Easter Blog: My Abstinence

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n Ash Wednesday I found I needed something to give up. At the time, I had sinusitis and I was reading an online blog explaining how caffeine exacerbates the congestion. I also had a Twitter tab open, full of bilious ravings and to which I was oddly addicted. The answer seemed providentially to present itself: give up coffee and Twitter.

I had thought that, of the two, Twitter would be the hardest to defeat, spending as I did so many fruitless hours flicking through it on my phone. Coffee was a delicious drink, merely. How hard could it be?

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affeine withdrawal lasted a full two weeks. I had a chronic headache which, at times, was as bad as a migraine. I was anxious, internalising everything, ratty, explosive and, I guess, bloody awful company. Some people told me I was mad; others, that I should wean myself off more slowly. But I decided that I had stumbled upon a dependency. This made it a matter of urgency that I should overcome it: I held on and grimaced through the pain. People ask me how I did it. The answer is always the same: sheer force of will.

But with Easter comes release from my abstinence. Do I really propose to wean myself back onto this drug? I sleep better, my moods are better regulated, my skin is better, my energy reserves last longer…admittedly, my appetite is increased, making weight management tougher, but this is a small price to pay. The answer is that I must learn to love decaff at weekends only, which I used to consider with scorn and slight regard.

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corn and slight regard on Twitter made it easy to stay away, more so than expected. I have now deleted the app from my phone, removing both the means and the temptation. I am clear that if I were not already on Twitter, I would not now join it, and I say that with a sense of sorrow, for when I joined, it was both useful and fun. At moments of high news, occasionally I would break my abstinence, but only in order to check specific people, such as the Brexit wonk Henry Newman or journalist James Forsyth, who can be relied upon to give the commentary I need to keep in the loop. Otherwise, I felt fair liberated from the corrosiveness of all that I habitually read on there.

That changed with Notre Dame. The BBC news live feed was updating infrequently, even as the fire raged, and in my gut I felt a tension to know if the building could be saved: I spent the evening on Twitter. I ought to have saved myself the bother. News – as in, news – came no faster than on the BBC. But misbehaviour was endemic. I shall not detail the things I read: suffice it to say it reminded me of why I put it down. It was mostly narcissism and baiting and I felt as though I were locked in a dungeon in Hell surrounded by all the Furies.

But as I have a minor following, it would be silly to throw it away. This blog is a case in point, promoted on my Twitter page. Just as I learned to manage my caffeine problem, so shall I manage my Twitter problem: I shall mute or unfollow all contentious, trolllish accounts so that my feed is healthy to read. And I do mean healthy, for I am firmly of the view that much of what seeps through is poison to the mind.

Can Writing Heal the Brexit Wounds?

Can Writing Heal the Brexit Wounds?

Channel 4: Uncivil War

I have not seen the recent Channel 4 drama, Uncivil War. I doubt I will. I expect it will be too painful. But I have heard much in its praise, especially from partisan sources on social media which suggest it does not take sides and that it paints no one in a particularly flattering light. One comment I saw - from a leave supporter - suggested that anyone who was able to watch it without reflecting upon their own position was beyond reason. 

This got me thinking about how art might start to respond to events. It has to respond at some point, but because we are still undergoing the process, it is less able to do so, unable as I think we are to take a clear perspective on things. But perhaps the time is arriving, and this drama in particular is the first sign of art trying to help us process the pain?

Healing

Some kind of healing will be necessary. The archbishop of Canterbury has called for some government leadership in order to facilitate this, though I wonder if, rather than imploring the government, it were better the church seize the initiative and do it instead. Either way, he is right that this mood cannot be allowed to fester. He has a model to follow in this in the Church of Scotland, which held a service of unity following the 2014 referendum, though I know of none of its work in this area since that time. 

But what of the rest of us? Just as I argue Welby cannot simply wait for the government to take the lead but should seize the initiative himself, so too I argue the rest of us have a duty to do the same, whatever our place in society. If I am right about Uncivil War, then television and drama might already have made a start here. 

Harming

There is, of course, a danger. Words can heal, and words can harm. A cursory glance over social media should reveal just how ghastly some people are determined to be right now. Even in more formal work, there will be a number of people who relish opening fire at those who vote differently to them, or share a different vision. Such behaviour is the outcome of a petty mind, impossible to reason with; the product of character that desires not to reconcile but only to denounce. Most recently, the BBC version of Poirot at new year falsified history in order to associate the leave vote with fascism, so it has already started. I therefore state, with total confidence, that poisonous, tendentious and polemical work will naturally constitute the weakest work, most worthy to be disposed.

The form it should take

As suggested above, the perspective that time lends to us will enable us better to make sense of what we have been through, and I don't believe we are securely in that place, even if one good drama has made a start. Sometimes, these events will need to be tackled head on. At other times, it might help to explore these things through allegory.

It is easy to conjecture how. Take some of the factors of these times:

• long term friends falling out
• irreconcilable interests between different parties, factions or groups
• paranoia, denunciation, suspicion
• political rhetoric and its power for good and ill
• identity
• borders

and anything else you care to mention. All of these things can be discussed in drama, literature, art, music, whatever, without having to revive the myriad ghosts that lurk behind the spectre of Brexit, and this might help to reduce the inflammation. 

My own contribution

I have a first draft of a novel which does some of what I argue for, totally by accident. The story requires a hard political border and tension between two states. I invented a parallel world in which one of those states is the former capital city of the other, but which seceded several generations before. I conceived of the idea before the 2015 general election, when Brexit had not come into view, whilst out walking on Southborough common, soaking up the beauty of the place in the sunshine and contemplating the difference between my life in Kent and my old life in London. But if anyone were to read it now, not knowing these things, they would naturally see Brexit in it. I am comfortable with that. My world being a false creation, I can present secession without presenting a view on it, or alienating those who do come to it with their own views. 

Now I just need to redraft and get the blasted thing published.

Conclusion

It helps that I conceived of this story before Brexit, for I might not have been able to handle it so dispassionately in this atmosphere. But that only makes it more urgent that we try: feeding feuds and despising your neighbour, chewing the gristle of old grudge - this is easy, even satisfying; to reconcile requires good will and determination, which is in short supply at present. That is why Welby, and all of us who desire to reconcile, should find ways, including ans especially in writing, to seize the initiative, for otherwise we will be in the power of those who relish discord.

Reasons for Optimism

Reasons for optimism

What a world.

But there are reasons to be cheerful. Polonius-like, I shall be brief.

· If the West be in a state of revolution, and I think we are, then it is the most peaceful in history, done with votes instead of pitchforks or bombs. (I might be counting my chickens, but at time of publication, this holds true.)

· Brexit might work. Lots of countries have expressed interest in forging closer relations with us, including America (except for Obama, who is halfway out the door) and New Zealand. Furthermore, the referendum might have woken our democracy from its deep slumber, and lead to a democratic renewal in England. All of us must play our part, and move on from these traumatic and tormenting events with courage. We really are all in this together, and that is a good thing.

· Politics will stabilise. The Tories look set to reunite, and if Labour split (as they must surely do) the social-democratic wing should be able to renew itself with clarity and vigour, and provide the effective opposition that every democracy needs. This might be the shake-up our party system has needed.

· Women are set to take charge. Probably Theresa May, possibly Andrea Leadsome in Britain; already Merkel in Germany; probably Clinton in the USA. If there were any doubts that the glass ceiling was rebuilt after Thatcher left, then it must surely be shattered now. And it wouldn't be the first time the England had turned to a woman for her salvation in her hour of need.

· We can heal; divisions can be reversed. If there are two nations now in Britain and America, then at least we know it; and now that we know, we can start to do something about it.

· If it takes Brexit to wake the EU up to the dangers of its own making, then maybe - maybe - it can reform and save itself, for it is an accident of timing that popular pressure exploded in England first - I had always expected Greece to be the first to fall away from the EU. And if the EU cannot, or refuses to reform itself, then perhaps it is for the best if it pass into history, as it surely will.

· Social media never reflects reality. People must soon realise this. It's time to switch it off. Those who can't switch it off can be relied upon to get hysterical; it is safe and acceptable to ignore these people.

· We have survived worse. Probably. I think.

Fear and Loathing in Education

For those who grow weary of hacks, politicians, tweetsters and political anoraks who lecture us, and know little whereof they lecture us, read this piece by Anthony Seldonin the Guardian’s Comment is Free.

Ever get the feeling they're playing games with our lives?

I am a trainee teacher at the University of Exeter, on the traditional PGCE route. This term, we are mainly based at University but we spend a month of it on school placements. We are studying the theories that underpin teaching. This includes how children learn, learn to learn and (crucially for and English teacher) learn to read, amongst other things. You might think it’s obvious. You would be wrong. That’s the whole point of my being here.

Next term, I shall be on placement, in a school in Dorchester.

The term after that, I shall be on placement again, in a school on the Isle of Portland.

Shall we do the maths together? I shall spend two terms in school for (less than) one term in University. Let us express my training time as a ratio – 2:1.

This is not a recent innovation at Exeter, there is no old model which shunned school-based training but which is now overturned. Other universities arrange their terms differently, mixing weeks spent on campus with those spent in schools, but the school/university ratio is still basically the same – 2:1.

When Seldon refers to ‘the bulk of training’ now being ‘on the job’, he means the ‘Schools Direct’ scheme which has notionally moved training out of universities and into the classroom. This is misleading. It works like this: rather than applying to a university, applicants apply to a school. However, each training place is still affiliated to a university. In some cases, it is entirely true that training is exclusively in schools. In other cases, the trainee spends, say, one day in five at University, the rest of the week in school. But in many other cases, the difference between the PGCE model and School Direct Model is negligible. There are School Direct trainees on my own course at Exeter, for instance. That ratio again – 2:1. So there is a range of models in practice, there is no dichotomy between university and ‘on the job’ training.

Seldon would do well to look into teacher training before publishing his opinions about it. However, my beef is less with this article than with the trend which this article represents. How many hacks and politicians are, of a sudden, experts in education?

Would you like to explain this
to the children, or shall I?

On one point, Seldon is right. Nick Clegg is wrong to suggest that qualifications = good, no qualifications = bad. It’s nowhere as simple as that. However, Seldon is making the same mistake in framing the issue as being about the intrinsic value of qualifications, almost taking the extreme opposite view of a PGCE as being worse than useless. Most independent schools still prefer qualified teachers. The freedom they have to appoint unqualified teachers is precisely that – a freedom, to be exercised when the school judge fit. It is not the expression of a philosophy about the relative merits of teacher training.

But Clegg’s intervention was never about education. If his concern were genuine, he would have said something in Summer 2010. This is an overtly political manoeuvre to appease the Labour party (and maybe the unions too), nothing more. Just think tuition fees – that’s how Clegg behaves on policy.

King Lear with Cordelia.
Teaching this is not child's play.

It is as though politicians assume everything will fall apart without their meddling, that doctors, nurses and teachers depend on vote-chasers in order to do their jobs. But the press and commentariat is hardly better. Seldon’s idea of teachers as being analogous to parents renders the whole of education as an eleven-year day-care scheme. His idea of teacher training being merely ‘picking it up on the job’ – or, as I call it, learning by osmosis – is, one suspects, a model he would not endorse for his own children’s education. His comparison with vets and dentists to frame the idea of teachers as being born and not made is comical. It only takes a moment to knock it down. True, a dentist needs plenty of training to operate on one’s mouth, but she won’t get very far if she feel sick at the sight of rotten teeth or suffer from an acute sense of smell and aversion to halitosis. Regardless her scientific pedigree, a vet won’t flourish if she be ‘really more of a cat person’ and have problems with dogs and pet rats. ‘Born and not made’ is just a phrase that describes someone who exceeds his or her training, not an argument for doing away with it.

Seldon helps shape opinion, Clegg determines policy in government. The contributions of both of them are disappointing, but sadly common. Take one look over Twitter and Comment is Free and ask yourself if these are the best people to decide how to educate our young.

Amy Winehouse and Performing grief

I must first state for the record two things: the death of Amy Winehouse is tragic. She burnt herself out, as the brightest flames often do, and although I bought none of her records, yet I well remember how she provided the soundtrack to life, everywhere I went in bars, clubs and living rooms, for many years.

The second thing I need to say is that 'performative' emotion is not really my field, so my views may seem underdeveloped, obvious and lacking maturity. Thus, I need to explain myself. The reason I am writing is because I found something today which really irritated me, on the BBC website:

'Close friend Kelly Osbourne paid tribute to Winehouse via micro-blogging site Twitter. "Cant even breath right my now im crying so hard I just lost 1 of my best friends. I love you forever Amy & will never forget the real you," she said.'

I don't wish to question that Miss Osborne feels grief, but I want to know how this 'tweet' is a 'tribute' to '1 of [her] best friends'? As far as I can tell, this 'tweet' is an advert for Miss Osborne: how close she was to this fallen star, so close that only she will 'never forget the real' Amy; how violently the news has affected her, to the point where she 'can't even breath' through her tears; and how, even having lost Amy in the undiscovered country, their bond endures into the next life, addressing her directly 'I love you forever Amy'.

No tribute to her talents, no thoughts for her parents and family, no mention of Amy's character, flaws and perfections - no, this is all Kelly Osborne, laying it on thick.

I take her as the example of the moment, but in this regard she is hardly extraordinary. I doubt, even, that it is a phenomenon unique to our age, the tendency to hijack other's tragedies for self publication. It is undeniably much easier to do and to spot now, for the social media has brought private thoughts and feelings into the public domain; this blog is a case in point. The difference now is not so much the medium as the audience: views are now news.

The first time I noticed this was with the recent attacks in Norway: I spotted the BBC had trawled the Internet for reaction tweets. Every news item can be 'shared' across the social networks. Every news item has a comments box; I can understand the comments facility on the editors' blogs, where opinion may meet with opinion, but why an item of news requires it is less apparent. Either way, news is now not news until it has been visibly discussed.

In this regard, it is hardly surprising that 'tweets', the immediate reactions on the ground, now form part of the story. To make a Day Today formula: events + reaction = news (which means fact into doubt now goes very well indeed). The discussion of news is nothing new, of course, and has always been the essential means of a story's dissemination and survival.

The effect, however, of so directly involving reactions, of consciously embedding into the very fabric of the delivered news the commentary of the people, is that there ensues a kind of anarchy: too many voices competing for your ears. How many hundreds of thousands of tweets are yet to tweet upon poor Amy? How few will be noticed? Here's the rub: people don't comment or tweet to be ignored, they wish to be heard. In order to be heard in such a noisy place, you have to scream.

The effect is, I believe, a certain presumption: of course people want to hear what I have to say! To return a moment to Miss Osborne, before the days of Twitter, she would have had to wait for the television crew to arrive at her house, or have had audaciously to make her way to the studio, in order to display to the world just how unique was her bond with poor Amy. It would have been worth the wait, too, for the cameras and sound equipment would have done the work for her, recording her struggling for breath through her tears. The problem is that that relies on others' consent: for example, the editor might not want Kelly's histrionics, he might want instead to feature Victoria Beckham paying tribute to a fellow artist. The tweet, however, is Miss Osborne giving us her grief sans invitation. It assumes that the audience is there, that the audience is waiting for her , that it will listen when she speaks and respond thereto. At no point was she asked, and at no point does that matter.

The problem that arises from this is, I think, really quite serious. Rather than waiting for someone to ask, 'what do you think?' Kelly started with 'here is what I think'. When that becomes the common starting point, the result is that conversation ceases, and the noise of the tweets, that white noise of cyberscreams, is really people talking past each other rather than to each other, not hearing yet expecting to be heard. Miss Osborne's misnominated 'tribute' is her screaming, and its republication on the BBC is her being heard, but only in the capacity of news - there is one speaker, and one listener, there is no interaction between two people, two ideas or two camps. As her strong hints of closed intimacy suggest, the voices of others will hardly matter to her. She isn't listening.

Well, we needn't follow her example, for we can help to break this spell by listening, even when we dislike what she says.