David Cameron is a Christian.  No surprise there then, since the Prime Minister is expected to be an Anglican.  This is why Blair’s conversion to Catholicism happened after he left office.  Disraeli had to provide papers to prove his family had converted to Christianity from Judaism before he could serve.  But thanks for reassuring us Dave, that you haven’t suddenly flipped hundreds of years of tradition on its head.

With this year being the 400th anniversary of the King James bible, the “authorised version”, dear PM DC decided to make sure we all knew, once and for all, that Britain is a Christian country, and “we should not be afraid to say so”.  This speech, given by the PM in Oxford, has left me with a few questions.  Firstly, who thinks that anyone in Britain is afraid to say that it is a Christian country?  Secondly, how Christian is Britain, really?

Christianity arrived in Britain during the Roman occupation, the strong communication and interaction of the Roman Empire arguably accelerating the spread of this new Middle Eastern religion, along with the written Greek and Latin languages used across the empire.  However, the Romans in Britain had been and gone by the time the famous mission of Augustine in 597AD began the connection of kingship and faith and the Christian faith found strong footholds in Britain.

So has Britain been a Christian country for 1415 years?  Er, no.  The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland only came into being under the Acts of Union of 1707.  By this time Christianity was well established as the religion of the countries which were united but the pagan faiths of the invading Angles, Saxons and Jutes competed with this and the pagan faith of the Celts.  A Christian Britain was realised in the late middle ages, huzzah, but alas, this shared religion was not as it seemed, since throughout the last millenium religious schisms in Britain between Christians have led to conflict, suffering, and religious atrocities within Britain herself.

The pagan origins of Britain (and Europe) are evident even in our most Christian of features: imagery in churches, fertility symbolism at Easter, and the date and traditions of our winter festival, Christmas.  Mistletoe kisses?  A holdover from druidic beliefs.  Santa Claus?  Hugely influenced by Odin of the ancient Germanic faiths.  Midwinter is a time when us Northern Europeans need cheering up, or we’ll never get through the dark and bleak season, hence a winter festival that a new religion could reinterpret.  Christmas.

History lesson over, lets put this down: yes Mr Cameron, Britain is a country with a strong Christian history.  Yes Mr Cameron, she is a nation with a government and legal system linked inexorably to the national religion, although less strongly than ever before.  But, Mr Cameron, are we really a Christian country?  Do we follow the principles of Christ in our daily life as individuals and as a nation on the world stage?  Do we follow the ten commandments? Do we forgive and ask for forgiveness? Do we turn the other cheek?  Do we turf out the money lenders?  Do we care more for family and society than for money and possessions?

Well Mr Cameron, have you been practising threading camels through needles?

We are a nation with soldiers dying overseas, with young men and women coming home maimed to their loved ones. We are a nation which bribes and bullies other countries.  We are nation that earns money from selling arms to the highest bidder without checking they won’t be used to murder and oppress civilians.  We are a country where the few live in luxury, running an industry in the service of Mamon, whilst over 13 million British people live in poverty.  So yes perhaps we are a Christian country, Mr Cameron, but I put it to you that we are not a very good one.

Ms Mongrel is not religious, but I do believe that most religions ask us to be the best we can.  Christianity asks us to be kind and forgiving and tells us that it is not for us to judge others and their lives.  It is a religion built around one man’s (supposedly one man) message of peace and tolerance.  That is why Christmas is a time of goodwill for all.  I enjoy Christmas because it is a time when we can all reflect on the goodness we can do, and the happiness available to a society that is trying to be good.  At a time when less Brits consider themselves Christian than five years ago, we could do with taking on board the best of Christianity.  The tolerance of other faiths and lifestyles is a massive part of Christianity, far too often forgotten.

Well ’tis the season to be a fairweather Christian Mr Cameron, maybe in between not-going-to-church all year and posturing threats at Iran and dismantling the NHS and refusing to restrain the banking industry you can listen to some Christmas music and work out how to make Britain better, Christian or otherwise.

The club has always been vastly white.  Its a Japanese-origin martial art, but since most students at the uni (and people in the country) are white, the club has only rarely had non-white members.  For a while I was the only recognised ethnic diversity in the club, and that has never been a problem.  I have never felt uncomfortable or been subject to racism at the club.

This year’s club has more non-white members than I can remember.  Present at the film night were a black lad, and two girls whose families are Chinese.  There are also a couple of lads from I think a Chinese background and one whose family is from the subcontinent but they weren’t present.  The club has a very social side and all those there tonight (about 17) are regular/semi-regulars at socials.

One thing I’ve noticed about people I know in their early 20s, who are not white, is that they will often be the first to make a joke in relation to their race (or religion/culture) if it is different to the majority.  It is as if their defence mechanism against someone else making a racist/offensive comment or perhaps even against being seen to be sensitive about race is to make light of the situation.  Hey, its ok, I’ll make the comment I know you’re probably thinking but are too scared to say.  What I see, as someone with many, many white friends and white people in my life, is that for a lot of white people, most of the time, they haven’t even thought about people being a different colour.  Since race is not a daily challenge for them, a lot of white people will just see you, whatever colour you are, as just another person, without feeling uncomfortable.  The imagined discomfort does not need to be eased by being self-deprecating!

The problem with this is that there are some white people who are uncomfortable with race, and for whom the “its ok” approach about casual racism from non-white acquaintances opens the can of worms.  I understand that close friends will often have banter between them that to outsiders sounds offensive, but how far can it go, and how close do you have to be for this to be harmless?  And what happens when the line between acceptable and offensive is blurred like that?

Perhaps I used to make jokes in that way.  I have a few “race” based jokes in my repertoire, and I have a few very close friends that can say things I would not tolerate from others, but that is because of our shared experience and understanding.  I have joked about the “Asian mafia” because of the close connections between extended families like mine in the UK, where family members help each other to succeed.  I have however also joked about the Welsh mafia (the Taffia) because I have connections on both sides.

Because I am both white and non-white, I have in the past beaten myself up over being too white, too much a part of the majority.  I can “pass“, people are often surprised by my heritage as I am often viewed as white.  I have an English (actually slightly Swansea now too) accent, and it is only my name that flags up in people’s minds as “foreign”.  There are people who have assumed me to be white and have said racist things in my presence, and I have expressed my disagreement with them, and pointed out that I am in fact one of the people they are slagging off, one of the “them” not of the “us”.  White skin in this country is a source of privilege, and like all privilege one aspect of this is that most people with privilege don’t even realise how it benefits them, and disadvantages those without it.

Anyway, on to tonight.  One of the girls I mentioned earlier was referred to as “fasian” (fake Asian), by a white girl, her friend.  This led to one of the lads saying that both Chinese-origin girls were bananas, yellow on the outside, white on the inside.  It was all laughed off.  Of course they couldn’t be properly Asian or Chinese because they acted like white people… what on Earth does that mean?  That because they weren’t dressed in tunics and bowing to everyone they must just be white?  The word “coconut” was then used in reference to the black lad: brown on the outside and white on the inside.

Was it being asserted that if you are non-white and associate with white people (and come on, in this country white people are EVERYWHERE) you are therefore giving up or betraying your race?  Where does this idea that only white people hang out and watch films and wear jeans or go drinking, or whatever the hell it is, come from?  Why does it even matter to the room that these people are “acting white”?  Why is their race suddenly the focus of everyone in the room?

I couldn’t think of  a way to engage with this conversation without coming in swinging.  So I held my tongue.  I also held my tongue when the two girls, throughout the film, spoke to one another in Chinese (I think it was Cantonese, but I don’t know yet, I haven’t asked) which really annoyed some people in the room.  The originator of the word Fasian was one of the most vocal in shouting “speak English!”.  Normally I might be miffed at people speaking a language I don’t understand, but we were watching a film with subtitles, because IT WAS IN CHINESE.  When they were talking it was, I would guess, in reference to things said in the film, a language and part of a culture that these girls have a connection with.  Let ‘em talk, I was reading the subtitles anyway.  The irony that gripped me was that the film was set in colonial Hong Kong, where the British held rule over the local population, and derided the Chinese culture.  Apparently this was lost on our genius white wordsmith.

I felt so uncomfortable.  There were other moments: to one of the girls “is that your cousin?” about the Chinese actors on screen, jokes about what the Chinese characters wore to a funeral, jokes about wanting to order a takeaway from the names on the credits.  I nearly got up and left before the film ended.  When it finally ended, I was out of the door like a shot.  Why did I just sit there?  Why didn’t I say anything?  Where was my fabled wit and fury for idiots who say bigoted things?

In part, I didn’t want to rock the boat.  To my shame, I thought this is the day they’ve all passed their grading, it should be a night of banter and laughter, who am I to kill the mood?  To my credit, I hope, I had another reason.  To me, this crowd is all younger, less confident, less experienced/jaded people.  They are so eager, they need approval, they need to be making jokes all the time.  The three non-white people are a part of that social group in a way that I am not.  I’m older, I don’t train at the moment, I’m a big sister character who isn’t around all the time.  What right do I have to say to these three “you should be offended!” if they are not offended?  The banter and the balance of the group may well be something that I just don’t understand.

Racism is a taboo, as such it is rich mining ground for humour.  Taboo subjects are like red flags to bulls for comedians, and for youngsters trying to show how little they care about limits and restrictions.  When I was in my late teens/early twenties, with my close mates at uni, there was no joking about race generally, being seen as racist was pretty awful.  With my contemporaries it was more sexist jokes that occupied that “breaking the taboo” niche.  Perhaps for these kids, born in the 90′s, racism is something that it is funny to joke about.  The cry of “uh oh, casual racism” went up a few times tonight from different people, perhaps this is a rebellion I’m missing?  A shared experience between whites and non-whites rebelling against PC culture as it may have limited racism but it never totally defeated it?

I don’t know.  I do know that I think some of the white people in that room had nothing to do with that topic, others went along, and others seemed to actually need to comment on the race of non-white people.  I wish this was a one off.  I remember a conversation with one of these people, when I remarked jokingly to an overseas student “of course I know all the words to God Save the Queen, I’m a patriot!”

This Guy “I thought you were Asian?”

Me “BRITISH Asian, come on now”

TG “Jewel in the crown is it?”

Me “all the British jewels come from India!” (this is not true, some of them are African I’m sure)

His “but you’re Asian” comment did irritate/upset me, but I handled it as I like to if I can, gently, and allowing him to interact.  I couldn’t find that way to handle tonight’s situation.  Casual racism to me is still in the big bad category of racism.  It reeks of unexamined privilege and it is the thin end of the wedge in othering ethnic minorities so that they can be viewed as less than human.

So, I thought I’d get my feelings out here.  I think I may have missed one reason why I didn’t protest tonight.  I don’t think I had the will or the energy to engage with unexamined privilege tonight, I definitely didn’t feel I had the energy to take on a room full of it.  There is a group of about 5 or 6 or so from that room whom I consider to be good friends, perhaps it is something I will discuss with them another time.  As one of these friends is one of the girls I felt was being picked on, I would be really interested to hear her point of view, and to know whether I should have been vocal and stood up for her.  None of the comments were directed at me tonight, and I am pretty sure that if one had been I would have engaged with it directly, I know that I didn’t find the jokes funny.

Fundamentally now, I know I won’t be going to one of those nights with that whole crowd again, I haven’t felt so uncomfortable for a long time.  

I have yet to find the source of this cartoon unfortunately...

Ms Mongrel is coming out.  That’s right, I’m outing myself as… a reluctant user of labels.  I don’t mean fashion labels, my odd collection of part time jobs don’t really fund such fripperies.  I mean the labels we use for each other.  As part of applying for new jobs, I’ve had to tick a lot of label boxes, and I’ve found myself being somewhat contrary and choosing “prefer not to say” or “other” for nearly every category.

I’ve already commented in the past about offensive labelling, the use of slurs or epithets (such a shame, “epithet” is such a fun word to say) but labels are a fact of life.  One thing the brain does in order to run more efficiently is create patterns and connections, a kind of shorthand that can lead to prejudice.  Why assess each individual on a case by case basis when we can assume that, for example, all teenage girls are Twilight fans?  The problem is, of course, that NOT all teenage girls are Twilight fans.  Some would be spitting with anger that such an assumption would be made.  But hey, all teenage girls are angry, right?

Monitoring forms on job applications started from a noble intention.  They were created to allow people to monitor diversity amongst employees to guard against discrimination.  The data on a monitoring form is not there to affect the hiring decision, but it is there so that HR can worry about why there are no X type of people in Y type of department, and perhaps look more closely to ensure that the person hiring for department Y isn’t anti-X.  Also society can then worry about why no X’s want to work in Y, is it the atmosphere?  The hours?  The uniform?  Data about where X people want to work, in comparison with Q people, or Z people, can be massively enlightening as to society’s perceptions of X, Q and Z and their perceptions of themselves.  I have a sudden urge to play scrabble now… hang on…

Anyway, I have two main problems with this kind of monitoring which have led to me being obtuse in my box-ticking.  Firstly it is an example held up by those who feel that racism/homophobia/sexism/ageism/ableism/any-other-ism isn’t a problem as part of the new social ill of “positive discrimination” (which is illegal, and positive action is voluntary, just so ya know).  Secondly, the idea of being a combination of tickbox answers does not work to defeat labelling and break down barriers between diverse people, it instead encourages us to identify as tea or coffee, caffeinated or decaff, sugar or no sugar, limiting us in the process and leaving no room for those who want hot chocolate or horlicks.

So my “prefer not to say” or “other” (without filling in the “please specify” field below) is my little protest against labels.  Am I white British, white Irish, white Other, black African, black Caribbean, black Other,  Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi, mixed white & black, mixed white & asian, mixed Martian & Venusian?  I choose none of the above.  Until one box actually says “South Wales mining community white English-speaking Welsh & Kenyan-born Indian via Southampton Gujarati” or something damn close I am going to continue to be Other, non-specified.

Likewise with sexuality.  The options so far are: heterosexual, homosexual, and prefer not to say.  So bisexual people, asexual people, and anyone who prefers not to define themselves by their sexual preferences have only option 3.  The gender binary is strictly enforced, only a very few institutions offering an “other” option to male/female.   If there was a chance to tick “other” here I would purely out of solidarity with those who look at those two choices and feel that neither fits.

I prefer not to say whether or not I consider myself to have a disability.  There is a different part on forms sometimes which asks the applicant to indicate whether any “arrangements” need to be made for interview.  I’ve often wondered if this is just the polite way of saying “do you need wheelchair access?  Because our building is old and we should probably do the interview in our other offices in that case”.  I think that part of the form is necessary in a world where access cannot be presumed upon by people in wheelchairs, people with visual or hearing impairment, or other challenges that those without disabilities never think about.  But in the monitoring form I tick “prefer not to say”.  Maybe I do have a disability, maybe I don’t.  Perhaps I like the idea that it is my business and it might bug the hell out of you not knowing.  Why should people that have immediately noticeable disabilities and probably have to explain them all the bloody time in day-to-day life have to do the same thing on an HR form for monitoring purposes only?

I think the thing that really gets me about monitoring forms is this: I have seen them change over the years from “white, black, asian, other” and not including sexuality and disability at all to having a staggering number of ethnic categories and monitoring other possible sources of discrimination, and as such these forms reflect the ways our society labels people in day to day life, not just in HR speak.  On the whole our awareness of diversity has increased, for better or worse, but there is still this sense of division.  There are those whose labels we recognise, and then there is the “other”.  Yes I am irritated by the unscientific ethnic/racial definitions and their misguiding mish-mash of geographical, skin-colour and cultural identity markers.  I am irritated that I should be asked about my sex life when, thus far, I have never applied for a job involving sex.  I am irritated that disability monitoring is still in such an infancy that the terms used are vague and ask the form-filler to “please specify”.  But overall, as someone for whom the box ticking has in the past often been a dilemma,  I have now decided that I self identify as “other”.  This is my protest not against HR monitoring so much as against categorisation, generalisation, and the limiting of individuality that is often imposed by society on people and by people upon themselves.  Perhaps one day there’ll only be one question:

Are you a) a person or b) an android or c) an abstract construct of accepted personhood imposed by societal mores?

People are people.  Labels are for food.

So a month later and you realise that you were already a month behind saying what you wanted to say on your shiny blog-a-ma-jig when you went in for the op.  Damn.  That’s embarrassing.  People might think you don’t actually care about this shit!  And you missed out on writing about really interesting things like David Cameron having to say “I completely believe in Liam Fox Theresa May” or about the Occupy movement, or the Mixed Race season on BBC2, or y’know, X-Factor.

And the longer you leave these things the harder it is to get back into them.  Like when you think you ought to ring your mate who lives somewhere ages away.  You haven’t seen her for a little while, its time to call and check up, and also she sent you an email ages ago, and you didn’t get round to replying.  But you miss your window of opportunity to ring, and the longer you leave it the more awkward it seems.  Bloody well just pick up the phone!  And stop overthinking things!

Ahem.  So, the knee operation was awesome.  At least the bits I was awake for were pretty fun.  That might sound weird but personally I don’t get embarrassed or het up about things like wearing a backless gown, disposable pants, a hairnet and one surgical stocking.  I’ll happily swagger down corridors like that until the nurses tell me to stop dicking around.  I find the processes and people fascinating.  The going to sleep part is a little scary but you don’t really notice it.  My anaesthetist asked me to tell him about my PhD thesis and before you could say “and what was the point?” I was out for the count.

I came round in a bloody good mood.  A mood that was only increased by a lack of oxygen (“you said you were going to keep taking deep breaths” said the nurse, threatening me with the mask again) and by the injection of painkillers that may or may not have been morphine, I don’t care, they were awesome.  Wheeled round to recovery I spot my dear old ma and pa waiting for me and wave like a kid at a train.  ”I feel brilliant!” I enthused “I thought I’d be a right miserable cow but I’m really happy!”.  The nurse offers me food and when she comes back with a packet sandwich, a bag of crisps, some orange juice and two biscuits I am out of my mind with joy.  ”Look at all this!  Bloody brilliant!” Either through jealousy of my recovery room picnic or exasperation with my acting like the happiest man on the stag do getting off the airplane after one too many mini bottles of vodka my parents decide to go and get lunch elsewhere.

Suffice to say, I love the NHS.  This video pretty much shows what I had done, although I had a general anaesthetic not a local one, and trust me the animation and voice over may be cheesy but it made me a lot less squeamish than watching the real videos of operations that you can find online!

Later the drive home from the hospital sees me still tripping through happy land.  I’m only quiet for the five minutes or so right before I throw up.  Reader, let me tell you, that car journey made me realise that if mums were in charge of kit the British Armed Forces would never be under-prepared (are you listening Liam Fox Philip Hammond?).  Before getting into the car my mother had planned for all eventualities.  She put me in the front seat where I was less likely to get car sick.  She had cushions to support my leg.  She had a bottle of water for me.  She had Polos (she always forgets I’m boycotting Polos as they are owned by Nestle) to stave off nausea.  Perhaps most wisely she had a vessel for me to spew in.  But the real, true, genius of this woman, is that this vessel was an old Celebrations tin.  Why is that genius?  Is it because of the cheery inappropriateness of it being a Celebrations tin?  No, reader, it is because she had brought the lid.

After that the car journey was mostly uneventful.  I was returned to the parental home, slept a lot for two days, and was delivered back to mi casa en Swansea by my Dad, thankfully with no further vomiting.

I was on crutches for a bit, and then on one crutch, and then on no crutches but definitely still with a gangsta swagger, and now I’m almost back to my pre-op limp.  This is pretty good for just over 4 weeks of recovery.  Keyhole surgery eh?  I’m staggered by what my surgeon was up to, snipping off wayward cartilage and sewing down the rest.  He showed me the arthroscopy pictures after the op, admittedly I was still fairly doped up but it was really interesting.  The biggest problem now, after I recover full movement from this op, is that my ACL (anterior cruciate ligament) has been totally torn.  In the picture it looked like a crumpled ribbon instead of a thick strong band of biomechanical technology.  So, you may hope I get my blogging in whilst I can, as Knee Operation 2, the Kneequel, could be just around the corner.

What am I, thirteen?  Isn’t that the age we were when we started playing “you must have a boyfriend”?  Yes, I agree, he is nice, yes, I agree, he is kind.  I agree, he has a job, so he’s better than the ex.  I agree, he seems keen, he’s interested in me.  I tell you that there is no spark and so there is no future and you say

“Why don’t you just see how it goes?”

Will you be happier if I am someone’s girlfriend?  Does my singleness offend your sense of balance?  You’re part of a couple, I get it, you like to live vicariously through me.  You say you just want to see me happy.  But what if I’m happy single?  What if me being free to pursue what and whom I want is more important than a cuddle in front of reality TV?  What if contentment and security sound like diet coke when I’d rather be drinking martinis?

If I know his texts don’t make my heart leap, his lips aren’t like magnets for kisses, his jokes don’t make me snort my tea and choke laughing then why do I need to “see what happens”?  Just because he’s nice and he likes me does that mean I owe him a month? 6 months? A year before I admit that its not working, that its not him its me?

I want to live a truthful life.  I told him I wanted something casual.  But if I know already that I’ll end it when he gets serious then to me it seems its already over.

You should be pleased, he was the first one, my first attempt at moving on, you seem to think it has been long enough.  The first oasis in a desert, but that doesn’t mean my journey is over.  I don’t want to settle even if settling is what people do.

“That’s a shame” you say.  I don’t know why it’s a shame for me to decide that on my first attempt, since my heart last broke, I haven’t found a life partner or soulmate.  Did you like him that much?  Would he have balanced out the male-female-male-female seating plan?  Are you worried that I’ll have no-one with whom to share my Orange Wednesdays?

Is it so alien of me to prefer being single to being with whoever’s about?  It seems that for some any partner is better than none.  Think of all you have cut off, all the opportunities you are losing just so that you can be a “we”.  Is that why you’d rather I submitted to the orthodoxy of pub-lunch share-the-paper clear-his-eye-gunk coupledom? Because my freedom reminds you that you’ve surrendered yours?

I won’t settle.  It’s not a shame.  I won’t see how it goes.  He is nice, he deserves a nice girlfriend and I am not the one.  I’m fully single.  What comes next, who knows?

It is one thing to reclaim words and to play with their context and connotations, but no-one has ever used the word half-caste that way in front of me.  They use it out of either ignorance of its connotations and implicit racism or out of not giving a shit about its connotations or being racist.  Why is this blog called Ms Mongrel then?  Is mongrel not offensive? Hell yeah mongrel is offensive!  That’s why I use the word: we’re all mongrels really in one way or another, unless we’re clones or inbred, but no-one likes to be called mongrel.  Mongrel is a term I have chosen to use in order to put across how ridiculous it is to differentiate humans by poorly defined racial groups or “breeds” as if we were dogs, its a provocative play on words and an in-joke within the context of this blog.  I was born in the year of the dog.  Dogs provide compelling evidence that the “purity” of a breed may give us desirable features but can also lead to congenital defects, health problems, and sub-par intellect.  Mongrel dogs are just as smart, just as loveable, as any purebred but you don’t have to pay hundreds to own one, they turn up everywhere.  Ms Mongrel is proud to be mixed, accepting of her mongrelhood, but only if you accept that you too are a mongrel can you use that word with me.  I wouldn’t recommend using it to describe anybody else.

If you need to use any word to describe someone in the UK who can’t be put in the “white” or “black” or “asian” or whatever box because their parents are a combination then the politest option currently is mixed-race.  The USA have terms like bi-racial and multi-ethnic or so I hear, sounds complicated.  Better to refer to someone the way they refer to themselves.  And just because you have one friend or more who is mixed race and doesn’t mind “half-caste” doesn’t mean it isn’t a racial slur.  It is a racial slur and it is hurtful and offensive.  I will not tolerate it.  Consider yourself warned.

As for everything I’ve said, it is just so much blah blah compared to the brilliant poem by John Agard, Half Caste, listen the hell out of this and learn:

John Agard reads Half caste

Downing Loot from http://photoshoplooter.tumblr.com/

For me personally the riots meant a few days of being literally glued to 24 hour news and Twitter, contacting friends and family in the affected cities via Facebook and text, and spending a lot of time trying to understand what for me is the biggest question: why?

Our Prime Minister and his cabinet have switched to tough talk since returning from holidays, they have drilled out the same phrases again about there being “no excuse” for “thuggery” and “criminality”, and their assertions that these riots are in no way related to politics but are simply the action of mindless criminals echo up and down the land.  Nothing, says Cameron, is “off the table” when it comes to restoring order and peace to the streets.  Nothing, of course, except for communicating with the rioters themselves.

In fact the only person I have seen on national television make any appeal to the rioters is the remarkable and admirable Tariq Jahan, whose son was killed in a hit-and-run in Birmingham on Tuesday night, which police are now investigating as murder.  Jahan appealed to his local community and to the nation at large to end the unrest and the violence, asking people to stay home.  ”I’ve lost a son” he said “if you want to lose your sons, step forward, if not, then go home”.  His eloquent and intelligent speaking at a time of intense personal tragedy moved me to tears.

If a father in such a time of loss can talk directly to the rioters and looters, why can’t our government?  In the language that our national leaders choose to use the rioters and looters are dehumanized.  They are criminals, they are animals, they are thugs, they are inexcusable, inexplicable, unforgiveable.  The competition between commentators and politicians to assure us that they each condemn the violence, vandalism and arson is farcical.  It is as if voicing any opinion is invalid unless one specifically swears that they don’t agree with the rioters actions.  You would think it could be taken as read that in our society commentators condemn acts of arson, mugging, assault, theft, and the destruction of businesses, homes, livelihoods and communities, but if you offer an opinion without stating condemnation clearly first then you are viewed by some to be as criminal as the looters.

Ms Mongrel, as it says in my “About”, has one rule: people are people.  And that includes people that I don’t like, and that you don’t like, and that no one likes.  Every person in our society is a thinking and feeling human being who makes decisions and carries out actions according to their own reasoning.  If you don’t see where I’m going with this I’ll spell it out: the rioters are not animals, they are not subhuman, they are not some kind of secondary humanity like morlocks.  They are people, who for their own reasons have made decisions that I personally find hard to understand.  But I want to understand.  I want to know their motivations, their varied backgrounds and histories and their perception of society and their position within it that caused them to give up on behaving lawfully.  I feel that only through understanding this and acting on the underlying problems can we prevent such eruptions of violence from happening again.

To that end I have tried to read commentary from people who are more involved with the communities where trouble flared.  It is a demographic that I only have a passing interaction with, since I live in a small city where I feel comfortable to talk to people from any background, but where I myself and most of my friends acknowledge our middle-classness (complete with middle-class guilt and prejudice, but that’s a topic for another post).  So gathered below are my favourite commentaries so far on the riots and the reasons why some people might choose a spree of violence, terror and petty crime for a couple of wild nights in August:

Camila Batmanghelidjh, founder of charity Kids Company, talks about “parallel antisocial communities with their own rules” and why some people are so distanced from their own communities they were willing to attack them in “Caring costs – but so do riots”.

Socialist and New Statesman commentator Laurie Penny relates her experience and feelings regarding the riots and relates the feeling on the street to a wider political context in her personal blog.  In her New Statesman blog she more eloquently makes some of the points about the “them and us” rhetoric of our politicians that I have tried to discuss above.

As an FE Teacher blogger Rosamicula has been directly involved with the “unteachable” and expresses here her understanding of the “sense of power” rioters will have experienced, as a contrast to the usual powerlessness of their socio-economic situation.  She challenges my own prejudice about Tory voters(!) in a personal and intelligent description of the people she knows and has known who are of the rioters’ majority demographic. (Hat tip to Elena Cresci for linking to that blogpost)

The Guardian has plenty to say about the events of the past few days but I really like this piece by Zoe Williams as it looks at addressing the “why?” of the riots, in particular one part I have found hard to understand, which is the choice of targeting mid-range high street stores for consumerised looting.  Williams makes many points which I agree with, especially when she notes that government is determined to present these riots as criminality without a political context.  Her use of sociological sources, in particular the comparison with prison riots, is insightful.  I also appreciate her honest statement of her viewpoint as an observer of the riots who, like me, cannot entirely place herself in the shoes of the rioters, or of the government facing them down.

These are my key pieces so far in finding an answer to why these riots happened, and what undercurrent was tapped into after the peaceful protest in Tottenham on the weekend that led to these actions.  It is my opinion that the political context cannot be ignored, as Williams says “just because there is no political agenda on the part of the rioters doesn’t mean the answer isn’t rooted in politics”.  The controversial shooting of Mark Duggan and subsequent attitude from the police seems to have served as the last straw for people who feel that society, and the state, see them as human detritus to be brushed aside and ignored.  I may not know first hand what drives someone to act in a way that is for me unthinkable, but I’m trying to understand.  And in that respect I’m doing far more than our government.

In this way he is part of a growing trend in Hollywood and particularly in advertising, the casting of “ethnically ambiguous” actors.  And like more and more mixed race people in the limelight Vin Diesel is happy to be open about that ambiguity.   Yes he can be viewed as a white actor with distinctive looks and a memorable voice, but the short film “Multi-Facial” he wrote and directed in the mid-90′s shows that there is a lot more to him than meets the eye.

What meets the eye of course, depends on the beholder.  This is something many mixed race people will have experience of finding, that people assume you are whatever they are most familiar with.  If you have Spanish friends/family you might think that I look Spanish, or similarly that I am Indian, or I am Brazilian, or I am white and must have had a spray tan.  Nationality and ethnicity are interchangeable as terms for people to try to answer the question “what are you?“.  Of course, as individuals, even mixed race folk don’t see themselves as “what” they see themselves as “who“, and the identity of “who” for people of all backgrounds depends on more than skin colour and hair type.

Vin Diesel’s short film, therefore, reveals a lot more about who he is and how he feels he is perceived, and what his mixed race heritage really means to him.  It also reveals that there’s more to his acting than the action heroics we’ve all seen before.

I particularly love the girl in the coffee shop at the end.

My companions on the dancefloor are ‘J’, a tall Irish lad with blonde curly hair, a cartoon t-shirt and a laid back attitude, and ‘V’, a slender girl with blonde curly hair, a plain white tee, and a laid back attitude.

Enter stage left: a young ‘gent’ in a white shirt.  He taps V on the shoulder and when she turns to look at him he slides his arm around her shoulder.  V shoots me a look of “what does he think he’s doing?”.  When she shrugs out of his unwelcome embrace he grabs her hand and proceeds to twirl her around as if he’s on Strictly.  She disentangles herself and we manoeuvre away from the drunken charmer.  He wanders off.

Later I see him pop up behind V, placing his finger point down on the top of her head.  She starts at the contact and I move to keep the fella away from her – just putting myself in his way.

He grabs my hand and tries to twirl me round.  I set my weight on my heels and refuse to move.  I draw my hand back and he grabs it again.  For a few seconds he’s grabbing at my hands, refusing to let go as I try to extricate myself and I snap: one hand still grabbed I push him away from me saying “let me go!”.  The would-be Fred Astaire staggers back an excessive 3 steps and then comes back towards me.  I put my hand up to keep him at distance.  The ever placid J turns towards him and advises him to leave me alone.  He pushes past and stands next to me, chest puffed out.

“I just want to know why you are so aggressive” he says.

I shrug as I turn my back on him, and block him from our small circle.  He moves away, shaking his head.

“Sorry” I say to V and J “for losing my temper”.

“Don’t worry about it” says V.  So I don’t.  The night continues.

You see, pending some corrections I am on track to becoming Dr Mongrel, more on the whole PhD experience to come.  In the meantime I’m going to get on some new posts about my own projects, those of friends, and a lady mongrel’s guide to the universe.

And in gratitude to all those that got me through the PhD, and just because it is awesome, have a little groove and Take Yo’ Praise.