdraft facility is borrowing money and you may be called on to pay the cash back at some point, most likely when you are least able to afford it. And most people don’t realise that if your house has any lending attached to it, effectively you do not own it; the provider of lending does, until the money is paid off.
This last misunderstanding is the most heartbreaking of all, we watch as people are dragged, quite bewildered, through the relatively painless bankruptcy process by their creditors and at the end of it they maybe forced to sell their properties to pay off some meagre proportion of their debts or perhaps they try to hide from their financial problems by doing nothing and then their houses are repossessed and they find themselves effectively homeless, with no financial cushion to assist them to resolve the situation. They were, unfortunately, over stretched.
There has, admittedly been mis-selling and careless lending on the part of the banks and other providers of finance, the once respectable institutions delving into the murky waters of sub-prime lending; this has, however, long been encouraged by the government, the very same government who are now attempting to continue to encourage financial intuitions to lend people cheap money to buy property while on the other hand endeavouring to stem the tide of commodity driven price increases. At the risk of sounding gleeful, at least the greedy behaviour of banks has come back to bite most of them in the backside, with their billion pound write offs and the many of them scrambling for ways to improve their capital positions without looking like wallies. One can truly say “that’s Karma” though how much comfort this will give a person about to be thrown out of their home is debatable.
As I came in on the train this morning a thought struck me; given that very few people actually finish paying off their mortgages before they die, given that the relatives of the majority of people who leave unencumbered property will likely have to sell the property in order to pay the inheritance tax on it anyway, why in the world is everyone clambering to get on the property ladder?
What is wrong with renting? After all, all you are doing when you get a mortgage and begin to climb the property ladder is swapping one landlord for another. If the going gets tough, it is very likely that this landlord may be less forgiving than a flesh and blood person; there is no respite just because you have your name on the deed. In fact, you are taking yourself out of a house where the landlord may not have many avenues for recourse if you default on your payments and into a situation where the effective owner of your house has billions of pounds behind any threat they make to throw you out of your home.
I find it interesting that logical, rational people would act in very irrational ways to put themselves in harms way, especially at this time of such great uncertainty. But it is a cultural thing; British people like to own their own homes, even if they have to give their limbs and vital organs to the bank as collateral to do it.
And in the coming economic downturn this cultural trait will be the cause of much embarrassment and pain.
Xenophobia...the new black?
These are dangerous times to be an immigrant, legal or otherwise. As an increase in xenophobia slowly creeps across Europe I was stunned, but not entirely surprised, to see images of South Africans killing their fellow Africans on the streets of Johannesburg. Killing the citizens of the very countries that harboured their leaders during the days of apartheid.
I was taken aback as it appeared to come from nowhere. But did it?
Recently we have seen the poor rise up, rioting against the mounting cost of just staying alive, in various countries across the world. Haiti, Bangladesh and Egypt have all seen violence related to the increased cost of living, led by the escalating cost of food and oil.
However, if you had asked me to guess where in Sub Saharan African the rioting would occur, I would not have guessed South Africa. Zimbabwe, perhaps, though the ability to revolt may have been beaten out of the long suffering citizens of that country.
I would never have thought the South Africans would rise up in this way, having personally bought into the brand they have been pushing, which seeks to depict them as above this kind of thing. They may have a crime problem but they are working to resolve it, we are often assured; they are not like those “other” Africans, as one of their ministers was quoted as saying in August 2007, in short they are better. They are hosting the World Cup in two years time for goodness sake! This is the holiday destination of choice for many Europeans; they are the special ones.
But looking at this situation I wonder for every educated, well-travelled, middle class South African, how many are living in abject poverty?
For an African country, South Africa’s official unemployment is relatively low, estimated at 23% last September, according to the figures provided by the government’s website. They are a middle income emerging markets country, with resources beyond most countries wildest dreams and they are supposedly coping well with the burden of the large underskilled section of their population.
Despite this, there is obviously a fundamental problem in South Africa that needs to be addressed. The poorer, mostly black, people are not seeing the benefits that they thought they would fifteen years ago, having watched for over half a centaury as the minority government and it’s favourite children, their white brethren, enjoyed the fruits of their motherlands.
I am not experiencing the life of a South African nor have I lived there but from my observation during my recent visits, those black people that were able to take advantage of the freedoms afforded them after the move to black majority rule, are doing better than their predecessors were at this stage of their lives. I am not speaking of the Cyril Ramaphosas or Thabo Mbekis of this land, but the growing black middle classes; those well heeled balck South Africans that you meet in the Sandton Shopping Centre, the ones who share the plane with you on their way to holiday in Europe or the United States.
So who are these people killing their neighbours?
They are the forgotten, the ones that the nation would like to hide; many of them are the people who suffered through the final years of apartheid, supporting the ANC and giving their time and energy to the cause. The common people, those who could not find a way to go abroad, could not be educated in readiness for things to come. They are the people who danced and sang in the streets when Nelson Mandela was released, the ones whose time had surely come.
But as several images from the past 14 years have shown, their time was not nigh and may never come. They are the in between people, that cannot be helped because there is no means to assist them. South Africa has no benefits system; there is no dole for these people to fall back on in times of hardship. They are the urban poor, the statistics that live on less than a dollar or two a day and work in the informal sector, sometimes in the most humbling of conditions.
And therein lies their reason to be angry. The difference between them and their white collar brethren is that they are competing directly with the illegal immigrants who are pouring into their country. These people are taking food off their tables, clothes off their backs and money out of their pockets. South Africa’s extensive immigration laws do not protect the people who are part of these mobs, nor do they benefit from the various black empowerment and affirmative action programmes instituted by the ANC government in a bid to assist them out of their disadvantaged positions. They are out of reach of the laws that are supposed to help them, and now they are desperate.
They are feeling the changes in the world economy more acutely than their well-heeled country men and have decided to make themselves heard. Last year they got rid of Thabo Mbeki, perceived as an elitist academic, as head of the ANC and replaced him with Jacob Zuma, a supposed man of the people. This year they are attacking the illegal immigrants that are themselves mostly fleeing from economic hardship in Zimbabwe.
The unfortunate thing about this situation is that there is very little that can be done. Prices may be fixed as the government in Haiti proceeded to do in a bid to ensure people are able to afford the basics, but subsidising anything costs money and the middle classes in South Africa are already feeling the pinch of relatively high interest and tax rates as well as the effects of the falling Rand. Introduction of a high minimum wage would discourage the informal sector and result in several of these people losing their jobs, exacerbating the problem.
So as I counter helpful arguments with unhelpful answers, you may ask what is the solution? Unfortunately the solution can only come about as a result of something the rioters don’t have. Time. Time for the reforms to bear fruit, time for this fruit to trickle down to the urban poor. But perhaps by then it will be too late.
I was taken aback as it appeared to come from nowhere. But did it?
Recently we have seen the poor rise up, rioting against the mounting cost of just staying alive, in various countries across the world. Haiti, Bangladesh and Egypt have all seen violence related to the increased cost of living, led by the escalating cost of food and oil.
However, if you had asked me to guess where in Sub Saharan African the rioting would occur, I would not have guessed South Africa. Zimbabwe, perhaps, though the ability to revolt may have been beaten out of the long suffering citizens of that country.
I would never have thought the South Africans would rise up in this way, having personally bought into the brand they have been pushing, which seeks to depict them as above this kind of thing. They may have a crime problem but they are working to resolve it, we are often assured; they are not like those “other” Africans, as one of their ministers was quoted as saying in August 2007, in short they are better. They are hosting the World Cup in two years time for goodness sake! This is the holiday destination of choice for many Europeans; they are the special ones.
But looking at this situation I wonder for every educated, well-travelled, middle class South African, how many are living in abject poverty?
For an African country, South Africa’s official unemployment is relatively low, estimated at 23% last September, according to the figures provided by the government’s website. They are a middle income emerging markets country, with resources beyond most countries wildest dreams and they are supposedly coping well with the burden of the large underskilled section of their population.
Despite this, there is obviously a fundamental problem in South Africa that needs to be addressed. The poorer, mostly black, people are not seeing the benefits that they thought they would fifteen years ago, having watched for over half a centaury as the minority government and it’s favourite children, their white brethren, enjoyed the fruits of their motherlands.
I am not experiencing the life of a South African nor have I lived there but from my observation during my recent visits, those black people that were able to take advantage of the freedoms afforded them after the move to black majority rule, are doing better than their predecessors were at this stage of their lives. I am not speaking of the Cyril Ramaphosas or Thabo Mbekis of this land, but the growing black middle classes; those well heeled balck South Africans that you meet in the Sandton Shopping Centre, the ones who share the plane with you on their way to holiday in Europe or the United States.
So who are these people killing their neighbours?
They are the forgotten, the ones that the nation would like to hide; many of them are the people who suffered through the final years of apartheid, supporting the ANC and giving their time and energy to the cause. The common people, those who could not find a way to go abroad, could not be educated in readiness for things to come. They are the people who danced and sang in the streets when Nelson Mandela was released, the ones whose time had surely come.
But as several images from the past 14 years have shown, their time was not nigh and may never come. They are the in between people, that cannot be helped because there is no means to assist them. South Africa has no benefits system; there is no dole for these people to fall back on in times of hardship. They are the urban poor, the statistics that live on less than a dollar or two a day and work in the informal sector, sometimes in the most humbling of conditions.
And therein lies their reason to be angry. The difference between them and their white collar brethren is that they are competing directly with the illegal immigrants who are pouring into their country. These people are taking food off their tables, clothes off their backs and money out of their pockets. South Africa’s extensive immigration laws do not protect the people who are part of these mobs, nor do they benefit from the various black empowerment and affirmative action programmes instituted by the ANC government in a bid to assist them out of their disadvantaged positions. They are out of reach of the laws that are supposed to help them, and now they are desperate.
They are feeling the changes in the world economy more acutely than their well-heeled country men and have decided to make themselves heard. Last year they got rid of Thabo Mbeki, perceived as an elitist academic, as head of the ANC and replaced him with Jacob Zuma, a supposed man of the people. This year they are attacking the illegal immigrants that are themselves mostly fleeing from economic hardship in Zimbabwe.
The unfortunate thing about this situation is that there is very little that can be done. Prices may be fixed as the government in Haiti proceeded to do in a bid to ensure people are able to afford the basics, but subsidising anything costs money and the middle classes in South Africa are already feeling the pinch of relatively high interest and tax rates as well as the effects of the falling Rand. Introduction of a high minimum wage would discourage the informal sector and result in several of these people losing their jobs, exacerbating the problem.
So as I counter helpful arguments with unhelpful answers, you may ask what is the solution? Unfortunately the solution can only come about as a result of something the rioters don’t have. Time. Time for the reforms to bear fruit, time for this fruit to trickle down to the urban poor. But perhaps by then it will be too late.
Changing the definition of a noun
Earlier this week I was surprised to learn that the word “immigrant” has become a racial slur. Being unreasonably proud to be an immigrant, to have my roots embedded elsewhere, I was quite taken aback by this new development. I made the discovery purely by accident while reading an article about an altercation that occurred after a football game last Saturday. Some players from the premiership team Manchester United were warming down after a game against Chelsea, when they were involved in a scuffle with the grounds staff. One of the players, Patrice Evra, is a black Frenchman, and was apparently called a “F£$%ing immigrant”.
I suppose the expletive and the tone of the remark, made the spirit in which it was intended obvious, as Evra can been seen, in photos taken at the time, hands forward, tongue sticking out, going for the offending grounds men.
I have previously written about racism in sport and I will not go over old ground. I will simply make a few comments about the reaction to this event, then move on to more pressing matters.
Needless to say, two camps have sprung up, each fighting it’s cause convincingly; there are those that believe the whole thing should be ignored and those that believe it should be dealt with in the most severe manner possible, punishing both the man in question and Chelsea football club, who, together with Manchester United, had wanted to cover the whole thing up. Manchester United grew a conscious over the weekend and decided not to go ahead with the planned joint statement denying anything untoward occurred. Instead, they went and complained to the FA, earning the ire of their premiership rivals in the process. And not surprisingly this is not the first time that a member of the Chelsea staff has been implicated in a situation like this; in 2006 a steward was accused of hurling a racial slur in the direction of Samuel Eto’o, that unfortunate recipient of many a racially motivated insult, during a champions league fixture.
I don’t need to tell you where I stand; it is imperative that the spirit with which the phrase, allegedly directed at Evra, was meant is stamped out of football. The FA must take a stand, after all this is still going on when people are busy chanting the words and wearing t-shirts declaring, “Kick it out”, which is the official UEFA slogan for the campaign to end racism in football. But hey, we have had this discussion.
The interesting thing about this whole foray is that Evra, the insultee, has sort to distance himself from any allegations of racism, probably because he went home, calmed down and realised that being called an immigrant is not, in the great scheme of things, such a bad thing. What I want to know is, when did the ignorant take the word and make it their own?
An immigrant is defined in the Oxford online dictionary as “a person who comes to live permanently in a foreign country.” The great scholars of Oxford University don’t seem to have realised that there is a more sinister definition of the word, a definition created by the government and media in this country. For the three years I have lived in this country there have been headlines vilifying immigrants, turning us into the bogeymen of the UK.
Immigration to the UK is as old as there have been people inhabiting these Isles, though in those days it was not as peaceful as it is now, with Vikings, Normans, Romans and other people invading and occupying the lands that are now known as Britain. Apart from becoming more peaceful it has, in recent years come full circle. Whereas historically settlers had been predominately from Commonwealth countries, they are now mostly from Europe.
The old settlers were easy to spot, the majority being either Black or Asian. They were also easy to insult, as there were several slights available for people of differing colours. The new wave of settlers blend in more easily and have required the creation of new slurs or the resurrection of more historic ones, being as white as (most of) the people who would like to make them feel unwelcome.
The arguments against immigration are the same old ones that have been used against new comers since the first man left his home to visit the people across the river. There has been great debate as to the nature and amount, if any, of immigration that should be allowed. The government has begun to pander to this talk often shifting the goal posts for immigrants by changing the rules. This however, doesn’t really affect the people who have caused this new uproar, as they tend to come from nations that have recently joined the EU and who thus do not require entry permits into the country.
There have been calls that economically the UK cannot absorb the number of immigrants currently coming to its shores. There are, apparently, no jobs for British people let alone the new comers. There is also the claim that the newcomers, being desperate, are taking jobs at lower pay than the natives, driving down wages.
This is, off course, just another xenophobic argument. The United Kingdom has an aging population and a relatively low birth rate. If no immigrants were allowed into the country the size of the working age population supporting the older generations would dwindle meaning that there would be greater pressure on a smaller proportion of the population to support the economy. Many of the immigrants that come to the UK are highly skilled, reflecting the changing needs of the economy.
Immigrants have been blamed for the dilution of English/British culture, but that would be assuming culture is a static thing, which clearly it is not. Tea, for years considered the traditional drink of the English, is not native to these fair isles. Nor is the potato, the required vegetable in the ubiquitous English dish, fish and chips.
As always immigrants have been blamed for the increase in crime though a study last year showed this was not the case and statistics show that the overall crime rate has been falling. And in the midst of all this apparently half of the central and eastern European immigrants have gone home.
So, why this hostility? Well, it is the usual thing, isn’t it? The fear of the unknown fed by irresponsible journalists and capitalised upon by equally rash political parties, has resulted in an innocent noun becoming a vicious insult.
I suppose the expletive and the tone of the remark, made the spirit in which it was intended obvious, as Evra can been seen, in photos taken at the time, hands forward, tongue sticking out, going for the offending grounds men.
I have previously written about racism in sport and I will not go over old ground. I will simply make a few comments about the reaction to this event, then move on to more pressing matters.
Needless to say, two camps have sprung up, each fighting it’s cause convincingly; there are those that believe the whole thing should be ignored and those that believe it should be dealt with in the most severe manner possible, punishing both the man in question and Chelsea football club, who, together with Manchester United, had wanted to cover the whole thing up. Manchester United grew a conscious over the weekend and decided not to go ahead with the planned joint statement denying anything untoward occurred. Instead, they went and complained to the FA, earning the ire of their premiership rivals in the process. And not surprisingly this is not the first time that a member of the Chelsea staff has been implicated in a situation like this; in 2006 a steward was accused of hurling a racial slur in the direction of Samuel Eto’o, that unfortunate recipient of many a racially motivated insult, during a champions league fixture.
I don’t need to tell you where I stand; it is imperative that the spirit with which the phrase, allegedly directed at Evra, was meant is stamped out of football. The FA must take a stand, after all this is still going on when people are busy chanting the words and wearing t-shirts declaring, “Kick it out”, which is the official UEFA slogan for the campaign to end racism in football. But hey, we have had this discussion.
The interesting thing about this whole foray is that Evra, the insultee, has sort to distance himself from any allegations of racism, probably because he went home, calmed down and realised that being called an immigrant is not, in the great scheme of things, such a bad thing. What I want to know is, when did the ignorant take the word and make it their own?
An immigrant is defined in the Oxford online dictionary as “a person who comes to live permanently in a foreign country.” The great scholars of Oxford University don’t seem to have realised that there is a more sinister definition of the word, a definition created by the government and media in this country. For the three years I have lived in this country there have been headlines vilifying immigrants, turning us into the bogeymen of the UK.
Immigration to the UK is as old as there have been people inhabiting these Isles, though in those days it was not as peaceful as it is now, with Vikings, Normans, Romans and other people invading and occupying the lands that are now known as Britain. Apart from becoming more peaceful it has, in recent years come full circle. Whereas historically settlers had been predominately from Commonwealth countries, they are now mostly from Europe.
The old settlers were easy to spot, the majority being either Black or Asian. They were also easy to insult, as there were several slights available for people of differing colours. The new wave of settlers blend in more easily and have required the creation of new slurs or the resurrection of more historic ones, being as white as (most of) the people who would like to make them feel unwelcome.
The arguments against immigration are the same old ones that have been used against new comers since the first man left his home to visit the people across the river. There has been great debate as to the nature and amount, if any, of immigration that should be allowed. The government has begun to pander to this talk often shifting the goal posts for immigrants by changing the rules. This however, doesn’t really affect the people who have caused this new uproar, as they tend to come from nations that have recently joined the EU and who thus do not require entry permits into the country.
There have been calls that economically the UK cannot absorb the number of immigrants currently coming to its shores. There are, apparently, no jobs for British people let alone the new comers. There is also the claim that the newcomers, being desperate, are taking jobs at lower pay than the natives, driving down wages.
This is, off course, just another xenophobic argument. The United Kingdom has an aging population and a relatively low birth rate. If no immigrants were allowed into the country the size of the working age population supporting the older generations would dwindle meaning that there would be greater pressure on a smaller proportion of the population to support the economy. Many of the immigrants that come to the UK are highly skilled, reflecting the changing needs of the economy.
Immigrants have been blamed for the dilution of English/British culture, but that would be assuming culture is a static thing, which clearly it is not. Tea, for years considered the traditional drink of the English, is not native to these fair isles. Nor is the potato, the required vegetable in the ubiquitous English dish, fish and chips.
As always immigrants have been blamed for the increase in crime though a study last year showed this was not the case and statistics show that the overall crime rate has been falling. And in the midst of all this apparently half of the central and eastern European immigrants have gone home.
So, why this hostility? Well, it is the usual thing, isn’t it? The fear of the unknown fed by irresponsible journalists and capitalised upon by equally rash political parties, has resulted in an innocent noun becoming a vicious insult.
I Now Pronounce You....
So I am now married. The wedding has finally passed and I can live my life as a semi normal person again. Everyone keeps asking me how I feel and I have no idea how I am supposed to answer the question. About my relationship, I feel just as I did before the madness of planning the wedding took over my life. I love him and he makes me happy, he loves me, as I want to be loved and we are adding value to each other’s life, creating happy memories, so it is all gravy.
I am not sure what is supposed to change but from the reaction of the people around me something should have changed. No one person can tell me what but judging from the fear a lot of people have of marriage it is a very big thing, something that can potentially ruin the rest of your life if the transformation is not right. People seem to be looking to see if I am disappointed.
To be honest I am simply relieved, towards the end of the wedding planning process I was fed up and irritated. I was about to run off to Zimbabwe (my husband, being British, would not be very welcome there) but being wise to my state of mind hubby hid my passport.
If I were to be blunt the wedding planning and organising was the worst part of getting married for me. For one thing I was 4,700km away from my wedding venue and planner and secondly my husband, having been ill advised by some single person, decided not to take part in the planning process. This left me to deal with enquiries and demands from his guests as well as mine (who were shockingly well behaved, I suspect because my mother had forewarned them), on top of planning everything practically by myself. This was simply not helpful, as he realised as the wedding day approached and his bride became ever more disinterested, crazy and angry.
But now it is over, and shockingly I even managed to have a good time on the day and now I can go back to my life and my relationship as it was before people began to expect me to be superwoman.
All I have left is people asking me what it feels like to be married (the same as it felt to be in a committed relationship, I just get to publicise the fact that I am off the market by wearing two rings on the second finger of my left hand now) and if I have any pictures. I also get people asking me what my new name is.
This question is of a lot more interest to me than the first because, though the last name I have is not the one with which my father had for the first five years of his life, nor, due to an anomaly, the one I had for the first few years of my own existence, I am very attached to it.
My father acquired his name when he was registered at school at the age of five. I am not sure my great aunt, who took him in that day, had any real concept of the meaning of a surname and simply told the school her husband’s name, being the name of the child’s guardian. This has resulted in my father having a different surname from his siblings.
For sometime various people used my father’s first name as my last name, before my parents had this corrected. Yet despite having started my life with a different last name I greatly identify with the one I have now and I am loath to give it up to take a last name that does not reflect anything about me (apart from the fact that I am married to someone who happens to have that name). Nor could my new name enable people to identify my tribe, country or even continent of origin. It does not belong to me; it is unable to tell people something of my history. It is in short my husband’s name.
Please don’t get me wrong I love my husband very much, I simply don’t see why I have to change my name to prove it. In fact I feel distinctly uncomfortable every time someone refers to me as Mrs because I feel as though I am giving up a very important piece of myself, of my identity.
It is a silly feeling as from what I can tell we did not really have last names in Zambia before we were required to register in the colonial registers. Historic information on African surnames is very hard to come by, but then last names are a recent (relatively) new concept even in Europe, where they were introduced in the late 13th centaury.
There is some indication that everywhere people were referred to by their place of birth, residence or by the identity of their father (or in the case of those whose fathers were unknown fathers, their mother). In some tribes in Zambia, there are still some people whose last names indicate what village they come from.
Despite all this I am still very attached to my own surname, it has been a part of me for as long as I can remember and goes so well with my first name . So what to do? Well, I unilaterally decided that I was going to double barrel my last name, as a compromise. Hence when I am called Mrs Mister, I correct the speaker, my name is now Missus-Mister. My husband doesn’t actually care what I call myself. He is happy as long as I am his wife and I love him, which will be the case regardless of what I call myself.
My next mission is to work on him to ensure that the children (that we don’t yet have) will also be called Missus-Mister…
I am not sure what is supposed to change but from the reaction of the people around me something should have changed. No one person can tell me what but judging from the fear a lot of people have of marriage it is a very big thing, something that can potentially ruin the rest of your life if the transformation is not right. People seem to be looking to see if I am disappointed.
To be honest I am simply relieved, towards the end of the wedding planning process I was fed up and irritated. I was about to run off to Zimbabwe (my husband, being British, would not be very welcome there) but being wise to my state of mind hubby hid my passport.
If I were to be blunt the wedding planning and organising was the worst part of getting married for me. For one thing I was 4,700km away from my wedding venue and planner and secondly my husband, having been ill advised by some single person, decided not to take part in the planning process. This left me to deal with enquiries and demands from his guests as well as mine (who were shockingly well behaved, I suspect because my mother had forewarned them), on top of planning everything practically by myself. This was simply not helpful, as he realised as the wedding day approached and his bride became ever more disinterested, crazy and angry.
But now it is over, and shockingly I even managed to have a good time on the day and now I can go back to my life and my relationship as it was before people began to expect me to be superwoman.
All I have left is people asking me what it feels like to be married (the same as it felt to be in a committed relationship, I just get to publicise the fact that I am off the market by wearing two rings on the second finger of my left hand now) and if I have any pictures. I also get people asking me what my new name is.
This question is of a lot more interest to me than the first because, though the last name I have is not the one with which my father had for the first five years of his life, nor, due to an anomaly, the one I had for the first few years of my own existence, I am very attached to it.
My father acquired his name when he was registered at school at the age of five. I am not sure my great aunt, who took him in that day, had any real concept of the meaning of a surname and simply told the school her husband’s name, being the name of the child’s guardian. This has resulted in my father having a different surname from his siblings.
For sometime various people used my father’s first name as my last name, before my parents had this corrected. Yet despite having started my life with a different last name I greatly identify with the one I have now and I am loath to give it up to take a last name that does not reflect anything about me (apart from the fact that I am married to someone who happens to have that name). Nor could my new name enable people to identify my tribe, country or even continent of origin. It does not belong to me; it is unable to tell people something of my history. It is in short my husband’s name.
Please don’t get me wrong I love my husband very much, I simply don’t see why I have to change my name to prove it. In fact I feel distinctly uncomfortable every time someone refers to me as Mrs because I feel as though I am giving up a very important piece of myself, of my identity.
It is a silly feeling as from what I can tell we did not really have last names in Zambia before we were required to register in the colonial registers. Historic information on African surnames is very hard to come by, but then last names are a recent (relatively) new concept even in Europe, where they were introduced in the late 13th centaury.
There is some indication that everywhere people were referred to by their place of birth, residence or by the identity of their father (or in the case of those whose fathers were unknown fathers, their mother). In some tribes in Zambia, there are still some people whose last names indicate what village they come from.
Despite all this I am still very attached to my own surname, it has been a part of me for as long as I can remember and goes so well with my first name . So what to do? Well, I unilaterally decided that I was going to double barrel my last name, as a compromise. Hence when I am called Mrs Mister, I correct the speaker, my name is now Missus-Mister. My husband doesn’t actually care what I call myself. He is happy as long as I am his wife and I love him, which will be the case regardless of what I call myself.
My next mission is to work on him to ensure that the children (that we don’t yet have) will also be called Missus-Mister…
Right of entry denied...
I found this article on the recent increases in the cost of Zambian visas for British nationals as I was looking for visa information for my non-Zambian wedding guests.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/762281/Zambia-visa-charges-hit-school-charity-mission.html
I felt a little irritated as it fails to give people the full picture and is typical of the double standards that are often expected by British people when they travel abroad. I hear constant complaints that foreigners do not speak English when they are here, but travel to Spain and you have enclaves of Brits speaking English and refusing to learn Spanish.
And so to the visa issue.
Zambia is a former British colony and a member of the Commonwealth of Nations, often referred to as the Commonwealth, a non-military organisation consisting of former colonial territories and British protectorates.
The Commonwealth originated from the ashes of the Empire but did not afford the British the same power over the emerging independent countries as the original arrangement did. It does however, have, the Queen, Elizabeth the II, at its helm (her title is Head of the Commonwealth) and affords the poorer post-colonial developing countries a forum at which they can voice their opinions and are supposedly treated as equals. They are able to band together and act against the behaviour of dissenting countries such as South Africa, Nigeria, Pakistan and Zimbabwe, who have all previously had their membership suspended and allows cooperation between the nations in areas of sport, education and trade.
Why am I prattling on about this historic and relatively ineffectual club of nations? Well the visa argument has its origins in the agreements between club members. In its early days, the Commonwealth was much more than it is now. Members accorded each other privileged access to their markets, and their citizens had free or preferred right of movement across their borders. So previously Zambian citizens did not require visas to enter the United Kingdom and vice versa.
However, when the Common Market evolved into the EEC and then the EU, the British had to adopt a number of border controls that meant a lot of the travel perks of being a citizen of a commonwealth country began to be eroded. Suddenly Zambians needed visas to enter the UK and they were required to attend the British High Commission in Lusaka in order to get them.
A visit to the High Commission is a generally an unpleasant experience for Zambians. One is subjected to Spanish inquisition type questioning in a non-private environment even before you submit your papers. And submitting your papers, paying the fee and attending the subsequent interview does not ensure that you will get the visa.
For years the Zambian government did not reciprocate. British tourists were allowed to travel to Zambia on the visa waiver program, as long as they could prove that they were bonifde tourists. If they could not they would pay £33 whilst submitting a valid ticket, letter of invitation and proof that they could look after themselves in Zambia, all typical visa application paraphernalia. They would then pick up the visa three days later. Despite the increase in fee the process has barely changed, there is no interview; no twenty questions about who your relatives are and your potential employment prospects on your return. In fact, if you cannot be bothered to go to the embassy, you are able to get your visa from any port of entry when you get to Zambia.
The visitor’s visa fee at the British High commission is currently a non-refundable £65, or half a million in Kwacha, the local currency in which you have to pay the fee (the rate somehow always manages to be unfavourable). The Foreign Office Minister has announced that this fee remains the same this year, though it, along with the fees for other visas, was increased last year with little warning. There were no large signs in every Zambian school, government office or private company reception. There were no headlines in newspapers either; you found out if you went to the high commission to apply for the visa as they had a small sign inside the visa section informing you of the new fees.
You could, off course, find out by visiting the high commission website before you travelled but given that some of the people attempting to get visas could barely scrap together the fee and had travelled from rural areas where Internet cafés are few and far between. These people may be trying to visit relatives in the UK or going to try and get an education (for which the visa fee is £99), not so wealthy people trying to better themselves.
In contrast British people travelling to Zambia tend to be of the wealthier variety, able to afford the £2,000 plus per person package holidays they take to look at animals and stare at the Victoria Falls. They are mainly relatively educated, middle class travellers (they are generally the ones who have heard of Zambia) who have access to the Internet and a quick check on the Zambian High Commission website, which is how my Mister found out about it, would have informed them of the change. He and my British guests have paid the fee, with no complaints (thank goodness, as I am up to my neck in irritating wedding related encounters ), I suppose they have not had any real choice.
The increase though admittedly large will not result in their in ability to travel and it seems a little distasteful that people who would spend so much to go on holiday would haggle with the government of a developing country over £75. Citizens of the United States have for years been charged a reciprocal $100 when they wish to enter Zambia, whether for tourism or otherwise. Despite this I have not, as yet, seen such an article in a national paper complaining about it.
And let’s be fair not all tourists who go to Zambia are British, the Irish, Australians, New Zealanders and nationals of other EU none of whom are affected by this change also visit us. Traditionally the majority of the British go on holiday in Kenya, South Africa and Zimbabwe, having only discovered Zambia after the government in the later country fell out with theirs and instituted a $65 entry fee on non African visitors. So this argument is not about the effects of the change on Zambia tourism, the British are just miffed at being charged at all.
I am not saying the UK should not charge for visas nor am I agreeing with the actions of the Zambian government. I am simply saying there are two sides to every story and moaning without presenting all the facts is simply unacceptable, especially for a paper of the Telegraph's standing.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/762281/Zambia-visa-charges-hit-school-charity-mission.html
I felt a little irritated as it fails to give people the full picture and is typical of the double standards that are often expected by British people when they travel abroad. I hear constant complaints that foreigners do not speak English when they are here, but travel to Spain and you have enclaves of Brits speaking English and refusing to learn Spanish.
And so to the visa issue.
Zambia is a former British colony and a member of the Commonwealth of Nations, often referred to as the Commonwealth, a non-military organisation consisting of former colonial territories and British protectorates.
The Commonwealth originated from the ashes of the Empire but did not afford the British the same power over the emerging independent countries as the original arrangement did. It does however, have, the Queen, Elizabeth the II, at its helm (her title is Head of the Commonwealth) and affords the poorer post-colonial developing countries a forum at which they can voice their opinions and are supposedly treated as equals. They are able to band together and act against the behaviour of dissenting countries such as South Africa, Nigeria, Pakistan and Zimbabwe, who have all previously had their membership suspended and allows cooperation between the nations in areas of sport, education and trade.
Why am I prattling on about this historic and relatively ineffectual club of nations? Well the visa argument has its origins in the agreements between club members. In its early days, the Commonwealth was much more than it is now. Members accorded each other privileged access to their markets, and their citizens had free or preferred right of movement across their borders. So previously Zambian citizens did not require visas to enter the United Kingdom and vice versa.
However, when the Common Market evolved into the EEC and then the EU, the British had to adopt a number of border controls that meant a lot of the travel perks of being a citizen of a commonwealth country began to be eroded. Suddenly Zambians needed visas to enter the UK and they were required to attend the British High Commission in Lusaka in order to get them.
A visit to the High Commission is a generally an unpleasant experience for Zambians. One is subjected to Spanish inquisition type questioning in a non-private environment even before you submit your papers. And submitting your papers, paying the fee and attending the subsequent interview does not ensure that you will get the visa.
For years the Zambian government did not reciprocate. British tourists were allowed to travel to Zambia on the visa waiver program, as long as they could prove that they were bonifde tourists. If they could not they would pay £33 whilst submitting a valid ticket, letter of invitation and proof that they could look after themselves in Zambia, all typical visa application paraphernalia. They would then pick up the visa three days later. Despite the increase in fee the process has barely changed, there is no interview; no twenty questions about who your relatives are and your potential employment prospects on your return. In fact, if you cannot be bothered to go to the embassy, you are able to get your visa from any port of entry when you get to Zambia.
The visitor’s visa fee at the British High commission is currently a non-refundable £65, or half a million in Kwacha, the local currency in which you have to pay the fee (the rate somehow always manages to be unfavourable). The Foreign Office Minister has announced that this fee remains the same this year, though it, along with the fees for other visas, was increased last year with little warning. There were no large signs in every Zambian school, government office or private company reception. There were no headlines in newspapers either; you found out if you went to the high commission to apply for the visa as they had a small sign inside the visa section informing you of the new fees.
You could, off course, find out by visiting the high commission website before you travelled but given that some of the people attempting to get visas could barely scrap together the fee and had travelled from rural areas where Internet cafés are few and far between. These people may be trying to visit relatives in the UK or going to try and get an education (for which the visa fee is £99), not so wealthy people trying to better themselves.
In contrast British people travelling to Zambia tend to be of the wealthier variety, able to afford the £2,000 plus per person package holidays they take to look at animals and stare at the Victoria Falls. They are mainly relatively educated, middle class travellers (they are generally the ones who have heard of Zambia) who have access to the Internet and a quick check on the Zambian High Commission website, which is how my Mister found out about it, would have informed them of the change. He and my British guests have paid the fee, with no complaints (thank goodness, as I am up to my neck in irritating wedding related encounters ), I suppose they have not had any real choice.
The increase though admittedly large will not result in their in ability to travel and it seems a little distasteful that people who would spend so much to go on holiday would haggle with the government of a developing country over £75. Citizens of the United States have for years been charged a reciprocal $100 when they wish to enter Zambia, whether for tourism or otherwise. Despite this I have not, as yet, seen such an article in a national paper complaining about it.
And let’s be fair not all tourists who go to Zambia are British, the Irish, Australians, New Zealanders and nationals of other EU none of whom are affected by this change also visit us. Traditionally the majority of the British go on holiday in Kenya, South Africa and Zimbabwe, having only discovered Zambia after the government in the later country fell out with theirs and instituted a $65 entry fee on non African visitors. So this argument is not about the effects of the change on Zambia tourism, the British are just miffed at being charged at all.
I am not saying the UK should not charge for visas nor am I agreeing with the actions of the Zambian government. I am simply saying there are two sides to every story and moaning without presenting all the facts is simply unacceptable, especially for a paper of the Telegraph's standing.
Zimabawe goes to the polls, with a predictable result?
On Saturday voters in Zimbabwe are going to vote in elections that everyone knows will not bring them the change they need. Their leader, like so many of our post colonial presidents, has lost his way, corrupted by the absolute power that is often awarded to our presidents.
Robert Gabriel Mugabe is Zimbabwe’s second president since the country moved to black majority rule in 1980, though he has also served as prime minister.
The country had previously unilaterally declared independence in 1965, which led to a period of minority rule. From this time until the Lancaster Talks in 1979, a group of dissident white settlers were running the country, in contravention with international law.
During the intervening period the leaders of independent African countries tried in vain to get the British government to condemn the goings on in Zimbabwe and bring an end to the illegal regime. Even as these conversations were going on, Ian Smith, with the support of the apartheid regime in South Africa was arresting the leaders of the Zimbabwean struggle for independence; the Robert Mugabes and Joshua Nkomos were being locked up for fighting for their people.
It was not until Margaret Thatcher that the British decided to reign in their former colony and help negotiate a peace between the peoples of Zimbabwe; even then a treaty had already been signed between the settlers and the freedom fighters as Ian Smith realised that the blacks would never stop fighting him and his regime began to slowly crumble.
In 1979, against this back drop, the Iron Lady gathered the warring parties in London with some African leaders as mediators and the Zimbabweans were told that they would be granted independence and black majority rule the following year, with Canaan Banana as president and Robert Mugabe as prime minister . They were however, not to pursue any policies of land reformation, as the British would deal with the reallocation of land.
In order to understand the magnitude of this sacrifice by the Zimbabweans one has to understand the way land is perceived in Zimbabwe and other Southern African countries. In most of the non-nomadic tribes, land has historically been an integral part of ones wealth, without land you cannot feed your family. Even the nomads lay claim to the lands that they return to year after year. Land was passed from father to son, divided according to his oral will upon his death. One could not marry without a one’s own piece of land and no man of substance would be without it.
Given this perception of land, it was truly accommodating of the Zimbabwean freedom fighters to accept the conditions regarding land reform that were placed upon them by the British. What the British were proposing to do was return the lands that were effectively stolen from the indigenous Zimbabweans and reallocate the land so that it was more evenly distributed whilst compensating the white settlers for their loss.
Margaret Thatcher’s government began the slow and highly volatile process, work that was continued by the government of her successor, John Major. When Mr. Blair took over however, the issue was no longer considered a high priority and was put aside. This was 1997, 18 years after the promise to reallocate land was made.
When the colonial powers first came to Zimbabwe, the white men drove the Zimbabweans off their ancestral homelands. It was not a pretty sight and many of the older generations in my own country, Zambia, have remarked that despite the brutality of the recent land reform process, the actions of the so called “war veterans” can not compare to the cruel and inhumane way that men, women and children were driven from their homes, off fertile lands into the wilderness during the land grab.
There is still a deep seated pain that many Southern Africans feel when they think of the way Ian Smith and co, with the support of South Africa, seized the country from the clasps of the freedom fighters. And there were inner smiles when the revenge was taken.
There was still a fury in Zimbabwe against the British, who stood by as this happened and to pour salt on the festering wound did not even implement a land reform process that they proposed in 1979. All this time a tiny proportion of the population owned over 50% of the commercially viable land, making money as many suffered.
This strong feeling of disapproval of the role that the British played in the Zimbabwe saga is why Morgan Tsvangirai, leader of the opposition MDC party, and widely seen as a puppet of the British government, has not won an election yet. Yes, Mr. Mugabe may have rigged the elections but Mr. Tsvangirai was simply not popular enough in to have contested in any meaningful way; his association with the British tainted him. In 2001, I watched, quite shocked given the recent goings on in their country, as Zimbabweans resident in Zambia rushed across the boarder to vote for Mr Mugabe; better the devil you know and all that.
I am not telling this story to justify the actions of Mr Mugabe, simply to put them in context that has not been given to many of the readers of the western media who are forming opinions about him. Mr Mugabe’s power and the recent violent land reform process is a creation British inaction. So how ridiculous to see Tony Blair, whose inability to prioritise the Zimbabwean land issue led to violence, self righteously condemning the carnage.
If the so called “New Labour” government had continued the land reform process and as promised intervened to give indigenous Zimbabweans back some of the fertile lands that they had previously occupied Mr Mugabe would not have had the surge of popularity he saw in the early years of this centaury. And placing embargos on Zimbabwe has led to the humanitarian crisis and does not as yet seem to have lessened Mugabe’s grip on the country. The argument I am often given when I point this out is that these things take time. So tell me how long will we have to watch Mr Mugabe stuff his face full of cake during his birthday celebrations while just a stones throw away people die of starvation? Sanctions are simply not the way to wrest power from those that are immune to their impact.
So what will happen to Zimbabwe? I cannot say, we can only wait to see if someone from his own party will be strong enough to rise up and get rid of Mugabe and bring the country back to being the prosperous breadbasket of Southern Africa that it once was.
And as Zimbabwe goes to elect its leader on Saturday, I am personally keeping one eye on South Africa where land reallocation has been slowly becoming a hot topic. I am hoping that the debate there, where the blacks have waited 15 years for implementation of any reform policy, the issue does not explode into chaos and suck all the good that has been achieved during this time into oblivion.
Robert Gabriel Mugabe is Zimbabwe’s second president since the country moved to black majority rule in 1980, though he has also served as prime minister.
The country had previously unilaterally declared independence in 1965, which led to a period of minority rule. From this time until the Lancaster Talks in 1979, a group of dissident white settlers were running the country, in contravention with international law.
During the intervening period the leaders of independent African countries tried in vain to get the British government to condemn the goings on in Zimbabwe and bring an end to the illegal regime. Even as these conversations were going on, Ian Smith, with the support of the apartheid regime in South Africa was arresting the leaders of the Zimbabwean struggle for independence; the Robert Mugabes and Joshua Nkomos were being locked up for fighting for their people.
It was not until Margaret Thatcher that the British decided to reign in their former colony and help negotiate a peace between the peoples of Zimbabwe; even then a treaty had already been signed between the settlers and the freedom fighters as Ian Smith realised that the blacks would never stop fighting him and his regime began to slowly crumble.
In 1979, against this back drop, the Iron Lady gathered the warring parties in London with some African leaders as mediators and the Zimbabweans were told that they would be granted independence and black majority rule the following year, with Canaan Banana as president and Robert Mugabe as prime minister . They were however, not to pursue any policies of land reformation, as the British would deal with the reallocation of land.
In order to understand the magnitude of this sacrifice by the Zimbabweans one has to understand the way land is perceived in Zimbabwe and other Southern African countries. In most of the non-nomadic tribes, land has historically been an integral part of ones wealth, without land you cannot feed your family. Even the nomads lay claim to the lands that they return to year after year. Land was passed from father to son, divided according to his oral will upon his death. One could not marry without a one’s own piece of land and no man of substance would be without it.
Given this perception of land, it was truly accommodating of the Zimbabwean freedom fighters to accept the conditions regarding land reform that were placed upon them by the British. What the British were proposing to do was return the lands that were effectively stolen from the indigenous Zimbabweans and reallocate the land so that it was more evenly distributed whilst compensating the white settlers for their loss.
Margaret Thatcher’s government began the slow and highly volatile process, work that was continued by the government of her successor, John Major. When Mr. Blair took over however, the issue was no longer considered a high priority and was put aside. This was 1997, 18 years after the promise to reallocate land was made.
When the colonial powers first came to Zimbabwe, the white men drove the Zimbabweans off their ancestral homelands. It was not a pretty sight and many of the older generations in my own country, Zambia, have remarked that despite the brutality of the recent land reform process, the actions of the so called “war veterans” can not compare to the cruel and inhumane way that men, women and children were driven from their homes, off fertile lands into the wilderness during the land grab.
There is still a deep seated pain that many Southern Africans feel when they think of the way Ian Smith and co, with the support of South Africa, seized the country from the clasps of the freedom fighters. And there were inner smiles when the revenge was taken.
There was still a fury in Zimbabwe against the British, who stood by as this happened and to pour salt on the festering wound did not even implement a land reform process that they proposed in 1979. All this time a tiny proportion of the population owned over 50% of the commercially viable land, making money as many suffered.
This strong feeling of disapproval of the role that the British played in the Zimbabwe saga is why Morgan Tsvangirai, leader of the opposition MDC party, and widely seen as a puppet of the British government, has not won an election yet. Yes, Mr. Mugabe may have rigged the elections but Mr. Tsvangirai was simply not popular enough in to have contested in any meaningful way; his association with the British tainted him. In 2001, I watched, quite shocked given the recent goings on in their country, as Zimbabweans resident in Zambia rushed across the boarder to vote for Mr Mugabe; better the devil you know and all that.
I am not telling this story to justify the actions of Mr Mugabe, simply to put them in context that has not been given to many of the readers of the western media who are forming opinions about him. Mr Mugabe’s power and the recent violent land reform process is a creation British inaction. So how ridiculous to see Tony Blair, whose inability to prioritise the Zimbabwean land issue led to violence, self righteously condemning the carnage.
If the so called “New Labour” government had continued the land reform process and as promised intervened to give indigenous Zimbabweans back some of the fertile lands that they had previously occupied Mr Mugabe would not have had the surge of popularity he saw in the early years of this centaury. And placing embargos on Zimbabwe has led to the humanitarian crisis and does not as yet seem to have lessened Mugabe’s grip on the country. The argument I am often given when I point this out is that these things take time. So tell me how long will we have to watch Mr Mugabe stuff his face full of cake during his birthday celebrations while just a stones throw away people die of starvation? Sanctions are simply not the way to wrest power from those that are immune to their impact.
So what will happen to Zimbabwe? I cannot say, we can only wait to see if someone from his own party will be strong enough to rise up and get rid of Mugabe and bring the country back to being the prosperous breadbasket of Southern Africa that it once was.
And as Zimbabwe goes to elect its leader on Saturday, I am personally keeping one eye on South Africa where land reallocation has been slowly becoming a hot topic. I am hoping that the debate there, where the blacks have waited 15 years for implementation of any reform policy, the issue does not explode into chaos and suck all the good that has been achieved during this time into oblivion.
Truly Reluctant...
I am often asked if I want to become British and my interviewers are often surprised when I say no. Their next question is invariably why not? Well, because I am not British, I am Zambia. I have never had any intention to change my nationality and my stance has not changed.
Taking my stance as an insult to their country, many then ask, rather resentfully, what I am doing in the UK if I do not want to become British. Their assumption is that I left my country looking for a better life. In reality I had not intended to stay this long, I was taking a sabbatical after which I was planning to return to my own life and my country of birth. And despite a change in circumstances resulting in my living in the UK indefinitely, I still feel homesick and I am still hoping to return to Lusaka one day.
Why am I so insistent that Zambia is my home? Well Zambia is where my roots are, where my family came from, where my village is. Where my ancestors settled, where they chose to make their home. Zambian blood runs through my veins, I have been connected to the land and the people of Zambia for longer than I have been alive, for longer than Zambia, the country, has been in existence.
I enjoy and miss sharing the food of my motherland, the taste of bream from the waters of the Zambezi, the meat of a chicken that has been running around, foraging on Zambian soil; I miss the easy understanding that I associate with Zambian customs, Zambian languages and accents. My body is in tune with the seasons so much so that every November I crave the smell of the first rains hitting the parched soil, the sound of the rain hitting the roof.
More importantly Zambia is the place I FEEL at home. Despite my long associations with the UK I find the customs here alien to my own, the people are different from me, the lifestyle, attitudes and language foreign to me. I am, ultimately, an outsider here.
Despite this in the next few years or so I may be given an ultimatum, become a British citizen or leave the country. I have been following news of the new measures proposed by the British government with growing fury at the arrogance and injustice of it. According to reports foreigners from non EU countries living in Britain will be expected to go through a new expanded citizenship process or leave the country. This is to stop people such as myself who are apparently wishing to live in limbo.
The new rules will also change the the time period within which one can become British by adding a probationary period during which potential immigrants will have to prove their worth and show that they are intergrating into their communities by participtaing in community work, running a sports team or playgroup (supposedly you would have to go through the usual poplice checks before you were allowed near children), serving as a school governor and other such activities.
Why am I making a fuss, after all I could apply for citizenship and have dual citizenship? Actually no, it is currently illegal for a Zambian citizen to have dual nationality, so in order for me to get British citizenship I would have to give up my Zambian citizenship. So to go to my country of birth I would need visa, an inconvinience I am willing to endure to visit other peoples countries, not my own.
Taking my stance as an insult to their country, many then ask, rather resentfully, what I am doing in the UK if I do not want to become British. Their assumption is that I left my country looking for a better life. In reality I had not intended to stay this long, I was taking a sabbatical after which I was planning to return to my own life and my country of birth. And despite a change in circumstances resulting in my living in the UK indefinitely, I still feel homesick and I am still hoping to return to Lusaka one day.
Why am I so insistent that Zambia is my home? Well Zambia is where my roots are, where my family came from, where my village is. Where my ancestors settled, where they chose to make their home. Zambian blood runs through my veins, I have been connected to the land and the people of Zambia for longer than I have been alive, for longer than Zambia, the country, has been in existence.
I enjoy and miss sharing the food of my motherland, the taste of bream from the waters of the Zambezi, the meat of a chicken that has been running around, foraging on Zambian soil; I miss the easy understanding that I associate with Zambian customs, Zambian languages and accents. My body is in tune with the seasons so much so that every November I crave the smell of the first rains hitting the parched soil, the sound of the rain hitting the roof.
More importantly Zambia is the place I FEEL at home. Despite my long associations with the UK I find the customs here alien to my own, the people are different from me, the lifestyle, attitudes and language foreign to me. I am, ultimately, an outsider here.
Despite this in the next few years or so I may be given an ultimatum, become a British citizen or leave the country. I have been following news of the new measures proposed by the British government with growing fury at the arrogance and injustice of it. According to reports foreigners from non EU countries living in Britain will be expected to go through a new expanded citizenship process or leave the country. This is to stop people such as myself who are apparently wishing to live in limbo.
The new rules will also change the the time period within which one can become British by adding a probationary period during which potential immigrants will have to prove their worth and show that they are intergrating into their communities by participtaing in community work, running a sports team or playgroup (supposedly you would have to go through the usual poplice checks before you were allowed near children), serving as a school governor and other such activities.
Why am I making a fuss, after all I could apply for citizenship and have dual citizenship? Actually no, it is currently illegal for a Zambian citizen to have dual nationality, so in order for me to get British citizenship I would have to give up my Zambian citizenship. So to go to my country of birth I would need visa, an inconvinience I am willing to endure to visit other peoples countries, not my own.
The Rainbow nation...14 years on
I have recently learned of a home video that has destroyed the myth of South Africa as a “Rainbow Nation”. Sometime during last month, a group of white Afrikaner students filmed themselves forcing some elderly black people to eat food that they had urinated in. They also gave the black people bottles of beer, which they were forced to gulp down before being told to perform athletic feats to show their physical prowess, being black and all.
Though the video is said to have been circulating for almost a month, I have not seen it and it is unlikely that I will. I heard about it from a South African colleague who appeared greatly ashamed by the whole thing, I think he felt by telling me he was somehow distancing himself from the students. Absolution through confession, so to say. He did, however, take the opportunity to complain that there was nothing rainbow about the rainbow nation, as it has obviously left out some of its citizens, namely the white ones.
The students, who are residents of a whites only hostel, say they made the video in protest against the proposed integration of university living accommodation. Regardless of their reasons for making the video I must say the fact that they thought this was a valid form of protest speaks volumes about their upbringing, and about attitudes towards racial equality in South Africa, fourteen years after the official end of apartheid.
The video is the climax of several events highlighting the racial tensions in South Africa, including a shooting spree by a young white man in a township that resulted in the death of several black people, including women and a child. Then, off course, there was the famous lion feeding, where a white farmer and his three black employees beat a black man and threw his body to some lions. The blacks claimed to have been under the instructions of their employer. And finally the “black only” meeting of journalists which Jacob Zuma, current ANC president widely tipped to lead the country next year when Thabo Mbeki steps down in 2009, happily attended and stated that he saw nothing wrong with. He has alo been quoted as saying that South Africans should realise that sometimes people want to be with people with whom they share experiences a comment which has had the majority of White South Africans predicting the end of the “Rainbow Nation” policy.
Form all this it may be inferred that the South Africans have been living a lie for all these years. Their Rainbow Nation is a sham. The resentment on both sides, that Nelson Mandela attempted to alleviate through the Truth and Reconciliation Committee, is understandable. The blacks, oppressed for decades on their ancestral lands by people who only began to call themselves Africans in the last century, are resentful for all the pain and suffering, the lost opportunities. They are also resentful towards the continued superior attitude of some of the white people as well as the fact that those that they view as the aristocrats of the ANC have not given them the prosperity that they expected. The whites are resentful of what they call reverse racism, the advent of Black empowerment enterprises and affirmative action. Many feel that the blacks have stolen the country that they built out of nothing and protected against the failures of other African countries such as inherent corruption, poverty and illness.
How do you reconcile a country that has been split along racial lines for over a centaury? Clearly not by sweeping peoples pain under the nearest carpet. The “hug each other” approach has failed to address the inherent racism that continues to be passed from generation to generation in some sections of society. This policy has also been embraced in France, where one is French before one’s ethnicity and one is expected to let go of ones original cultural heritage. The policy, which has been the pride of France for many years, has had devastating effects on young immigrants who would like to be allowed to pursue their individuality. And 2005 and 2006 there were riots in the banlieues of Paris showcasing their frustration. Despite the current calm they continue to feel excluded.
And in South Africa we see the frustrations of the young whites cause them to flee their country, seeking citizenship in their ancestral homelands. Many take advantage of German, Dutch and English ancestors to begin new lives in the EU, away from country that has been taken from them. A few of these bring their prejudices with them, but they are better suited to life in countries where non-whites are minorities.
The young blacks who cannot flee or take advantage of the new opportunities presented to them due to lack of education, a hangover from the apartheid days, or proper guidance, as a result of the growing number of adults dying of AIDS, the frustration manifest themselves in criminal activities and violence, with gangs of young men going about “jack rolling” (“recreational” gang rape), committing murder and staging armed robberies in an attempt to get what they view as a piece of the pie.
So what is the solution? There are several things that have been suggested, such as an improvement of the education of the elderly black South Africans, who are seen as a vulnerable group, as well as the younger ones, structured accelerated land reform policy as previously promised, a system of welfare payments that allows people to re-educate themselves and gives them money so that they are not drawn to crime, harsher penalties for rape and other violent crime.
Unfortunately, in my opinion, though these measures would improve that quality of life of many of the citizens, it will not make them like each other or create great understanding and that, it seems, is the biggest problem.
Though the video is said to have been circulating for almost a month, I have not seen it and it is unlikely that I will. I heard about it from a South African colleague who appeared greatly ashamed by the whole thing, I think he felt by telling me he was somehow distancing himself from the students. Absolution through confession, so to say. He did, however, take the opportunity to complain that there was nothing rainbow about the rainbow nation, as it has obviously left out some of its citizens, namely the white ones.
The students, who are residents of a whites only hostel, say they made the video in protest against the proposed integration of university living accommodation. Regardless of their reasons for making the video I must say the fact that they thought this was a valid form of protest speaks volumes about their upbringing, and about attitudes towards racial equality in South Africa, fourteen years after the official end of apartheid.
The video is the climax of several events highlighting the racial tensions in South Africa, including a shooting spree by a young white man in a township that resulted in the death of several black people, including women and a child. Then, off course, there was the famous lion feeding, where a white farmer and his three black employees beat a black man and threw his body to some lions. The blacks claimed to have been under the instructions of their employer. And finally the “black only” meeting of journalists which Jacob Zuma, current ANC president widely tipped to lead the country next year when Thabo Mbeki steps down in 2009, happily attended and stated that he saw nothing wrong with. He has alo been quoted as saying that South Africans should realise that sometimes people want to be with people with whom they share experiences a comment which has had the majority of White South Africans predicting the end of the “Rainbow Nation” policy.
Form all this it may be inferred that the South Africans have been living a lie for all these years. Their Rainbow Nation is a sham. The resentment on both sides, that Nelson Mandela attempted to alleviate through the Truth and Reconciliation Committee, is understandable. The blacks, oppressed for decades on their ancestral lands by people who only began to call themselves Africans in the last century, are resentful for all the pain and suffering, the lost opportunities. They are also resentful towards the continued superior attitude of some of the white people as well as the fact that those that they view as the aristocrats of the ANC have not given them the prosperity that they expected. The whites are resentful of what they call reverse racism, the advent of Black empowerment enterprises and affirmative action. Many feel that the blacks have stolen the country that they built out of nothing and protected against the failures of other African countries such as inherent corruption, poverty and illness.
How do you reconcile a country that has been split along racial lines for over a centaury? Clearly not by sweeping peoples pain under the nearest carpet. The “hug each other” approach has failed to address the inherent racism that continues to be passed from generation to generation in some sections of society. This policy has also been embraced in France, where one is French before one’s ethnicity and one is expected to let go of ones original cultural heritage. The policy, which has been the pride of France for many years, has had devastating effects on young immigrants who would like to be allowed to pursue their individuality. And 2005 and 2006 there were riots in the banlieues of Paris showcasing their frustration. Despite the current calm they continue to feel excluded.
And in South Africa we see the frustrations of the young whites cause them to flee their country, seeking citizenship in their ancestral homelands. Many take advantage of German, Dutch and English ancestors to begin new lives in the EU, away from country that has been taken from them. A few of these bring their prejudices with them, but they are better suited to life in countries where non-whites are minorities.
The young blacks who cannot flee or take advantage of the new opportunities presented to them due to lack of education, a hangover from the apartheid days, or proper guidance, as a result of the growing number of adults dying of AIDS, the frustration manifest themselves in criminal activities and violence, with gangs of young men going about “jack rolling” (“recreational” gang rape), committing murder and staging armed robberies in an attempt to get what they view as a piece of the pie.
So what is the solution? There are several things that have been suggested, such as an improvement of the education of the elderly black South Africans, who are seen as a vulnerable group, as well as the younger ones, structured accelerated land reform policy as previously promised, a system of welfare payments that allows people to re-educate themselves and gives them money so that they are not drawn to crime, harsher penalties for rape and other violent crime.
Unfortunately, in my opinion, though these measures would improve that quality of life of many of the citizens, it will not make them like each other or create great understanding and that, it seems, is the biggest problem.
Musings on my self deception
Last week my partner, who is normally tact personified, made a schoolboy error. He remarked upon my weight, or rather he remarked upon an increase in it.
In terms of sensitivity I have generally veered between indifferent and neurotic when it comes to my weight. His timing was unfortunate as I am currently neurotic about it.
Let me explain. Having been the same weight for about eight years, four or five years ago I began to put on weight and I have been slowly expanding ever since. Although this state of affairs could probably be explained by the large creamy pasta dishes I eat, often washed down with copious amounts of red wine, I will not be denied my food. I have thus been going to the gym in an attempt to curb the enlargement. This has resulted in me getting more and more anxious as my weight either stays the same or increases.
Usually I am resigned to my chubbiness. However, the situation has been highlighted by the fact that I have a wedding dress to fit into in a few weeks and I want to look like a blushing bride not a gorilla in drag. Hence my current neurosis.
My irrationality about my weight is, I realise, all about image rather than good health; after all I am not obese by any stretch of the imagination and my visits to the gym mean I am fitter than I have been for years.
That is not the point; the point is I currently think I am a little fatty. And I am realising I am not alone in my irrational self perception. Every woman in my office, bar one, is on a diet, trying to melt away real or perceived fat. The one who is not has legs the size of two toothpicks bound together. Among the others, we have weight watchers, lunchbox dieters and people who are just attempting to starve themselves thin. So why are we so obsessed with our weight?
Well a quick survey around the office seems to say that a lot of women are all trying to be the weight they were in their teenage years. It seems that the majority of the women here believe this was when they looked their best, though I am sure they did not think so at the time. But why do they think this now?
Looking through magazines in the UK you are confronted with images of skinny women. Women who look as though they should be in school uniform rather than Carvalli dresses. People who admit to eating very little in order to stay looking the way they do. Women who go to restaurants, share a starter consisting of half a lettuce and a handful of cherry tomatoes between five of them and call this a meal.
These are the people that are presented as role models, the people we are told we should be looking like. And no matter how much we try to avoid it, we are bombarded with images of stick thin women. They are everywhere; they stare at us from our televisions. They are in our magazines, on billboards, even in the free daily newspapers that are handed out to us as we get on the tube or the train to and from work.
Everyday we are confronted with images of Kate Moss, Victoria Beckham, Amy “I should have said yes to rehab” Winehouse or Nicole “I don’t invite anyone over 100lbs to my house parties” Ritchie. Despite their emaciated looks, these women are hailed as beautiful style icons in glossy magazines, Nicole being recently praised for losing all her baby fat (what baby fat?) in two weeks. In the nineties when real women, with real curves, were still in fashion they were called waifs and were condemned for glamorising “cocaine chic”, a phrase that paints a so much less than beautiful and decidedly unhealthy picture.
In the name of research I have been looking around at women’s bodies and realise that generally the Kate Mosses and Nicole Ritchies of the world are few and far between. Yet, as unhealthy and unattainable as this look is for most of us, there are hordes of women trying to look this way. Fashion magazines and the industry behind them actively encourage this ludicrousness.
Apart from the flood of images, women feel fat because it is no longer fashionable to have any curves at all. The fashion industry is no longer creating clothes for real women. Super skinny jeans that make anyone with even a hint of thigh look like a heifer, shorts that require no butt (otherwise someone might mistake you for a working girl), blouses that require a distinct the lack of bosom to wear, dresses that would make anyone over 5 ½ stone look like a sack of potatoes, hang in many of the shops and are displayed in many a window. When it comes to looking for clothing, a woman with even a hint of hips, a behind and bosom has a hard and disheartening road ahead of her.
And the indoctrination is spreading; men are being sucked into the realms of skinnydom. As a result of rockers like Mick Jagger and Pete Doherty popularising the look, the shops are now stocking skinny jeans for men (I can not fit into these either). Confusion reigns supreme as many attempt to mix Hip Hop with Rock and wear skinny jeans pulled down below their bottoms, exposing their often less than fashionable underwear. It is enough to make a girl who likes men to look like men (as opposed to ten year old boys) weep tears of despair.
So where does this leave me? To be fair to myself I am not really trying to look like I am in need of good meal. That, thankfully is a thinness I couldn’t’ achieve even if I ate nothing for the next month and as such I have simply decided to forgive my Mister for pointing out where the doughnuts were going and do something different. So as well as going to the gym more I am (attempting to) eat a little less. Rocket science it ain’t!
In terms of sensitivity I have generally veered between indifferent and neurotic when it comes to my weight. His timing was unfortunate as I am currently neurotic about it.
Let me explain. Having been the same weight for about eight years, four or five years ago I began to put on weight and I have been slowly expanding ever since. Although this state of affairs could probably be explained by the large creamy pasta dishes I eat, often washed down with copious amounts of red wine, I will not be denied my food. I have thus been going to the gym in an attempt to curb the enlargement. This has resulted in me getting more and more anxious as my weight either stays the same or increases.
Usually I am resigned to my chubbiness. However, the situation has been highlighted by the fact that I have a wedding dress to fit into in a few weeks and I want to look like a blushing bride not a gorilla in drag. Hence my current neurosis.
My irrationality about my weight is, I realise, all about image rather than good health; after all I am not obese by any stretch of the imagination and my visits to the gym mean I am fitter than I have been for years.
That is not the point; the point is I currently think I am a little fatty. And I am realising I am not alone in my irrational self perception. Every woman in my office, bar one, is on a diet, trying to melt away real or perceived fat. The one who is not has legs the size of two toothpicks bound together. Among the others, we have weight watchers, lunchbox dieters and people who are just attempting to starve themselves thin. So why are we so obsessed with our weight?
Well a quick survey around the office seems to say that a lot of women are all trying to be the weight they were in their teenage years. It seems that the majority of the women here believe this was when they looked their best, though I am sure they did not think so at the time. But why do they think this now?
Looking through magazines in the UK you are confronted with images of skinny women. Women who look as though they should be in school uniform rather than Carvalli dresses. People who admit to eating very little in order to stay looking the way they do. Women who go to restaurants, share a starter consisting of half a lettuce and a handful of cherry tomatoes between five of them and call this a meal.
These are the people that are presented as role models, the people we are told we should be looking like. And no matter how much we try to avoid it, we are bombarded with images of stick thin women. They are everywhere; they stare at us from our televisions. They are in our magazines, on billboards, even in the free daily newspapers that are handed out to us as we get on the tube or the train to and from work.
Everyday we are confronted with images of Kate Moss, Victoria Beckham, Amy “I should have said yes to rehab” Winehouse or Nicole “I don’t invite anyone over 100lbs to my house parties” Ritchie. Despite their emaciated looks, these women are hailed as beautiful style icons in glossy magazines, Nicole being recently praised for losing all her baby fat (what baby fat?) in two weeks. In the nineties when real women, with real curves, were still in fashion they were called waifs and were condemned for glamorising “cocaine chic”, a phrase that paints a so much less than beautiful and decidedly unhealthy picture.
In the name of research I have been looking around at women’s bodies and realise that generally the Kate Mosses and Nicole Ritchies of the world are few and far between. Yet, as unhealthy and unattainable as this look is for most of us, there are hordes of women trying to look this way. Fashion magazines and the industry behind them actively encourage this ludicrousness.
Apart from the flood of images, women feel fat because it is no longer fashionable to have any curves at all. The fashion industry is no longer creating clothes for real women. Super skinny jeans that make anyone with even a hint of thigh look like a heifer, shorts that require no butt (otherwise someone might mistake you for a working girl), blouses that require a distinct the lack of bosom to wear, dresses that would make anyone over 5 ½ stone look like a sack of potatoes, hang in many of the shops and are displayed in many a window. When it comes to looking for clothing, a woman with even a hint of hips, a behind and bosom has a hard and disheartening road ahead of her.
And the indoctrination is spreading; men are being sucked into the realms of skinnydom. As a result of rockers like Mick Jagger and Pete Doherty popularising the look, the shops are now stocking skinny jeans for men (I can not fit into these either). Confusion reigns supreme as many attempt to mix Hip Hop with Rock and wear skinny jeans pulled down below their bottoms, exposing their often less than fashionable underwear. It is enough to make a girl who likes men to look like men (as opposed to ten year old boys) weep tears of despair.
So where does this leave me? To be fair to myself I am not really trying to look like I am in need of good meal. That, thankfully is a thinness I couldn’t’ achieve even if I ate nothing for the next month and as such I have simply decided to forgive my Mister for pointing out where the doughnuts were going and do something different. So as well as going to the gym more I am (attempting to) eat a little less. Rocket science it ain’t!
Youth Culture? Not just Childs play
On my way to work this morning I realised that the media is slowly indoctrinating me.
As I sat staring through the window of the train, day dreaming instead of reading the business analysis text on my lap, I was dragged kicking and screaming back into the real world. A group of young black teenagers (or youths as I like to call them) came stumbling into my carriage, laughing and talking at the top of their voices. I took one look at their hair (I tend to judge men by their hairstyles!) and their style of dress (saggy trousers, hooded jackets, baseball caps) and presumed they were up to no good.
I had already had a hectic morning with my train being cancelled and the replacement being delayed. So when three black teenage boys, whose command of the English language cast aspersions on the quality of State education, came bumbling into my carriage I thought that perhaps my luck had ran out. I was scared enough to turn my engagement ring around so that the stone was resting in my hand, out of sight of any casual glances. I also ignored my phone as it told me I had received a text message. I sat in silence trying to study their faces (so I could describe them to the police) without being noticed. I almost went into shock when the only other person in the carriage got off the train, as I was dreading being left alone in carriage with the young men.
So was I mugged, harassed or stabbed? Well off course not, the boys were simply hiding in that particular carriage because they didn’t have tickets. Irritating and illegal yes, but barely an offence to put the fear of God in my heart at the sight of them. They appeared to be students at the Further Education College near my office and were really just minding their own business for most of the journey, though they did decide to take over the whole carriage and shout across me. They were simply bad mannered, nothing, apparently, to be afraid of.
So why was I scared? Well in recent years several young people have attacked and killed members of the public. Incidentally I was not afraid because they were black youths, I was scared because they were youths, period. Teenagers appear to have been running rampant.
The first I heard of the violence that has permeated youth culture was an incident in Canning Town, East London, when a gang of teenagers, who had been threatening a family for several months, shot the young father because he finally stood up to them. This was followed by a several teenagers being stabbed or shot in various parts of London, some killed as they sleeping in their beds. Then there was Mr Newlove, who was beaten to death outside his home in Cheshire after he confronted a gang for scratching his wife’s car. This week the newspapers have been reporting about the stabbing of a young mother whilst she was trying to stop a fight on a night out. It was her first night out since the birth of her child. Then there is the young man who was killed after standing up to two teenagers who threw a half eaten chocolate bar into his sisters car. And these are just the attacks I have paid attention to and remembered.
To exacerbate the perception I have of young people I watched a programme on television that followed gangs in Glasgow and South London, showing the most meaningless violent acts performed by children as young as ten.
So what is causing this behaviour in the young people? As always, the youth involved are from the more under privileged areas of the country; people from broken homes and broken communities. Would I have been frightened this morning if the boys had been dressed in public school uniforms and speaking with public school accents? No, off course not, money and privilege would have given them the appearance of being safe to be around and to be fair incidents of Public school boys attacking people on the street are rare.
It could be said that they are too ambitious to engage in random attacks on the general public. They are generally conditioned to put their energies into going to best universities, getting the best job even sometimes the best partners. They also tend to be have access to facilities that allow them to engage in sport, learn musical instruments or perhaps nurture artistic talent. In short their time, minds and bodies are occupied.
It appears that for poorer children, the apparent lack of opportunities to better themselves as well as the lack of entertainment choices manifests itself as ennui. The gangs of Glasgow and South London sighted boredom as the main reason they became involved in violent acts; they simply had nothing to do so they fought with children from other estates.
I was quite shocked to watch this, because when I think about the poorer young residents of Lusaka, they tend occupy themselves by finding a job as maids or gardeners. At worst they will resort to stealing to eat rather than killing people for fun. Perhaps I am unaware of what is truly going on in the communities that would be comparable in my country but we simply do not get reports of children killing each other for the sake of it.
What’s the difference? Our societies are structured differently. The police officer in the Newlove case sights cheap alcohol and lack of parental responsibility. I would add the break down of community spirit in a lot of these areas. When I was growing up if one of my “aunties” of “uncles” saw me doing something my parents would not like they intervened. I had boundaries wherever I went because everyone was watching me. And, in the UK at least, it is entirely the government fault.
Several policies have led to an economic situation that has led to many state schools selling off their sports facilities and excessive health and safety rules have resulted in teachers being afraid to take children on field trips, leading to idle hours where there previously were none The advent of the Nanny State, in which the state micro manages our lives, has led to people abdicating responsibility not only for their own actions but for their children’s. They do not have to manage their children because it is the state’s responsibility to do so or perhaps they cannot deal with certain issues with their children because the government has not told them what to do in this situation.
This has resulted in children not really being shown the difference between right and wrong. And it is a self perpetuating cycle as these children grow up and have children, teaching them the same amoral violent attitudes. A proportion of the gang members in Glasgow were third generation gang members a situation that makes it difficult for them to see that it is possible to live life differently.
This story however, has a happy ending as several charities have began to take an interest in the plight of these youths and give them something to do beside beating each other with metal objects. They have created clubs where they can hang out together or get involved in sport and generally be in a safe environment. This has given some of the youths hope and taken them off the street.
As these programmes of change continue to rescue our young people, I hope I will be less prejudice against the young. I hope I will begin to feel safer around them. And perhaps I will be less inclined to paint them with the brush created by sensualist media headlines.
As I sat staring through the window of the train, day dreaming instead of reading the business analysis text on my lap, I was dragged kicking and screaming back into the real world. A group of young black teenagers (or youths as I like to call them) came stumbling into my carriage, laughing and talking at the top of their voices. I took one look at their hair (I tend to judge men by their hairstyles!) and their style of dress (saggy trousers, hooded jackets, baseball caps) and presumed they were up to no good.
I had already had a hectic morning with my train being cancelled and the replacement being delayed. So when three black teenage boys, whose command of the English language cast aspersions on the quality of State education, came bumbling into my carriage I thought that perhaps my luck had ran out. I was scared enough to turn my engagement ring around so that the stone was resting in my hand, out of sight of any casual glances. I also ignored my phone as it told me I had received a text message. I sat in silence trying to study their faces (so I could describe them to the police) without being noticed. I almost went into shock when the only other person in the carriage got off the train, as I was dreading being left alone in carriage with the young men.
So was I mugged, harassed or stabbed? Well off course not, the boys were simply hiding in that particular carriage because they didn’t have tickets. Irritating and illegal yes, but barely an offence to put the fear of God in my heart at the sight of them. They appeared to be students at the Further Education College near my office and were really just minding their own business for most of the journey, though they did decide to take over the whole carriage and shout across me. They were simply bad mannered, nothing, apparently, to be afraid of.
So why was I scared? Well in recent years several young people have attacked and killed members of the public. Incidentally I was not afraid because they were black youths, I was scared because they were youths, period. Teenagers appear to have been running rampant.
The first I heard of the violence that has permeated youth culture was an incident in Canning Town, East London, when a gang of teenagers, who had been threatening a family for several months, shot the young father because he finally stood up to them. This was followed by a several teenagers being stabbed or shot in various parts of London, some killed as they sleeping in their beds. Then there was Mr Newlove, who was beaten to death outside his home in Cheshire after he confronted a gang for scratching his wife’s car. This week the newspapers have been reporting about the stabbing of a young mother whilst she was trying to stop a fight on a night out. It was her first night out since the birth of her child. Then there is the young man who was killed after standing up to two teenagers who threw a half eaten chocolate bar into his sisters car. And these are just the attacks I have paid attention to and remembered.
To exacerbate the perception I have of young people I watched a programme on television that followed gangs in Glasgow and South London, showing the most meaningless violent acts performed by children as young as ten.
So what is causing this behaviour in the young people? As always, the youth involved are from the more under privileged areas of the country; people from broken homes and broken communities. Would I have been frightened this morning if the boys had been dressed in public school uniforms and speaking with public school accents? No, off course not, money and privilege would have given them the appearance of being safe to be around and to be fair incidents of Public school boys attacking people on the street are rare.
It could be said that they are too ambitious to engage in random attacks on the general public. They are generally conditioned to put their energies into going to best universities, getting the best job even sometimes the best partners. They also tend to be have access to facilities that allow them to engage in sport, learn musical instruments or perhaps nurture artistic talent. In short their time, minds and bodies are occupied.
It appears that for poorer children, the apparent lack of opportunities to better themselves as well as the lack of entertainment choices manifests itself as ennui. The gangs of Glasgow and South London sighted boredom as the main reason they became involved in violent acts; they simply had nothing to do so they fought with children from other estates.
I was quite shocked to watch this, because when I think about the poorer young residents of Lusaka, they tend occupy themselves by finding a job as maids or gardeners. At worst they will resort to stealing to eat rather than killing people for fun. Perhaps I am unaware of what is truly going on in the communities that would be comparable in my country but we simply do not get reports of children killing each other for the sake of it.
What’s the difference? Our societies are structured differently. The police officer in the Newlove case sights cheap alcohol and lack of parental responsibility. I would add the break down of community spirit in a lot of these areas. When I was growing up if one of my “aunties” of “uncles” saw me doing something my parents would not like they intervened. I had boundaries wherever I went because everyone was watching me. And, in the UK at least, it is entirely the government fault.
Several policies have led to an economic situation that has led to many state schools selling off their sports facilities and excessive health and safety rules have resulted in teachers being afraid to take children on field trips, leading to idle hours where there previously were none The advent of the Nanny State, in which the state micro manages our lives, has led to people abdicating responsibility not only for their own actions but for their children’s. They do not have to manage their children because it is the state’s responsibility to do so or perhaps they cannot deal with certain issues with their children because the government has not told them what to do in this situation.
This has resulted in children not really being shown the difference between right and wrong. And it is a self perpetuating cycle as these children grow up and have children, teaching them the same amoral violent attitudes. A proportion of the gang members in Glasgow were third generation gang members a situation that makes it difficult for them to see that it is possible to live life differently.
This story however, has a happy ending as several charities have began to take an interest in the plight of these youths and give them something to do beside beating each other with metal objects. They have created clubs where they can hang out together or get involved in sport and generally be in a safe environment. This has given some of the youths hope and taken them off the street.
As these programmes of change continue to rescue our young people, I hope I will be less prejudice against the young. I hope I will begin to feel safer around them. And perhaps I will be less inclined to paint them with the brush created by sensualist media headlines.
Black beauty?
It was London Fashion week last week and as per usual, among the catwalk shows and outrageous clothing, a debate was raging. Last year the argument was about the use of “size 0” models; this year it surrounded the lack of Black or Asian models on the catwalk, a topic that has long been discussed and discarded in Europe.
The question “why” has often been answered by fashion industry with the argument that ethnic models are harder to sell. In other words the clients don’t want them. Their clients, the clothing and cosmetics companies as well as the magazines, argue that their customers cannot relate to ethnic models, despite the fact that the populations of large European cities such as Paris and London are more than 20% ethnic. I suppose what they really saying is that their products are not marketed at ethnic minorities; that is not where the "big money" is.
Regardless of their reasons for it, it is obvious that the fashion industry is biased against ethnic minority models. Naomi Campbell, the most famous of the Black European models and the most vocal against discrimination in the fashion industry, has been quoted as saying she had a little help form her friends all the way. Other models would have to threaten to boycott catwalk shows if designers refused to use her before she was led backstage and she contends that she would never have graced the cover of French Vogue if Yves Saint Laurent had not threatened to pull his adverts. Yves Saint Laurent, who was the first designer to use black models in his catwalk shows way back in the 1970s, has long been a supporter of ethnic models, as has Dame Vivien Westwood. The scenes during last weeks fashion shows proved that they are in the minority as hundreds of white models walked the catwalk, with one or two ethnic minorities trailing them.
So is the real reason that there is no demand for ethnic minority models or is it simply that we in Europe are racist? Many advertising campaigns have been “white washed” so to speak. Ford was greatly admonished in the 1990’s for removing the faces of its black employees from a picture contained in an advertising drive when it was run in Spain. Last year Santander, a Spanish owned bank removed Lewis Hamilton from its campaign pictures in Spain. There was outrage in France when it was alleged that L'Oréal had described the women they wanted to front a 2000 advertising promotion as 18 to 22 and "BBR," the initials for "bleu, blanc, rouge," or blue, white, red - the colours of the French flag a designation know by French agencies to mean white.
It is easy for us in the UK to be smug about the number of black faces in our advertising but how “black” are they? When I first saw the Marks and Spencer adverts featuring Noémie Lenoir, the Black French model I did not realise that she was black, so close is she to looking like a white woman. Everywhere you look there are women who could pass for white passing for black models. How often do we have Alek Wek gracing the cover of mainstream glossy magazine?
As much as we would like to point the finger it is not just Europe where the majority of people believe that true feminine beauty is white or as close to it as one can get. I remember being at school in Kenya when a girl was described as only capable of being pretty in the eyes of other black people albeit by a white girl. There were a lot of black people nodding in agreement as she said it. Then there was the blond never could tan girl, who in reality was as plain as could be but somehow became the definition of beauty.
This is not a new thing, if you read descriptions of beauty in English literature there is often mention of milky white skin. Look closely at the descriptions of the beautiful body and there is little mention of behinds that are often a feature of the black woman’s body.
Black women the world over use skin lightening creams and straighten their hair in a bid to have “good” hair. We go on extreme diets in order to attempt to conform to the definition of beauty that we see around us, that is marketed to us by the very companies that refuse to use black models. We are complicit in the message that white is beautiful.
In the face of societies perception of beauty perhaps the argument for using white models is not that black beauty does not sell; conceivably it is simply that the majority, even some black people, do not believe it exists.
The question “why” has often been answered by fashion industry with the argument that ethnic models are harder to sell. In other words the clients don’t want them. Their clients, the clothing and cosmetics companies as well as the magazines, argue that their customers cannot relate to ethnic models, despite the fact that the populations of large European cities such as Paris and London are more than 20% ethnic. I suppose what they really saying is that their products are not marketed at ethnic minorities; that is not where the "big money" is.
Regardless of their reasons for it, it is obvious that the fashion industry is biased against ethnic minority models. Naomi Campbell, the most famous of the Black European models and the most vocal against discrimination in the fashion industry, has been quoted as saying she had a little help form her friends all the way. Other models would have to threaten to boycott catwalk shows if designers refused to use her before she was led backstage and she contends that she would never have graced the cover of French Vogue if Yves Saint Laurent had not threatened to pull his adverts. Yves Saint Laurent, who was the first designer to use black models in his catwalk shows way back in the 1970s, has long been a supporter of ethnic models, as has Dame Vivien Westwood. The scenes during last weeks fashion shows proved that they are in the minority as hundreds of white models walked the catwalk, with one or two ethnic minorities trailing them.
So is the real reason that there is no demand for ethnic minority models or is it simply that we in Europe are racist? Many advertising campaigns have been “white washed” so to speak. Ford was greatly admonished in the 1990’s for removing the faces of its black employees from a picture contained in an advertising drive when it was run in Spain. Last year Santander, a Spanish owned bank removed Lewis Hamilton from its campaign pictures in Spain. There was outrage in France when it was alleged that L'Oréal had described the women they wanted to front a 2000 advertising promotion as 18 to 22 and "BBR," the initials for "bleu, blanc, rouge," or blue, white, red - the colours of the French flag a designation know by French agencies to mean white.
It is easy for us in the UK to be smug about the number of black faces in our advertising but how “black” are they? When I first saw the Marks and Spencer adverts featuring Noémie Lenoir, the Black French model I did not realise that she was black, so close is she to looking like a white woman. Everywhere you look there are women who could pass for white passing for black models. How often do we have Alek Wek gracing the cover of mainstream glossy magazine?
As much as we would like to point the finger it is not just Europe where the majority of people believe that true feminine beauty is white or as close to it as one can get. I remember being at school in Kenya when a girl was described as only capable of being pretty in the eyes of other black people albeit by a white girl. There were a lot of black people nodding in agreement as she said it. Then there was the blond never could tan girl, who in reality was as plain as could be but somehow became the definition of beauty.
This is not a new thing, if you read descriptions of beauty in English literature there is often mention of milky white skin. Look closely at the descriptions of the beautiful body and there is little mention of behinds that are often a feature of the black woman’s body.
Black women the world over use skin lightening creams and straighten their hair in a bid to have “good” hair. We go on extreme diets in order to attempt to conform to the definition of beauty that we see around us, that is marketed to us by the very companies that refuse to use black models. We are complicit in the message that white is beautiful.
In the face of societies perception of beauty perhaps the argument for using white models is not that black beauty does not sell; conceivably it is simply that the majority, even some black people, do not believe it exists.
The wedding planning blues
I am finally going to a wedding. I have to go, it is my own. I have always dreaded the thought of having a wedding. However, I managed to circumvent much stress through extensive research and all out action. I am not patient enough to spend eight months planning an event; I have other things to do with my life! I ensured most of the major decisions were made in about three weeks and carried on with my existence.
Yet despite my obsessively organised approach to the planning and dissemination of information, people have still managed to stress me out. Now, just two months before the event, people are coming forward to say they would like to come, asking for information that I have already given them or that is readily available from other sources or that I cannot actually supply as I am not a travel agent/doctor/omnipresent all knowing being.
I realise from my experience why the saying “weddings and funerals bring out the best and the worst in people” was coined. The people that you least expect to become demanding and insensitive in ways that are exasperating. I once read a letter in a magazine where a woman, who was (by her own description) heavily pregnant and had a very young child, wrote about how outraged she was that her sister did not pick her to be her Maid of Honour.
People seem to think that a wedding is a big free party, thrown together at a moments notice and they are owed something, that they have rights depending on who they are and how long they have known you. Few people seem to understand that weddings require a great deal of planning and actually cost money.
Weddings are notorious for being extraordinarily expensive events and yet the cost does not seem to occur to people. Many simply see it as a way to get a free meal and some drinks of their choice. I have had people demanding that the drink they normally have be on the menu without a thought that they might be the only ones drinking it.
Most people also don’t consider that the wedding is a celebration of the bride and groom, of their union. I cannot tell you the number of times I have been told that this wedding is not about me, so I should accommodate my cousin’s brother in law’s uncle’s youngest sister’s son’s nephew’s request not to have nuts in the wedding cake or bring his wife that I have never met and who could care less if I got married or not. Most likely she is coming for the wine, or the free food.
It has off course not been all bad. The people that have shocked me with their behaviour are my parents. They have listened to me, and been supportive of my wants and decision. I was prepared to fight demands for a bigger wedding; they are after all Zambians. They have not insisted that we go the traditional route and have the “kitchen party” and Matebeto and all the extra celebrations that these events attract in Zambia.
If my partner and I were both Zambian it would be a given that I would have, depending on tribe, had a kitchen party, which is a get together for the women on both sides so that the older women can give advice to the bride as well as give her items for her new kitchen. This may have been followed by a matebeto, an event where the women of the bride’s family cook for the men of the groom’s family. This is a mostly northern tradition that is intended to show the groom’s family what the groom will be eating in his new home. There is a similar event in the eastern province but the food is not cooked. There would perhaps have been hiding of the bride or the killing of a white chicken in the early morning and other revelries that all have a place in our traditions.
There are many traditions related to marriage in my country but the thing that stands out about most is that they are about bringing the community together to celebrate the coming together of the two people, the continuation of the family and by extension the tribe. The members of the community are happy to help with the proceedings, be it giving advice to the couple or a present or assisting with the food preparations. It seems that although the traditions are sometimes testing for the couple, they are ultimately supportive, an attempt to give the couple the best possible chance of staying together.
So people’s insistence that weddings are not about the bride and groom makes me wonder when the coming together of two people became about everyone else. For all the talk of “it’s the bringing together of two families”, we must not forget that without the couple there would be no coming together.
As for me, I hope I remember how I am feeling when my children want to get married.
Yet despite my obsessively organised approach to the planning and dissemination of information, people have still managed to stress me out. Now, just two months before the event, people are coming forward to say they would like to come, asking for information that I have already given them or that is readily available from other sources or that I cannot actually supply as I am not a travel agent/doctor/omnipresent all knowing being.
I realise from my experience why the saying “weddings and funerals bring out the best and the worst in people” was coined. The people that you least expect to become demanding and insensitive in ways that are exasperating. I once read a letter in a magazine where a woman, who was (by her own description) heavily pregnant and had a very young child, wrote about how outraged she was that her sister did not pick her to be her Maid of Honour.
People seem to think that a wedding is a big free party, thrown together at a moments notice and they are owed something, that they have rights depending on who they are and how long they have known you. Few people seem to understand that weddings require a great deal of planning and actually cost money.
Weddings are notorious for being extraordinarily expensive events and yet the cost does not seem to occur to people. Many simply see it as a way to get a free meal and some drinks of their choice. I have had people demanding that the drink they normally have be on the menu without a thought that they might be the only ones drinking it.
Most people also don’t consider that the wedding is a celebration of the bride and groom, of their union. I cannot tell you the number of times I have been told that this wedding is not about me, so I should accommodate my cousin’s brother in law’s uncle’s youngest sister’s son’s nephew’s request not to have nuts in the wedding cake or bring his wife that I have never met and who could care less if I got married or not. Most likely she is coming for the wine, or the free food.
It has off course not been all bad. The people that have shocked me with their behaviour are my parents. They have listened to me, and been supportive of my wants and decision. I was prepared to fight demands for a bigger wedding; they are after all Zambians. They have not insisted that we go the traditional route and have the “kitchen party” and Matebeto and all the extra celebrations that these events attract in Zambia.
If my partner and I were both Zambian it would be a given that I would have, depending on tribe, had a kitchen party, which is a get together for the women on both sides so that the older women can give advice to the bride as well as give her items for her new kitchen. This may have been followed by a matebeto, an event where the women of the bride’s family cook for the men of the groom’s family. This is a mostly northern tradition that is intended to show the groom’s family what the groom will be eating in his new home. There is a similar event in the eastern province but the food is not cooked. There would perhaps have been hiding of the bride or the killing of a white chicken in the early morning and other revelries that all have a place in our traditions.
There are many traditions related to marriage in my country but the thing that stands out about most is that they are about bringing the community together to celebrate the coming together of the two people, the continuation of the family and by extension the tribe. The members of the community are happy to help with the proceedings, be it giving advice to the couple or a present or assisting with the food preparations. It seems that although the traditions are sometimes testing for the couple, they are ultimately supportive, an attempt to give the couple the best possible chance of staying together.
So people’s insistence that weddings are not about the bride and groom makes me wonder when the coming together of two people became about everyone else. For all the talk of “it’s the bringing together of two families”, we must not forget that without the couple there would be no coming together.
As for me, I hope I remember how I am feeling when my children want to get married.
A Rose by any other name?
About a month ago a gentleman called me “coloured”. To put this in context he was a 71-year-old Irish man who was trying to be friendly. He did not realise I might possibly be insulted. I wasn’t, I understood how at his age he could be confused by the nomenclature surrounding non-white people, even I am not sure what everyone is calling themselves at the moment.
The most interesting thing for me has been the observation of differences in attitude towards certain appellations across Africa and Europe. When I first arrived in London for example I worked with a girl of mixed heritage from Cape Town in South Africa who referred to herself as “coloured”. She could not understand why people were offended or taken aback. When I lived in Kenya people like her were widely referred to as “half caste” and it wasn’t until I read about the caste systems in India that I realise this may be offensive. No one ever batted an eyelid at the reference.
In Zambia they are “point fives”, the implication of which I did not consider until I saw a letter to the editor of a newspaper written by someone of mixed race heritage from Zambia iterating that they are a whole being. In Zambia I can understand where this name comes from as the word for a black person in most of our languages could also be translated as person. So my ancestors saw themselves as people and then had to define these beings that though similar to them were still very different.
Indians too, have been called all kinds of things most of them unrepeatable but some of which in some circles have become acceptable. I remember once being shocked as one of my black workmates referred to someone as a “coolie”. When I tried to explain to her that this was rude, tantamount to using the N word she told me she told me it was a compliment. It meant that the person was lighter skinned and had “nicer” hair than most other black people.
In a discussion of names black people are tops when it comes to causing confusion because in the end we call ourselves so many things we confound the whole world, including ourselves. There are many people who cannot understand why it is ok for black people to use the N word to each other and yet be offended when someone else uses it. I had an Indian friend at boarding school, who was very into hip-hop and used it all the time. She was almost lynched when she made the mistake of using it in front o group of black girls outside of school.
It is never easy to tell what will offend and what is acceptable. I made the mistake of referring to some Zambian girls as Negroes. Their looks could have stopped my heart. So in the end if everything is acceptable to someone, what exactly is unacceptable? Although there are some things I would prefer not to be called, I tend to feel that I am more than what people call me and will take things in the spirit that they are meant and try to react accordingly.
After all I am more than the designation thrust upon me by others.
The most interesting thing for me has been the observation of differences in attitude towards certain appellations across Africa and Europe. When I first arrived in London for example I worked with a girl of mixed heritage from Cape Town in South Africa who referred to herself as “coloured”. She could not understand why people were offended or taken aback. When I lived in Kenya people like her were widely referred to as “half caste” and it wasn’t until I read about the caste systems in India that I realise this may be offensive. No one ever batted an eyelid at the reference.
In Zambia they are “point fives”, the implication of which I did not consider until I saw a letter to the editor of a newspaper written by someone of mixed race heritage from Zambia iterating that they are a whole being. In Zambia I can understand where this name comes from as the word for a black person in most of our languages could also be translated as person. So my ancestors saw themselves as people and then had to define these beings that though similar to them were still very different.
Indians too, have been called all kinds of things most of them unrepeatable but some of which in some circles have become acceptable. I remember once being shocked as one of my black workmates referred to someone as a “coolie”. When I tried to explain to her that this was rude, tantamount to using the N word she told me she told me it was a compliment. It meant that the person was lighter skinned and had “nicer” hair than most other black people.
In a discussion of names black people are tops when it comes to causing confusion because in the end we call ourselves so many things we confound the whole world, including ourselves. There are many people who cannot understand why it is ok for black people to use the N word to each other and yet be offended when someone else uses it. I had an Indian friend at boarding school, who was very into hip-hop and used it all the time. She was almost lynched when she made the mistake of using it in front o group of black girls outside of school.
It is never easy to tell what will offend and what is acceptable. I made the mistake of referring to some Zambian girls as Negroes. Their looks could have stopped my heart. So in the end if everything is acceptable to someone, what exactly is unacceptable? Although there are some things I would prefer not to be called, I tend to feel that I am more than what people call me and will take things in the spirit that they are meant and try to react accordingly.
After all I am more than the designation thrust upon me by others.
Racism, once again
There has been a media uproar at the treatment that Lewis Hamilton, the black British Formula one driver, suffered as he was practicing in Spain two weeks ago.
For those of you who don’t live in the UK and have no interest in formula one, Lewis Hamilton is the 21-year-old racing sensation who captivated the country in his rookie season last year. His entry on to the Formula one stage gave a chance to the British hope of once again achieving F1 glory. He is also the first black driver in the 56-year history of formula one. Though in the end he only managed to come second in the drivers contest, he brought F1 into the limelight again especially among black people, most of who had previously had no interest in the sport.
So what happened to him? Seven fans of Spaniard Fernando Alonso were seen dressed in dark, curly wigs, with blacked-up faces and wearing T-shirts bearing the words “Hamilton’s family” at the Montmelo circuit near Barcelona. Some other fans shouted racist abuse at the him, taunting him. Formula One’s governing body, the FIA, launched an investigation and threatened to ban Spain from holding grands prix in Barcelona and Valencia.
This is not the first time Hamilton has been racially abused by the Spanish. In Oct 2007, following tension between Hamilton and Alonso, then team mates at McLaren, Spanish F1 fans posted racist anti-Hamilton messages on websites. When there were complaints Spain's head of motor racing, Carlos Garcia, claimed Britain was a racist country and said it was paradoxical that British fans were supporting a black driver.
In my opinion it is unlikely that the FIA will do anything about the abuse. After the media have forgotten it we will all just carry on. Why do I say this? Well, this is not the first time that a black sportsman has been abused in Spain.
There was outrage when Luis Aragones, the coach of the Spanish national football team, was caught on camera in October 2004 calling Thierry Henry, the French footballer then star striker at the premier league team Arsenal, a "negro de mierda". For those of us who don’t speak Spanish it was translated in all the papers as “black s***." Aragones was unmoved by the outrage, claiming he had done nothing wrong. Nor did he apologise to Henry.
In November the same year, during England's friendly with Spain at the Bernabeu Stadium in Madrid, Ashley Cole, Shaun Wright-Phillips and Jermain Defoe were subjected to sustained monkey chants and racial insults. In February 2006 Barcelona and Cameroon striker Samuel Eto'o threatened to walk off the pitch after being subjected to relentless abuse in a match at Real Zaragoza. I watched this game on television and I can tell you Eto’o was, rightly, not a happy man. This was not the first time he had been racially abused and he was tired of it and frankly so am I. I cannot imagine how he felt when Zaragoza were fined just £450.
When will FIA, UEFA, FIFA and the other sporting bodies realise that they cannot continue to ignore the problem, they cannot continue to allow this behaviour to go ahead unpunished. And let us not pretend it is just in Spain or Black people who are abused. There have been numerous abuses in France and Italy including an incident in the 2006 Champions league campaign when Dida the Brazilian and AC Milan goalkeeper had a glow stick throw at him in Italy. Indian and Pakistani cricketers suffer the same treatment in Australia and South Africa, some even accusing the umpires of being racist showing that the problem is not simply the ignorance of the fans. What we should be asking now is why are these people allowed to get away with this, why is this not something that is dealt with severely?
I think it is best to look at who runs these sports and therein lies the answer. Essentially in Europe most of the governing bodies are still old boys clubs run by white men, with a few token minorities thrown in for the sake of appearances. And no matter how hard they try white men find it difficult to understand what it feels like to be discriminated against, because it is rare that they experience it in any form. A prime example of this lack of understanding presented itself this morning when one of the men in my office gave a speech stating that he thought Hamilton should just ignore it and carry on, he could not understand why Hamilton would be hurt by this kind of abuse.
If the people making the rules and handing out the punishments cannot empathise with a situation they are unlikely to react to it in an appropriate manner. They may take it seriously but in the end they cannot understand what the best course of action would be, because they cannot understand the feelings of those who are being hurt. So the solution is to strive to change the make up of the governing bodies before we can expect to see them acting with appropriate strength and decisiveness to rid sport of racism.
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