IDEAS FROM POP CULTURE TO POLITICS, TECHNOLOGY, PHILOSOPHY, BUSINESS, MEDIA, SPORT, AND LIFE
Friday, January 26, 2007
Photo by Paul HallidayVisual sociology is a still emerging but exciting form of social practice as researchers seek to harness the powers of multimedia to contribute to understanding social life.
At Goldsmiths College, University of London my colleague Paul Halliday recently completed a 20-year photographic project of London faces and public places first inspired by a series of walks around Greenwich with his late father that opened up a new way of thinking about history, place and memory. As a module leader in Live Sociology Paul inspired my own first attempt in Deptford at exploring visual practices as an input to sociological methods.
Paul leads the MA in Photography and Urban Cultures at Goldsmiths and outlines his approach to his London photographs on the project website:
"The work is a kind of auto-ethnography of my day-to-day life harnessing the power of photography to speak a language that resonates with a part of my on-going experience of being a Londoner - in a city that fascinates, infuriates, perplexes and at times leaves me utterly lost for words. A city that I have a deep sense of shared belonging with, that continues to intoxicate me, and that I am happy to call my home."
Labels: academia, culture, london, photography, sociology
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
As a teenager in the process of establishing social and political consciousness I was swept away by John Stuart Mill's
On Liberty and questions of "the nature and limits of the power which can be legitimately exercised by society over the individual".
Witnessing the erosion of civil liberties first hand in London over the past 10 years is only slightly less startling than the appetite for public acceptance that accompanies it.
In June, 2006 Steven Jago was
arrested for carrying a placard without permission bearing the George Orwell quote: "In a time of universal deceit telling the truth is a revolutionary act". Police seized Jago's photocopies of Henry Porter's expose in pop culture magazine Vanity Fair on the erosion of civil liberties in Britain and termed it "politically motivated material".
Porter's story is a fascinating piece of journalism featuring thunderous email exchanges with Tony Blair on questions of liberty. In this contradictory land of the Magna Carta and Superman CCTV Porter's quote from Labour peer Baroness Kennedy resonates: "What we seem to have forgotten is that the state is there courtesy of us and we are not here courtesy the state".
In a continuing political spin culture of "war on terror" respect for civil liberties has taken a battering. In a 2007 survey of British Social Attitudes by the National Centre for Social Research, 80% of citizens support detention without charge for more than a week, 25% back police holding suspects for up to a week without letting them see a lawyer, and seven in 10 support compulsory identity cards for adults. In December, 2005 a peace campaigner was arrested for reading out names of soldiers killed in Iraq within half a mile of Westminster.
In the storm and rush to contain through legislation and law, liberty has found an unlikely ally in the form of UK director of public prosecutions Sir Ken Macdonald : "It is critical that we understand that this new form of terrorism carries another more subtle, perhaps equally pernicious, risk. Because it might encourage a fear-driven and inappropriate response. By that I mean it can tempt us to abandon our values. I think it important to understand that this is one of its primary purposes."
London is a city and scene of contrast, on one hand priding itself on a steely business-as-usual response to the transport bombings and on the other accepting glaring changes in the relationship of society and the individual without compliant. Macdonald reflects: "London is not a battlefield. Those innocents who were murdered on July 7 2005 were not victims of war. And the men who killed them were not, as in their vanity they claimed on their ludicrous videos, 'soldiers'. They were deluded, narcissistic inadequates. They were criminals. They were fantasists. We need to be very clear about this. On the streets of London, there is no such thing as a 'war on terror', just as there can be no such thing as a 'war on drugs'."Labels: culture, liberty, london, sociology
Monday, January 08, 2007
When considering life living in London I am equal parts Samuel Johnson ("bored of London, bored of life") and the Guardian's Lucy Magnan ("sit in a bathful of your own sweat and burn twenties"). But there is a quiet sensitivity to the city that is often underplayed. As life moves in a buzz, most of what you find comes later, like after the shutter clicks. London demands reflection.
Labels: culture, london, photography
Saturday, May 20, 2006
"Sometimes I lie awake worrying that we're trying to achieve the impossible by bringing something on this scale to London," says Helen Marriage, who masterminded the Sultan's Elephant project. "Then I think all we're doing is closing a few roads so that an elephant can trundle around, and that's not such a big deal - although a gigantic mechanical elephant does stretch the British imagination somewhat."
Fairytales are supposed to be placeless (castles or woods), timeless (once upon a time), and nameless (the youngest son or the fairest of them all). They are supposed to be folk stories filled with imaginary characters and magical events. So what happens when one comes to life?
The delightful and unexpected interactions that emerged from the elephant's path and wake from May 4-7 tell you more about London in a moment than a thousand Richard Branson commercials, Evening Standard headlines or Blairite Olympic bids. The 12m high elephant, time traveling sultan entourage, and gigantic little-girl-lost blend into the streets at a standstill. As unusual an event as this Jules Verne inspired French Royal de Luxe production appears, for those who attend it is the most natural thing in the world. The smiles on the faces of children and adults alike, the street heralds preceding his movements ("THE ELEPHANT IS COMING! THE ELEPHANT IS COMING!"), and the parades following them in a light drizzle tell a story too often muzzled by the spasms of neurotic dog-eat-dog (or is it doggie-dogg) London. After everything, it is a wonderful place to live. Just watch you don't get trampled by the big hoof of an elephant in search of love and compassion.
Click on the video below to see the final chapter in the Elephant's journey or visit the BBC's comprehensive coverage of the event, the official Sultan's Elephant site
Labels: london, theatre, video
Sunday, April 23, 2006
When describing a hustling bustling area of London you can opt for sociocultural, socioeconomic, and multicultural exemplars. Or you could just tell stories like for example what happened today when I came out of New Cross Gate station to find a man standing there with his penis hanging out of the top of his track pants.
Just standing there minding his own outside the entrance. And the really funny thing is that people just cruised along on their business, barely taking notice and not even really sidestepping. The police had arrived by the time I cleared my errands and made my way back home. They shuttled him off with a caring hand.
Labels: funny, london
Sunday, March 19, 2006
"Tonight is straight-up jazz. No fusion. No confusion," purrs legendary saxophonist Lou Donaldson into the Camden night and Jazz Cafe mic.
Rhythm and Rhyme are key ingredients of the jazz repertoire, chop in some creativity, slice and dice feeling and soul, and salt with skill. There are few cities in the world where you can just be strolling the boulevard to find a chalkboard: "Lou Donaldson and Dr Lonnie Smith ... Tonight". London is such a place and if you keep your eye on the Jazz Cafe and legendary Ronnie Scott's lineups, it just happens.
My favorite jazz is the Bluenote sound, full of blistering solos, tight rhythmic unity, chant outs (Who's making love ... to your old lady ... while you out on the road), and feet shuffling funk.
Lou Donaldson went though many phases in his career and is perhaps most classically defined as a successor to Charlie 'The Bird' Parker, a man whose name comes up on more than one occasion on this night. 50-cent and Snoop Doggy Dogg are others: "No 50 cent," Donaldson hisses. "No Snoop Doggy Dogg," now smiling, "But we did ask Snoop to send a few of his girls, Heh, Heh, Heh, naw ... he wouldn't do that."
This is the old school. These gents have been hitting the road for three decades in smoky jazz halls and private sessions. My first introduction to the good Dr Lonnie Smith was when studying jazz organ, his mastery of the Hammond B-3 unparalleled. Just watch him in the video. His perspective on life also reflects many of the characters that emerged from his era of jazz spectacular:
"But I didn't do it to be popular, or to be rich. You're already rich when you play. It's a gift from God. I was blessed, and you never forget that."
As for sweet Lou Donaldson, he is the author of my favorite jazz piece of all time: the cheery calypso of "West Indian Daddy". The stage patter seems practiced but effective with an audience who have basically come out to honour two old masters of craft.
And that seems like the season we are in. What with sudden recognition of the genius of Johnny Cash and the persistent Neil Diamond, maybe Rick Rubin should get his hands on sweet Lou. At the least, each of us in our way should take a moment to celebrate the musicians of this world. Donaldson is on side.
"Here we are going to play a song from the best jazzman of all time. And you know who I'm talking about."
He glances across the crowd but heads are bobbing in different directions: "Coltrane? Parker? Aretha? Miles? Louie?"
The first bars of "What a Wonderful World" slip from his alto saxophone and the answer is clear (see video). He bee-bops on the mic at the end with the classic salut: "Oooooh Yeeaaaah".
Labels: london, music, video
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
London Project is underway at
City University in the Department of
Journalism and Publishing. Students in the MA International Journalism program hit the streets from March 6-17 telling the stories of
London places between 12pm-1pm each day. Visit the website for already published stories of
London faces and
London icons that describe the London experience. Make sure to visit
journalism blogs from the same
students to see their talents for electronic publishing.
Labels: academia, culture, education, london
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Visit Fight Night photos in the Media Gallery
Over 12 rounds ropes on all sides of the ring sag under the mass of two heavyweights. The fight is a brawl. When it finishes Danny Williams sits on the edge of the floodlit mat with the golden belt over his shoulder, joking with reporters. His mother, stage right, keeps knocking the back of the head of his trainer, pointing at his nose, pointing at his ear. A drop of blood leaks from his right nostril but he inhales it back in before the cameras catch it in light.
His mom isn't paying any attention to what he is saying, just rubbing her hands together and licking her lips with post trauma nerves. Her mouth curls in a smile when the reporters laugh and she looks with pride to her son. A TV monitor in the foreground replays highlights of the fight but the sound of glove on body sounds so mute compared to the BOOM BOOM BOOM of real life just minutes before.
Boxing in Britain is a heartbeat of multicultural representation. When Takaloo enters the arena an Iranian beat shakes the speaker stands as the Margate, Kent fighter grooves his way through a gauntlet of fans. His trainers are garbed in the red and green of his native land. Later Amir Khan will showcase his fists of fury in his sixth professional fight and 9,000 fans will pay tribute to the rising star of the British boxing scene. Late in the first round, halfway through the Round 3 destruction of his opponent, Khan gets hit by an uppercut and his gaze drifts for a moment. You wonder if his life is flashing before his eyes and he sees himself in 10 years looking bloated and considering an ill-advised comeback like Prince Naseem Hamed sitting ringside.
But Prince Naseem is a real gentleman, like so many of the fighters we meet ringside. Time for the fans, always equipped with a quip or charming gesture. Maybe Amir Khan is just taking a moment to glance at a group of Muslim youths sitting in the front rows chanting his name. Later these bearded young men will go more Malcolm X than Muhammad Ali challenging British whites who complain to stewards that they weren't sitting in the right seats and were obstructing their view. Men from each group grab the ringleaders before any clash can occur but the simmering heat remains. Fight night all around. Nowhere in my experiences is the social context and struggles of post-London-bombings more evident. "WILLIAMS, BOMA-YE, WILLIAMS, BOMA-YE" starts behind us in an Ali-like tribute to a Muslim convert (Williams, Kill Him) and spreads to quarters of the crowd. SKELTON, SKELTON, SKELTON echoes in response. But nothing compares to the spine-tingling rhythm of the crowd in response and in unison chanting Khan's name with feet on metal stands proving the CRASH, CRASH, CRASH of goosebumps.
The ideas swirl in the air doing somersaults and occasionally crashing into each other with a sound louder than the BOOM, BOOM, BOOM of big men hitting each other. You just have to listen. Racism, Violence, Compassion, Entertainment, Multi-Bloody-Culturalism. In a matrix when you change your position you don't just change your perspective on a matrix, you change the whole matrix. Everything is different. This is true of any social interaction but boxing is one of the more demonstrative social pursuits.
At one point my friend and fight night companion Ilyas Mohammed turns to me as Khan shoots past the adoring crowd down the gauntlet with his hands on top of his head, bridged, and his path uncrowded by a posse of minders: "He's a pro." And my mind wanders to the Muslim boys, Williams' mother, the glory of Khan, the ring card girls, Takaloo's disarming charm, Williams climbing in the ring, and the crowd. Fight fans all looking different. Some of them drunk, some of them involved and a whole bunch of observers. Do we really have to listen that hard to hear the rumblings of the sweet science? Long live the fight game. Real Sociology Live.
Labels: london, photography, sport
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Visit Faces of Deptford photos
Participating in Live Sociology at Goldsmiths College is an inspiring experience. The first workshop focused on photography as a method of sociological representation. The 20 participants from around the UK are a diverse group with lots of good ideas. Phil Mizen, senior lecturer in sociology at Warwick University, joined me in snapping shutters. He even posed for me. We all went out and took photographs for a couple of hours in the afternoon as a form of experimental sociology in southeast London following an inspiring introduction to the topic from Les Back and some practical photography training from Paul Halliday.
For my project I selected Assignment 1 in the workshop suggestions: "Produce a series of portraits of people in Deptford". You can see the results by visiting Faces of Deptford in the Chris Brauer Media Gallery. The topic of the first workshop was "Redesigning the Observer" and you won't need to look further than the steady gazes of the portrait subjects to understand what this means. Who was the observer and who was being observed?
Live Sociology is similar to the London Project we have planned at City University as a study of London people, places and things through journalism. Interestingly this is the same title as a project Paul Halliday has been conducting in photographing London over the past 15 years. What was fantastic about this workshop experience was interacting with the people. The subject of the photograph featured in this post was a very cool guy. Anyone who participated indicated a willingness at the first question but this gentleman was particularly responsive. In cropping and editing I noticed the Jose Morinho ad in the top right corner. My decision to not include any text of words with each photograph was a conscious one. Introducing the photographer's terms of reference for these photos would in my opinion and in this case only further complicate your interpretation.
Labels: internet, london, photography, sociology
Monday, January 30, 2006
The value of a good education echoes in the words and council of a legendary wiseman in
T.H. White's
The Once and Future King:
"The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn."
It is an incredible experience studying for a PhD at Goldsmiths College, University of London. I am entering my second year in sociology/computing and enjoying every minute of it. Head of Computing Professor Robert Zimmer and Brian Alleyne in sociology are my supervisors and offer a feast of inspired seminars, interdisciplinary forums and bulging reading lists. Learning at Goldsmiths is a beautiful thing.Labels: academia, education, london
Monday, January 16, 2006
The diary of an unashamed
Guardian reader.
It is incredible to ride the tube and have time to read a daily edition, particularly on Monday or Saturdays. The thinking man's London newspaper has found further progressive editorial ground since a design transition to a new Berliner format.
Think about the stories in today's paper:
- The bright side of America. Stardust lands: "We feel like parents awaiting the return of a child who left us young and innocent, who now returns holding answers to the most profound questions of our solar system." Launched in 1999 the Nasa capsule took five years to reach to the comet Wild II which orbits the sun between Mars and Jupiter. The space dust picked up by flying within 150 miles of the comet could hold the secret to the demise of Dinosaurs on earth if iridium is found.
- The dark side of America. 10,000 people protested at the murder of at least 18 people on the Pakistan/Afghanistan border by an unmanned CIA drone. An Iraqi International MA student of mine at City University comments: "They know better than anyone in the world how to make enemies." How about you? Just think about missiles on your home and community. "There is nothing left. Pieces of the missile are scattered all around. The impact of the explosions has been huge. Everything has been blackened in a 100-meter radius."
- Want some bulletproof Armani?
- The rigorous review of academic publishing is under further threat. Norwegian cancer scientist Jon Sudboe is exposed as a fake by falsifying every patient in his study of orla cancer. 250 of Dr Subdoe's sample of 908 people had the same birthday.
- In Brazil 4,000 slaves were freed last year by the government from 183 farms who mine unemployed workers in impoverished rural communities: "The first impoverishment is that of the soul. Often a worker will have the false sense that he is in the wrong if he flees."
- Prehistoric remains found in northern Spain indicate that neanderthal man mastered some primitive techniques for crossing the sea into Europe from Africa. Small islands may have existed in Strait of Gibaltar making the journey much less than the eight miles of today.
- Over 3,000 child soldiers in Burundi have been demobalized but have little to do and are seeking reintegration with guerilla armies.
- While the 24-hour news giants fight for a relatively small number of viewers they are overlooking the biggest threat to their existence: on-demand broadband multimedia."Rolling news is no longer the future. In 2004 the average broadband household spent 16 hours a week online. As anyone who uses any half-decent news platform on the web understands, the internet is faster, delivers instant depth and unrivalled interactivity. Rolling news - and here I mean the concept of a separate channel and its traditional front-end studio format - is the genre of television least suited to survive the transition to the digital age." (annoying registration requirement at mediguardian.co.uk makes it impossible to link to this story)
- "Thierry Henry was in his element, helping himself to a hat-trick of opportunities Middlesborough laid on for him and reveling in the chance to prove his stated commitment to Arsenal on the pitch."
Labels: london, media
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Spent an incredible summer day watching the first Monday of Wimbledon with some new Canadian friends. Watched Sharapova, Henman and Nadal (see picture right) practice. Watched a number of matches and just reveled in the atmosphere which was the best I remember at the old English club.
See the pictures in the
Chris Brauer Media Gallery for a sense of how close you get to the action.
Off to
Glastonbury this weekend so will report on return. Suppose there should be a few stories ...
Labels: london, photography, sport
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Russian mystic and novelist Leo Tolstoy said
everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself. And you know the world is changing when the
slang word used for
cool is
book, the first option given by the
predictive text on mobile phones when typing
cool. And from the
Daily Mirror last week comes an offering and translation of London street slang from the baffling phrase:
"I hope these skangers are wankstas because if they're langers we could get happy slapped - be careful, some of the kutas are carrying chibs."to the Collins English Dictionary translation:
"I hope these casually dressed working class youngsters are pretend gangsters because if they are disagreeable men we could get beaten up and filmed. Be careful, some of the nasty youths are carrying knives."
Filmed with a camera phone in a craze that has reached sufficient penetration in the general London population that it is not unusual to hear on a night bus one say to the other, only half joking: "Don't fall asleep! You'll get happy slapped!" Naturally there has been discussion of how these acts might relate to the violent tv and video games available in the market.
When Frankie Roberto first published his take on the happy slapping phenomena he never could have guessed that the article would become the most popular page on his website overnight. Scroll down on this page to read the comments (commenting no longer permitted) for an idea of the slang used in discussion of the fad, probably by teenagers searching for happy slap videos. Living in south London where the craze is said to have emerged it is a recognizable meme, on the lips at watercoolers and bus stops. Recently the idea of using your phone to capture video to later show off has led to the even grimmer bravado of 'train chicken' in some kids.
It is difficult to reconcile this craze of filming violent attacks on mobile phones with the fanfare that greeted the initial sale of 3G licenses and the subsequent, if delayed, arrival of the advanced networked multimedia capabilities delivered by the third generation mobile networks.
I first heard about the fad months ago when speaking with a young man living in Kennington who told me about it as he frantically texted a friend: "They just slap you silly. You fall asleep or they just come across you in numbers. It's crazy innit?"
Issues of appropriate use of camera phones is an issue all over the world, see this article for example from the early days of the technology in Japan, or this piece on how Rumsfeld banned camera phones from US military installations in Iraq out of fear of misuse (not much imagination needed here). And Africa is the fastest area of global growth in mobile phone use.
The sociological conclusion is that camera phones are a technology like any other, open to benefit or misuse depending on who is in control. As a society we need to evolve flexible ways of interpreting, understanding and responding to the impact of the technologies on our communities and social interaction. Policy makers are slowly adjusting to the new forces of power introduced by technologies like mobile camera phones. Or maybe we just need to admit that we haven't actually advanced much further beyond life as apes, who would undoubtedly find a happy slap a funny gag.
See also on the Chris Brauer Media Project:
Labels: london, sociology
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Sir, if you wish to have a just notion of the magnitude of this city, you must not be satisfied with seeing its great streets and squares, but must survey the innumerable little lanes and courts. It is not in the showy evolutions of buildings, but in the multiplicity of human habitations which are crowded together, that the wonderful immensity of London consists.
- Samuel Johnson (18th century English writer) in conversation with James Boswell
Brockley is a rising star. The way that Londoners understand that Camden has had its moment in the sun, and Shoreditch is the flavor of the month, so too we can see the promise in little SE4. But does that promise also come with a lingering sense of failing multiculturalism?
Crunched between Lewisham and News Cross, the Zone 2 district became a
conservation area in 1974 "following a campaign from local residents to protect the area's overall character of period houses, large gardens and open spaces; all of which had largely survived intact since the area was first developed from around 1870, but were beginning to be under threat of extensive re-development".
This attention to preservation has paid off as a walk through this neighborhood of 4000 houses will attest. The houses are that much better kept-up, a neighborhood watchman strolls leisurely through in the evenings chatting with residents, his walky-talky occasionally blurting out sounds from other foot soldiers patrolling and protecting the unique serenity of these streets in an otherwise rambunctious quarter of southeast London.
Lewisham is a transportation hub but comparatively soulless with bland urban landscapes and New Cross is to Camden what Brockley is to Swiss Cottage. The area is currently a hotbed for musical talent building on a legacy that saw Siousxie and the Banshees kick off the goth movement in the 1970s and in the last couple years Bloc Party, Art Brut and most recently Geniac, who I saw play at the Catapult Club last month and are one of the best unsigned punk/rock bands in Britain at the moment (download this raw mp3 for an idea of the sound).
So it is more likely New Cross, with two stations on the East London tube line, will lead the charge from the southeast to promote a new hub of cultural and artistic activity and eventually inherent the trendy mantle from Camden and Shoreditch. The council recently turned down planning permission for a new Starbucks on the high street and the borough very nearly elected the UK's first Green MP in recent political elections.
But it is Brockley that the househunters and transplants will seek out as the most obviously pleasant place to live in the surrounding area. Many of the academics at nearby Goldsmiths College already call it home and the suited commuter rush at local St Johns train station speaks of an already bulging middle class occupation.
So that sets the stage for our exercise in sociological imagination, understanding the self and the social in little SE4, and exploring those "human habitations" of which Johnson speaks in our opening quote. For there remains demons lurking in the multicultural milieu of the streets and those who live among them.
Despite recent growth in the area commercial support for the residents continues to be very undeveloped . The big grocery stores call Lewisham and New Cross home, restaurants and coffee shops are few and far between, and most residents trek to Greenwich for any evening activities. Arriving locals lament the lack of decent pubs in the area. So with most of the newcomers avoiding the local establishments, it provides a unique opportunity to connect with a more traditionally fixed Brockley resident.
Approximately five blocks apart sit two pubs, on the main arteries leading into Brockley from one side, and for the purposes of this little exploration it is unnecessary to identify them by name. Unless of course we adopt the names articulated by patrons.
"We're all white," says Tad at the bar with a wink. "That's what we say around here. Ha ha ha. You know, We're all right and we're all white."
And this pub is all white. On the half-dozen occasions I've been in I've never seen a black or visible minority of any kind. Well I guess that's not actually true. A local Pakistani shopkeeper occasionally stops in for a pint after work. When he's not around the other patrons make an exception on his behalf.
"That Paki," says another patron. "He's a good Paki."
The barmaid laughs and others join in. "Ya. He is a good Paki, that one," another chimes in. The racial slurs are not spoken with obvious malice, although there is tremendous distrust for other skin colors among the 20 or so patrons who linger around the bar making small talk and downing pints. The fact the my skin color is white and I am sitting in their pub makes them comfortable speaking naturally (racially) with me as well.
Herein lies one of the greatest challenges of the sociologist. Like an undercover policeman who wants to infiltrate a gang of drug dealers, so too must the sociologist often put personal convictions and perspectives to the side in the interest of being allowed to participate in sociological activity. On one occasion I let slip during a conversation with a patron that I had overheard racism from fans of a local football club. My tone was disapproving. We'd been chatting for an hour but he subsequently turned his back on me for the remainder of the evening.
A colleague here at Goldsmiths had done an in-depth study of fans of this club and also had to submerge himself in the communities and conversations of the subjects of his research.
"Yes I did some of that research," he says. "And I certainly have the scars to prove it."
Five blocks down the road the situation does not improve. If the other was the 'white' pub, this is the 'black' pub. On the four occasions I have been in this busy pub I have never seen another white patron. The music is dub reggae, the atmosphere significantly more lively, and a more nomadic patron population circulates among each other, from table to table. Here the color of my skin provides obstacles to even engaging in conversations or observing interaction.
On my second visit, after sitting alone for the entirety of the first, I got frustrated and tried to barge into the community. I sat down at a table with other patrons and introduced myself. They rose from their chairs to find another seat. Subsequently I managed to pin one of them, obviously uncomfortable with our conversation, at the bar where we spoke softly. After several futile forays into small talk I approached the situation directly.
"Why doesn't anyone want to speak with me?"
His response surprised the sociologist in me: "Racism my friend. We've lived under slavery. We don't trust you. You want to dominate."
Later the bartender would politely ask if I wanted to find another place for a pint. As the door swung closed behind me I heard a laugh from inside: "Blood Clot Bakra".
A browse of an online Patois Dictionary tells me that I was being called a curse followed by a derogatory term for a "white slavemaster, or member of the ruling class in colonial days. Popular etymology: 'back raw' (which he bestowed with a whip)".
It is a product of my relativist perspective that I was more shocked to hear that the patrons were connecting my skin color with racism a century before than the utterings at the 'white' pub. But perhaps these blacks understood the derogatory emphasis and words spoken in the pub down the street, without needing to sit and listen.
So like two garrisons camped on two hills, these pubs in Brockley serve their own populations, oblivious to the multicultural agenda so prolific in political and social discussions in the UK. And of course these perspectives are not limited to these particular pubs, or to Brockley, where blacks and whites move freely on the streets, if not interacting, interliving.
I have written a short story soon to be published based on my experiences in another part of East London where the glaring chasm between races and hopes for reconciliation is far more dramatic than the discussions and observations highlighted here.
And like most sociology, there really isn't much scientific validity to the perspective presented in this blog posting, more simple observation of people in a place or time to do with as you please.
But what these observations do suggest is that we need to dig still deeper within the cultural and social fabric of communities to illustrate the work that still needs to be done to arrive at a collective perspective of shared humanity. In the words of Bishop Desmond Tutu, disrespect the other and you disrespect yourself for you and the other are the same.
Labels: london, sociology
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Good news for my future status as an alumni of
Goldsmiths College, University of London where I am currently pursuing a PhD in sociology and computing science. For the third consecutive year Goldsmiths is one of the
top five coolest brands in the UK according to a
report by Superbrands, and produced by the Brand Council.
"The five rules of cool are originality, innovation, authenticity, a sense of style and being unique. Goldsmiths College is a leading cool brand that not only is cool in itself, but helps to shape the future of cool. With a really unique, strong and desirable reputation, the achievements of the College and its graduates speak for itself." - Stephen Cheliotis, Superbrands Brand Liaison Director.
The College is almost painfully trendy at the moment. In a recent edition of the UK version of The Apprentice the task was to sell art. One of the groups was frustrated by their inability to translate their corporate language into something attractive to the artists. Bitterly a member who looked decidedly Oxbridge mused: "So what if I didn't go to Goldsmiths fu**ing College!"
But based on my experiences in Spring Review Week, where PhD students from across the College come together to present the status of their research, Goldsmiths is a fascinating place that seems to attract extremely innovative and interdisciplinary thinkers. Now it is entirely possible that they all arrived there by a similar route to my own, by clumsy coincidence, but that might also be how it has maintained its reputation for cool. There is nothing so uncool as something or someone who can't stop acting as if they are cool. Now all I've got to hope is that the coolness doesn't rub off before I graduate in two years. There is also nothing so uncool as someone or something that used to be cool but still keeps pretending.
Labels: business, london
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Hours after the
Theatre of the New Ear played out spectacle at a venue traditionally used for classical arts, a ballet of another kind was performed on a springy canvas in Bolton.
Well I guess it depends on how you define ballet:
"To me, boxing is like a ballet, except there's no music, no choreography, and the dancers hit each other."-
Jack Handy, famous for his
Deep Thought comedy sketches on Saturday Night Live.
Flyweight Amir Khan, at 18 a big UK talent in a little package, announced he was turning pro after outpointing Cuban Olympic and World Champion Mario Kindelan. Kindelan had
beaten Khan in the Athens 2004 Olympics and the Bolton-native was determined to avenge this defeat before turning pro. Many pundits rated Kindelan the greatest amateur fighter in the world.
A quick scan of the media coverage going into the bout. The Cuban coverage reveals the close alignment between national pride and sporting outcomes in the country. In England Khan said he would win and when he won said he would become a legend by 25. Sounds as if he is made of the right stuff for the bravado and theatre that is modern professional boxing, particularly the kind of big title fights Khan will want to land in the future. Reminds a bit of Khan's fighting hero:
"I am the greatest, I said that even before I knew I was."
- Muhammad Ali, the greatest
It was rumored before the Athens games that if Khan wasn't selected for the British team he might fight for Pakistan, the native home of his parents. Instead he become a terrific sporting hero for Britain. Most pubs were filled as the fight was broadcast live on national terrestrial television. In a country that can always benefit from frequent reminders of the values of the diverse multicultural population, Khan is the best fighter and could be doing for East Indians in England what footballer Zidane did for North Africans in France after the successful 1998 World Cup campaign - improving multiculturalism through sport.
Boxing can be a gruesome game but in tales from Rocky, Sugar Ray, Duran, Roy Jones, pre-ear-munching Tyson, and most famously Ali himself, the penchant for great drama and bravery in boxing can rarely be matched. And occasionally as with Ali, it can have global effects. A scan of comments on an Islamic message board to an interview with Ali reveals the depth of inspiration.
- MUHAMMAD ALI IS THE GREATEST! NO MATTER WHO OR WHAT HE'S UP AGAINST, HE ALWAYS COMES OUT ON TOP!!
- I think Muhammad Ali is the greatest boxer in the entire universe! He really inspired me to stand up for Islam and to not be ashamed of who you are! And if someone tries to Taunt you for wh you are then just simply tell them i dont have to be who you want be to be i think he is i just can;'t explain! "Your hands can't hit what you eyes cant see, float like a butterfly,sting like a bee, Rumble young man rumble"!
So enough about Ali and the past, when we could be presently witnessing the birth of a prodigous talent in Khan. He needs to work a lot on his press conference patter to match his hero but his footwork, so improved over his last encounter with Kindelan, set him apart from the Cuban. Floating like a butterfly who has matured to compliment the bravado, Khan shares many of the qualities of his iconic hero, but plans to differ on retirement plans.
"I want to retire from all of boxing by the age of 25, becoming a legend as well at that age. It is a big goal and it is going to be hard to do ... I don't want to get punched all my life so the best thing is at the age of 25 to stop boxing and look after my family." (Sporting Life)Labels: london, sport
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
The man standing outside Angel tube station thrust out his hand and I took a leaflet from him as I entered. Ever since reading George Orwell's
Down and Out in Paris and London (a strange and poignant autobiographical vignette on poverty and his first published work) I tend to take the leaflets or am left imagining Orwell standing freezing on the corner unable to seek shelter until the last leaflet leaves his hand.
This time I don't toss it in the garbage. "Love it. And Leave it," the text reads. Car sharing has
arrived in London and the brochure notes how there's a Volkswagen Golf waiting for you around every corner, or at least "walking distance from here". If you are unfamiliar with the concept of car sharing, pioneered by the Swiss in the early 1980s, the basic premise is that a network of cars is positioned around a city and members go online to reserve a vehicle when they need one. A typical car can
lead a very interesting life, serving many masters for functional purposeful missions.
So for all the talk of gas guzzling SUVs, rocketing car sales in the far east, and clogged commuter lanes, this is the very real flip side to that coin. People are taking action to share a car, like the nine people from my hometown Edmonton
who share a 1999 Toyota Tercel through a non-profit co-op, in the interests of more affordable and environmentally sensitive travel. Transportation is the fastest growing source of greenhouse gas emissions from human activity. In places like London efforts like the newly enforced
congestion charge in the center and practical alternatives like car sharing are attempts partially aimed at addressing this critical issue.
In his sociological manifesto,
The Tipping Point: How Little things can make a Big Difference, Malcolm Gladwell writes of ideas and behaviors spreading like viruses instigating the mysterious changes that mark everyday life. I'm not sure why but seeing that leaflet at Angel tube kind of confirmed for me that car sharing is an idea whose time has come, an idea that is ready to tip. There certainly has been a
lot of news coverage lately discussing the concept. But more than that it is a very 21st century idea - reducing hassle (rates include petrol, insurance and maintenance), offering flexible affordability (it's not that you don't ever drive, but you only drive when you really want to), and a hint of whimsical adventure (how about asking a girl on a date, waltzing over to a local car park to pick up your car, enjoying a romantic night out, dropping her off, dropping your car off, and retreating home to blissful slumber). Watch this space.
Labels: london, sociology
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Just spent a hectic week in London starting
Wednesday night under the lights of Highbury watching Arsenal take on Bayern Munich in an epic Champions League encounter. It hurts me to watch Arsene Wenger's
brow furrow.
Thursday night was spent at the
Catapult Club in throbbing New Cross, a musical hotbed of south London (it seems every band comes from Peckham, Brockley, New Cross, etc these days) watching a jazz improv evening. It might be the best night out in south London these days with storming performances from a range of young and old.
Friday night was spent at the Apollo Theatre on Shaftesbury Avenue in the West End watching David Mamet's new play
A Life in Theatre starring Captain Pickard (don't you hate type casting Patrick Stewart) and Pacey (Joshua Jackson) from Dawson's Creek. This was lightweight but enjoyable (especially if you are a woman keen to see Pacey in self-described 'tighty-whiteys') as the actors took us from backstage to the stage in a variety of segments. Probably was better suited for a smaller venue and features a melodramatic finale out-of-step with the rest of the script.
Saturday, and I mean all day Saturday, was spent in a marathon 5-and-a-half hour staging at the Royal Opera house of Wagner's
Die Walküre, the second installement of his epic Ring trilogy. You either love it or hate it (I take the former perspective) but you can't dislike the fantasticlly renovated venue and the wonedrful English habit of bringing wine and dinner into the great hall and sprawling over steps and floor during interludes (the second a full hour in length) to sip Chianti and nibble Brillo.
Sunday concluded with the annual orchestral/choral presentation of Bach's St Michael's Passion at Royal Festival Hall. Said the elderly woman in front of us after hearing we had attended Wagner the night before: "Well at least you have redeemed yourself!"
So all in all Thierry Henry's lone strike through a resolute Bayern back-4 nips Woltan's lighting of the ring of fire for most cultured moment of a week that could be any week in the most fantastic of cities. As Oscar Wilde (or was it Samuel Johnson, I am never sure) said: "If you are bored of London you are bored of life".
Here's three sample tips of upcoming events you cannot miss if you reside in one of the villages, for if you prefer as Benjamin Disraeli said: "London is a roost for every bird".
- Theatre of the New Ear - A live double bill of readings of screenplays, accompanied by music and sound effects featuring Joel and Ethan Coen's Sawbones and Charlie Kaufman's Hope Leaves the Theatre. Performers include Meryl Streep, Steve Buscemi, Hope Davies and Philip Seymour Hoffman. (Royal Festival Hall, 13 May, 2005)
- Otello - A rare opportunity to see Ben Heppner & Renee Fleming together on this side of the Atlantic. (Royal Opera House, 28 June, 1,4,7,10,16 July, 2005)
- Legends of Hip-Hop - Live DJs spin, beatboxers box the beat, and lockdancers hold headspins. Experience the cultural phenomena of breakdancing first-hand with the best in the world. (Queen Elizabeth Hall, 25,26,27,28,29,30 March, 2005)
Labels: london, music, theatre
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
The following is a completely personal, unscientific and subjective list not to be confused with anything
official of any kind. However it can be viewed as
unofficially correct if you ask someone like me.
Also: It is subject to change at anytime subject to the opinions of the author, which shift unreliably on whimsy. The current list weights traditional pub charm too highly as a result of my recent arrival on the jolly old isle.
10. The George, London Bridge -
MAP9. Churchill Arms, Notting Hill Gate -
MAP8. The Star Tavern, Knightsbridge -
MAP7. The Waterway, Little Venice-
MAP6. Fitzroy Tavern, Bloomsbury -
MAP5. The Narrowboat, Islington -
MAP4. The Angel, Soho -
MAP3. The Black Horse, Soho -
MAP2. Dove, Hammersmith -
MAP1. Three Kings, Clerkenwell -
MAPLabels: london
Sunday, February 13, 2005
In the style of the new journalists who were new when Tom Wolfe was new. Also in the style of the new new journalists.Shibuya maybe. But there are few places in the world where you can hear the humming throb of humanity like Leicester Square on a dry Saturday night. Too often cheated by the cheesy bars and chain stores that bob and weave in the corners, this square is not defined by what lies within, but in the possibilities without.
Venture beyond its perimeter and be rewarded with the scent of New Labour Britain. London in the 21st century. One of the world's great cities exposed with delight. Overexposures alive. Listen in for a moment as a couple navigates through the puddly winding streets.
Two girls in their early twenties skip by hand-in-hand, flush with early evening fever: "Did you know skipping was the most efficient ways to get around," one asks the other with a laugh.
An asian couple in polo shirts and khaki pants hold each other's hands tight as they head down one of the steamier alleys where the hint of suggestion hangs in the air and behind shaded glass. Hold each other tight like they are getting ready for lift-off.
The
Blues Bar behind Liberty's isn't a secret any more if it ever was one. People line-up almost every night. Two men in line are trying to describe London. Describe the now.
"It's more like the 'after-just-now' that we need to see. See it's like it's all this
postmodern space."
"How do you mean," says the Irishman.
"You know like the structure of the language of the streets. Every perspective different. No truths. Just post-time."
The Irishman looked at him strangely.
"You know like those bricks you work with," he continued. "The bricks disappear. There is no bricks as such. The brick isn't real. It's like that here. See all the different truths?"
The Irishman looked at his friend intently for a moment.
He says with a smile: "Till the fucking big brick comes around the back and cracks you in the head. You sure know it's real with a fucking big bruise on your head," he says with a whince, smiling and rubbing the back of his neck. The bouncer waves them into the not-so-secret Blues Bar.
A man turns the corner out of the tube, leading his friends by about 10 steps. "Zooooooo Bar!" he exclaims with obvious relief, hands aloft, awaiting a tower of hands. The hands arrive, relief all around for this crew of five. "Finally," several say with a smile. It's like a feeling that natural laws are somehow enhanced in London limits. Gravity.
Thermodynamic entropy. Light. Time. Space. All working in a kind of metaphysical symphony, like a gust of wind on a ski hill knocking a man over as he tries to put on his gloves. Sometimes just making to your destination in London seems enough, like the night is already a success.
"Success!" That what I'm after, the woman says from the doorway of a peep show cabaret. "I feel like the world don't owe you nothin' 'cept a chance to be here. I'll take it from there."
The man in the street stands bleary eyed nodding his head. "The Golden Path" by the Chemical Brothers leaks out of the club. "I've got some hydrochloric ..." and the rest is drowned out by the swirling wind cutting across from Noho, the new territories north of Oxford Street.
Labels: london
