https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rwePbwu1vR8
Duas coisas são infinitas: o universo e a estupidez humana. Mas, em relação ao universo, ainda não tenho a certeza absoluta. (Einstein) But the tune ends too soon for us all (Ian Anderson)
(PERSONAL UNDERLINES)
The first problem about decolonisation is the word itself. Colonisation is the process of establishing control over a foreign territory and its indigenous inhabitants, by settlement, conquest or political manipulation. But decolonisation? It has come to mean much more than the reversal of that process. Today, it refers to an altogether wider agenda, whose central objective is to discredit or downgrade the cultural achievements of the West. Objective truth and empirical investigation are mere western constructs. They are optional ideas which need have no weight beyond the western societies which invented them. But the West has imposed them on the rest of the world by a process akin to the colonial conquests of the past four centuries.
In New Zealand, this attitude to truth has led to a revised school syllabus in which Maori folk beliefs about the world are to be treated as if they were just as valid as the body of empirical knowledge that is called science everywhere else. However, we do not need to go to New Zealand to see intellectual decolonisation in action. University faculties in Britain are all expected to publish ‘decolonisation statements’ filled with guilt and angst about the western origin of so much modern knowledge.
Oxford University’s Mathematical, Physical and Life Sciences Division may seem an unpromising candidate for decolonisation, but its decolonisation statement attacks the whole concept of knowledge. ‘As we work towards greater inclusion’, it declares, ‘we need to have a broader understanding of what constitutes scientific knowledge.’ Among other things, this is said to involve ‘challenging western-centric ideas of “objectivity”, “expertise” and “merit” ’, and ‘removing structural hierarchies that privilege certain knowledge and certain peoples over others’. The instinct behind statements like these is not scholarly or scientific. It is political. It devalues knowledge by redefining it, as a way of protesting against the endemic sense of racial superiority which is said to characterise British society.
Doug Stokes is based at the University of Exeter, an institution whose history department proclaims on its website that ‘the very ways we are conditioned to look at and think about the past are often derived from imperialist and racialised schools of thought’. His new book, Against Decolonisation, is a powerful protest against this kind of stale cliché.
Stokes challenges the dominant cultural and political narrative which portrays Britain as endemically racist. Racial prejudice is too natural to human beings to be eliminated entirely, but statistical studies suggest that by most measures Britain is one of the least racist societies in Europe. The Prime Minister, the Foreign Secretary and the Mayor of London all come from minority ethnic groups. British universities, including the most selective, have a student population in which ethnic minorities are well represented at every level of academic attainment.
Stokes digs deeper into the figures, to show that ‘ethnic minorities’ is too large and varied a category to serve as a useful instrument of analysis. There are significant differences between racial groups. And all of them do significantly better than the category that persistently loses out on university education, namely poor white males.
These points have been made before, notably in the March 2021 report of the Commission on Race and Ethnic Disparities. The report concluded that economic geography, socio-economic background and family values were far more significant determinants of outcomes than racism. As it pointed out, the life chances of the child of a Harrow-raised British Indian accountant were very different from those of the child of a Bradford-raised British Pakistani taxi driver. Both of them had better prospects than ‘low income white boys, especially those from former industrial and coastal towns’. The Commission’s report was received with howls of outrage by those who felt that they were being deprived of their victimhood. But the objectors rarely engaged with the detailed supporting data on which it was based.
Although the points which Stokes makes are not new, they have rarely been made with such verve and force as they are in this succinct demolition of modern decolonisation theory. He is particularly critical of the reports of the Equality and Human Rights Commission, which he accuses of dodgy statistical analysis, and Universities UK, the representative body of vice-chancellors, which has uncritically imposed a decolonisation agenda on the whole university sector.
How did we come to this pass? Stokes argues that the narrative of embedded (‘institutional’) racism in western societies was adopted to fill the intellectual gap left by the decline of Marxism. Cultural control replaced class oppression as the mechanism by which the capitalist West was said to maintain its dominant role in the world. The chief prophets of this doctrine were the French postmodernist philosopher Michel Foucault, one of the most influential thinkers of the 20th century, and the Palestinian-American historian Edward Said. Foucault taught that the structures of power determine what is generally perceived to be true. What we think we know is actually no more than an artificial consensus created by our invisible control over schools, universities, publishers and museums and other cultural institutions in our own interest. It followed that to change the world, it was necessary to take control of those institutions and impose a new intellectual consensus. Said took this idea further. The notion of the inherent superiority of western science and culture, he argued, was a new form of colonialism. It enabled the West to maintain its dominance long after it had shed its colonies. Yet western ideas, western science and western history had no objective claim to authority. They were simply the products of western power structures.
These ideas have never had much traction in France, the land of their birth. But they have taken root in Britain and America in the minds of many who have never read Foucault or Said. In Britain, race theorists such as Kehinde Andrews, Professor of Black Studies at Birmingham University, have argued that the claims made for western culture are a form of racial prejudice. They are an assertion of the inherent superiority of whites over people of colour which is hardwired throughout British society. This kind of thinking, says Stokes, is what lies behind the obsession with race that is currently transforming British universities.
The problem about postmodernist theories is the same as the problem about other forms of determinism. They underestimate the originality of the human mind. They also ignore the universality of abstract ideas. The fact that Aristotle or Einstein first articulated an idea does not make it a ‘western’ idea. If some statement about the world is true in New Zealand or Africa, it must be equally true in Britain or America, or it is not true at all.
However, the main objection to decolonisation is not that it is false but that it is narrow-minded, obsessive and intolerant. People will continue to disagree about the prevalence and the origin of racial prejudice. Error and discord are inevitable hazards of the free market in ideas. But the decolonisers are not just trying to defend their views. They are seeking to upend the free market in ideas by imposing them. This is a natural consequence of their approach to intellectual inquiry. For those who believe that knowledge and truth are mere social constructs there is no point in debate. Alternative visions of the world are just the product of social conditioning. Social change and suppression of dissent are the only answers. Schools and universities must be the battlegrounds. Hence the obligatory decolonisation statements, the imposition of a highly controversial agenda on the syllabus, the no-platforming of opponents and the real fears of so many academics that if they step out of line their careers will be blighted.
These are symptoms of the narrowing of our intellectual world, even in the citadels of the mind which should be its foremost defenders. Perhaps books like this one will encourage more academics to summon up the courage to resist the bullying and to challenge the new conformity. Not everyone will agree with them. But everyone who truly cares about truth will welcome the opening up of a debate which the universities have largely foreclosed.
(personal underlines)
December 18, 2024 7 mins
“Today’s Germany is the best Germany the world has seen.” So effused the Washington Post columnist George F. Will five long years ago. It’s hard to imagine anyone — even a German — writing those words today. The country is in crisis. On Monday, Chancellor Olaf Scholz lost a humiliating no-confidence vote, and now Germany is hurtling towards a divisive snap election in February. The nation’s economy has barely grown since 2018, and it is de-industrialising at an alarming rate. The unfolding calamity represents a strategic opening for China and Russia which the West cannot afford to ignore.
At the root of Germany’s industrial woes is electricity, which is now nearly twice as expensive as it is for their American counterparts, and three times more expensive than in China. Prices have been rising since the early 2000s, but a policy embraced by the German government in 2011, following the nuclear meltdown at Fukushima, sealed the nation’s fate. The proponents of the Energiewende (“energy revolution”) policy made the astonishing argument that Germany could rapidly abandon both fossil fuels and nuclear energy without losing its industrial edge. This was, as one Oxford study put it, a “gamble”. Or a game of Russian roulette, a cynic might have added.
The gamble hasn’t paid off. Even Germany’s gas-related dealings with Russia — a source of Russo-American tension since the Sixties — couldn’t stop prices rising throughout the 2010s. They were significant enough, however, to make the shock of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022 nearly lethal for German industry. Today, electricity prices are at their highest since 2000, with total production hitting its lowest point since then.
This makes it incredibly tough for Germany to compete with China. Not only does Russian gas continue to flow to China in ever greater quantities, but the Chinese are also receiving sanctioned Iranian oil; installing more than 90% of the world’s new coal power capacity; putting the finishing touches on a hydroelectric infrastructure that already generates more power than Japan; and building ever more nuclear power plants. All this has ensured a fundamental manufacturing advantage over Germany.
But there’s more to the tale of German decline than cheap electricity. The past two decades have also witnessed an industrial revolution of sorts: at the turn of the millennium, China churned out cheap junk and not much else. Now, though, it is shaping up to be a formidable and sophisticated rival.
The car industry is a prime example. Today, Chinese electric vehicles are among the best and cheapest in the world, posing a menace to domestic production in Germany and the rest of Europe. But this was not always the case. As one post on r/CarTalkUK, a Reddit group with half-a-million users, puts it: “I remember only a few years ago when Top Gear went to China and showed us all those horrific knock-off death trap shit-boxes that looked like mutilated Minis… now those things are seemingly a thing of the past.” The EU is well aware of this development, having just slapped tariffs on Chinese cars that would make Trump blush. And it’s not just cars — China dominates many key markets, including drones, shipbuilding, solar panels, and wind turbine components to name just a few, and is making strides in other areas too.
Consider its acceleration. The nation started out by hawking junk, leveraging cheap labour to build up healthy export surpluses. This provided Chinese companies with the cash to invest in moving up the supply chain and, critically, to go shopping abroad. In 2004 and 2005, Chinese state-owned enterprises bought up F Zimmerman and Kelch, two of the world’s leading machine tool companies whose highly specialised equipment is vital for thousands of manufacturing processes. Of course, buying companies doesn’t necessarily hand its new owners the keys to the kingdom: transferring high-end R&D and manufacturing processes to China and training up loyal Chinese engineers and scientists who won’t emigrate can still be scuppered by export control laws, union action, political intervention and so on. But it’s a pretty useful strategy that sooner or later creates opportunities.
Another tool at China’s disposal has been the joint venture system, whereby German manufacturers who wish to set up shop in China are expected to share their critical knowledge and technology with their Chinese competitors. This kind of pact may seem utterly Faustian, but dozens upon dozens of high-profile companies have signed up. This includes Volkswagen, which now finds itself shutting down its German factories for the first time in history, in the face of ever more daunting competition from Chinese rivals.
China’s twin strategies — joint ventures and purchases — were both turbocharged by the financial crisis. And still Germany did nothing. A series of new laws that might have enabled better government screening and intervention were passed in 2013, but not used for years.
By 2016, the threat could no longer be ignored. That year, Chinese interests took control of a hugely important German company, the robotics giant KUKA. Their products are used in a whole range of industries: from carmakers and battery manufacturers to medical device companies and aerospace companies such as Airbus. Along with another big deal that year, the purchase of the plastics processing machine company KraussMaffei, the alarm was sounded.
Yet Germany kept on hitting snooze. It wasn’t until 2018 that the government first cited security concerns to block a major takeover, this time of the metal forming specialist Leifeld Metal Spinning. The same year, then economic minister Peter Altmaier proposed a special government fund to buy German firms facing a foreign takeover. The idea came to nothing.
Slowly, however, the Germans have been wising up to the competition. A series of legislative changes have updated the 2013 foreign takeover screening tools, enabling more intervention in recent years. There have been around a dozen or so measures taken against acquisitions every year since 2019, with hundreds more scrutinised but left to proceed.
Arguably, this is all too little, too late. Thanks to decades of investment in tech acquisition through takeovers, industrial espionage and joint ventures, as well as complementary investments in human capital, China now has its own high-tech innovation ecosystem. The days of Chinese copying are not over per se, it’s just that copying is now accompanied by homegrown invention.
Last year, China accounted for more than half of the world’s industrial robot installations and surpassed Germany and Japan in industrial robot density, a key measure of automation. This will potentially enable China to avoid old trade-offs associated with the transition from low- to high-end industry. In a contrast with the historical experience of some developed nations, China may not need to offshore low-end industry to wherever labour is cheaper, instead leaning on automation and cheap energy to keep supply chains national — a strategic boon in an era of growing tensions.
The US cottoned on to China’s industrial coup in 2016 and began responding. Donald Trump’s China policy, his “trade war”, was adopted and further developed by Joe Biden after 2020. The focus on technology, industry and China is now a central pillar of US foreign policy, and historians will surely view 2016 as a historical turning point in China-US relations.
By contrast, it has taken the EU eight years of damage to start a serious conversation about China — despite being a prime victim of high-tech industrialisation. And it only began in September, when former Italian prime minister Mario Draghi published a report on European competitiveness for the European Commission. This has since been promoted by the President of the European Commission Ursula von der Leyen in the context of the escalating dispute about European protectionism against Chinese electric vehicles.
And still it seems that the EU’s response to China’s innovation boom will once again be late and ineffective. One only needs to look at the battery sector to see why. In an attempt to turn the tables, the EU has hinted that it will block Chinese companies from accessing its electric battery grants when investing in Europe: unless they hand over their superior battery technology. This is the very same trick that China played on Europe for years, but the EU’s hand is undermined by the weakness of European battery initiatives. Just last month, “Europe’s Tesla”, the “battery champion” Northvolt, declared bankruptcy.
Add to this EU infighting. The troublemaker in chief is Viktor Orbán’s Hungary, which argues against an “economic cold war” with China, having received nearly half of all Chinese investment into Europe in 2023, including funding for a major automotive plant that is now subject to retaliatory probes from the EU Commission. Germany must balance its own interests with those of an increasingly fragmented trading bloc.
With German industry collapsing, nationalism is on the rise once again. Since July 2023, the anti-EU, anti-immigration AfD has consistently been rated the second most popular party in national polls. And in June’s European Parliament elections, the AfD came second, winning most support in the old East. In September, it won a plurality in the eastern state of Thuringia, but has yet to form a governing coalition.
The region is also home to another radical political force: Sahra Wagenknecht, whose nascent Left-wing populist party is named after her. A half-Iranian former Stalinist and self-described “Left conservative”, Wagenknecht has attempted to unite anti-immigration, anti-Nato and pro-Russian politics, arguing that “Nato must be dissolved and replaced by a collective security system including Russia”.
Both Wagenknecht and the AfD have been investigated by the Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution (BfV) — Germany’s equivalent to MI5. In particular, the BfV has embroiled itself in legal disputes with the AfD, which it has successfully argued in court should be subject to surveillance on the basis it is a suspected anti-constitutional organisation. This is due to its supposed anti-Muslim, anti-refugee and anti-democratic rhetoric. The AfD has also endured espionage investigations involving Russian and Chinese financial and personnel infiltration.
For such a popular party to be treated as if it is a terrorist organisation raises questions about the strength of Germany’s post-Cold War regime. Does it risk shedding legitimacy by stigmatising widely held concerns? Or can it accommodate and temper the emerging political forces that have been nurtured by years of mass immigration and are now best set to capitalise on looming de-industrialisation? There is already evidence that voters in Western industrial areas may be the vanguard of possible AfD gains outside the old East — AfD politicians continually attack Net Zero, responding to fears about industrial jobs. Then there’s Wagenknecht, who warned ominously in 2022 that Germany risks experiencing “incredible deindustrialisation” without major reform. Her solution is peace with Russia and renewed gas imports. This autumn’s state elections in Thuringia, Brandenburg and Saxony suggest these messages are hitting home.
Despite the swell of popular discontent, there is little sign that Germany’s February election will change enough to reverse the energy crisis. At this rate, Germany’s industrial woes are set to continue, multiplying opportunities for China to steal a lead in key areas. Meanwhile, Russia will dangle the promise of unlimited gas before the eyes of the growing AfD and Wagenknecht movements. These insurgents may yet experience breakthroughs outside of the former Soviet East, prompting a constitutional crisis at worst, or otherwise forcing the established parties into major policy adjustments. Already, Scholz has announced unilateral steps effectively to suspend Schengen, Europe’s free movement system, after coming under pressure over immigration.
This is without doubt the most severe crisis Germany has faced since its rebirth 34 years ago, when the former president Richard von Weizsäcker promised that the fledgling republic would “serve peace in the world in a united Europe”. How, though, can Germany do so when both peace and a united Europe have proven so elusive? Uncomfortable as it is to admit it, history is far from over for Germany. The nation may yet decide that it is better simply to serve itself.
Decidi pedir os números atrasados deste revista, editada pelo Jaime Nogueira Pinto e pelo Rui Ramos.
Sou assinante desde o nº 6, daí ter pedido os números atrasados. Ainda se pensa e se fazem coisas boas neste canto da Europa...
Em 15 de Dezembro a Plateias d'Arte ofereceu o almoço de Natal no hotel em Alcântara.
Com o João Prior
(personal underlines)
A famously elitist members’ club, a 900-year-old meat market, and a traditional old barbershop may not feel like they have much in common. In fact, they didn’t – not until the last week or two, when they all simultaneously closed in their disparate parts of London. The first closure, that of the Groucho Club, has been widely covered in these pages, generally with an overtone of chortling. After all, it is hard to feel sorry for a place that is notoriously exclusive, boasts a world-class art collection, and charges members £1,500 a year for the privilege of eating near a Damien Hirst – or indeed eating near Damien Hirst.
And yet, as a long-standing member, I will robustly defend the Groucho. Because it is fun. Because it opens late. Because it has been around for decades. Because that art collection is magnificent and soothing. Because – yes, if you can afford it – the Groucho wants you to enjoy yourself. And because it’s a pivotal part of Soho which is potentially closing for good (inshallah, the Groucho survives). Soho is a crucial part of what makes London London. And it is all of London that feels like it is declining, changing for the worse, even dying.
Take the second closure, the meat market. This, of course, is Smithfield in Farringdon, which has been butchering pigs, filling sausages, and swinging cow carcasses like dead gangsters in a Scorsese movie since the time of Henry II. For evidence of how old Smithfield is: if you’ve ever wondered why the pavements of Islington are so weirdly elevated, it is because, centuries ago, they were raised above the dung and mess created by the herds of livestock trampling down to Farringdon’s Gate of St John.
Now, after nearly a thousand years of meat cleavers, burly porters, 8 a.m. pints of Guinness and decades of that brilliant clash between sleek, rich, chic financial London and ruddy, visceral, malty, offal-and-oatmeal London, the market is to shut its oddly delicate Victorian gates forever. Appositely, it will be replaced by a museum: the Museum of London.
And what about that third closure? It is, yes, just a barbershop. But it is my barbers, on the rugged Primrose Hill borders. I’ve known it for yonks, and the amiable boss could make my hair presentable in 16 minutes. Now he’s gone, and one reason he’s gone is the competition from approximately seventy billion ‘Turkish barbers’, which line the streets near me en masse, only outnumbered by vape shops with fascias so garish they would be rejected in Nairobi as unsuitably vulgar.
But am I imagining this whiff of wider decline, and narrowing, even death? Let’s focus on the nightlife, because there we have stats. Between 2020 and 2023, more than 3,000 of London’s ‘night economy businesses’ closed their doors. At the same time, dozens of nightclubs have vanished – Tiger Tiger to Madame Jojo’s. Even sadder for a world city with a great drinking culture, London pubs are shuttering at a faster rate than anywhere in Britain.
Of the pubs that do remain, they face ever more hostile councils and busybodies. The Sekforde pub in Clerkenwell opened in 1829. Now its neighbours have complained so fiercely about the jolly sound of evening drinkers, this historic boozer risks losing its licence. Perhaps the curtain-twitchers should have considered the prospect of street chatter when they bought a house next to a pub? And the Sekforde is hardly unique. Add staffing problems and the cost-of-living crisis, and it is not uncommon to find pubs in central London closing at 9 p.m. or not opening for half the week.
Underlying demographic trends are also, of course, at work. Take London boroughs like Tower Hamlets and Newham, which are now 40 per cent and 35 per cent Muslim respectively. As Muslims don’t drink, it is unsurprising that the pubs in these areas have closed even faster than elsewhere. At the same time, younger people – of any religion, or none – are much less likely to drink than their hog-whimpering parents. Around a quarter of 16- to 24-year-olds don’t drink at all.
Personally, however, I can’t help feeling that the disappearance of good-time London, its slide into depression, even intimations of death, must also be linked to political leadership. After all, for a decade London has been led by a beige, joyless, teetotal homunculus, a man so dedicated to Not Having Fun he bans bikini ads from the Tube.
Mayor Sadiq Khan has also, until recently, been assisted by one Amy Lamé, who was paid up to £130,000 as Night Czar. And what happened under the reign of the capital’s Night Czar? Well, almost 1,000 bars and clubs in London have closed, for a start. Maybe the Night Czar should have been called the Early Evening Czarina, or even the Sultana of Stay Home, Then We Won’t Be Stabbed.
We have a new PM, too, the Honourable Member for Anhedonia, who makes Khan look like Falstaff crossed with a young Elton John. For Keir Starmer (who doesn’t dream, never eats meat, cannot name a favourite book, poem nor Christmas movie), a ‘good time’ is becoming prime minister just so that he and his wife can grift some free designer saucepans – like one of those rich middle-aged couples who can’t wait to book into a struggling historic three-star hotel just to steal the tiny soaps and hand towels.
So, yes, London is more depressing than it was. No getting round it. But as a Londoner, I refuse to yield to despair – or to any sense of death. Why not? Because it is London. It is the Smoke, it is the city that survived the Black Death and the Blitz, the Great Fire and Gordon Brown. When I climb Primrose Hill at dusk, I can look out over a skyline that simply did not exist 40 years ago. Some of the new skyscrapers are gauche and ugly, but some are glorious.
There are also solid reasons for optimism, amidst the darkness. London is easily the best city in Europe for start-ups (‘despite Brexit’), indeed it is second only to New York, globally. London also boasts more tech unicorns (new tech companies worth over £1 billion) than any city in Europe. And, fundamentally, London’s young population is growing, fast. There are good reasons to dislike the changes that can come with this, but on a basic level a growing population is much better than the opposite. New York City, for instance, is shrinking.
As for my own personal feelings, when I heard that my barbers was gone, I stomped down to the high street in a huff – and I went to one of those Turkish gaffs. Inside, the guy gave me an excellent cut, told a funny deadpan joke (‘That will be £90, Sir’), burned the hairs off my ears, and I was out within 15 minutes. So it turns out I found a good new barber quite quickly. In the same spirit, I believe London will throw off her sulks, her glooms, and her grey politicians, and she will return. She always does.
Em 11.12.2024, pelas 15, e mais tarde pelas 21h, estreámos no Teatro Joaquim Benite, o musical "Música no Coração", depois de não termos podido estreá-la antes, devido ao problema de "direitos de autor". Houve algumas pessoas, que eu não tinha avisado, que mais tarde confessaram ter visto o espectáculo e ter-me reconhecido. Isto para além do Joaquim Figueira e da Teresa do Coro da Ordem dos Engenheiros, do Carlos Andrade e do Luis, de diversos casais da Hidro.
Em baixo com o encenador, o Diogo Novo.
O Zé Carlos faleceu em 17.12.2024. A mulher pôs um post no Watsup, no grupo de Fontanelas que eu "tive a iniciativa de lançar" já há uns anos.
O Zé Carlos, creio que foi um dos primeiros conhecimentos que tive em Fontanelas. Tinha uma moradia mesmo em frente da casa da Tia Ana, uma preta adorável a quem arrendávamos a casa durante os verões entre, creio, 1968 e cerca de 1972 ou 1973.
Foi em casa dele, mas em Lisboa, que tenho uma das recordações mais presentes da minha adolescência: ouvir o "Lola" dos Kinks, um single que ele tinha.
Lembro-me perfeitamente do pai e da mãe dele. E de algumas das histórias que ele contava, fosse com o Zé Luis Trancoso, fosse com o Zé Rosales.
O Paulo Santos e o Tó Zé sempre foram mais próximos dele do que eu, tanto mais que a convivência se iniciou muito mais cedo.
Na nossa fase da adolescência, o Zé acompanhava sempre mais o Zé Luis Trancoso.
Fica a memória. Que raio!
Zé e Pedro Teixeira
(personal underlines)
What do you do if you can’t solve crime? For the police in this country – as in many other western countries – the answer is obvious. You police non-crime.
The fact that our police do not police crime is not my view. It is a fact. Recent figures have shown that they currently fail to solve 90 per cent of reported crimes. Put into real numbers, that is 6,000 criminals every day getting away with serious offences. In 2022 that included 30,000 sexual offences, 320,000 violent crimes, 1.3 million thefts and over 310,000 cases of criminal damage and arson. Or to put it still another way, only 6.5 per cent of crimes led to a charge or court summons, while 2.2 million cases were dropped because no suspect was found.
Some areas of the country manage to beat even this record. As I mentioned a few weeks ago, in the past three years police forces have failed to solve a single burglary in half of all neighbourhoods in England and Wales. Not one. Nada. Zilch.
So what are they reduced to doing? Why, policing language of course. As the great Mark Steyn has said, our societies in the West have ended up policing everything except crime. As he knows.
Take a phrase I was introduced to only this week: ‘tragedy chanting’. This is one of those new phrases used as though they are familiar terms. It is also the offence with which two Manchester United fans were charged with after an FA Cup match against Liverpool. Following the arrests, Chief Inspector Jamie Collins said that Greater Manchester police ‘will clamp down on this and arrest those who engage in such behaviour, regardless of what team they support’. You could observe that a force which fails to distinguish itself during actual tragedies might disproportionately incline to policing ‘tragedy chanting’ as some kind of recompense.
The Liverpool police have form in this area too. A few years back 19-year-old Chelsea Russell was visited by officers, issued with a community order and given an 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. curfew for two months. The offence was that Chelsea posted on Instagram a lyric which included the ‘n-word’ from Snap Dogg’s celebrated work ‘I’m Trippin’ ’. She apparently intended it as a tribute to a friend who had just died in a road crash, and whose favourite song this was. And while you or I might disagree with Chelsea’s or her late friend’s choice, I am not certain that anyone’s musical taste should be an arrestable offence. But the police in Liverpool thought otherwise.
So it isn’t just Scotland that’s engaged in policing these strange new offences. It is forces across the UK. Recent figures show that in just one year, 3,300 people were detained and questioned about things they had said on social media. Last November, for example, the Met arrested a man for a post in which he criticised the number of Palestinian flags flying from lampposts in his area. There’s also the recent prosecution of Sam Melia, whose crimes included putting up stickers which said ‘It’s okay to be white’ and ‘Reject white guilt’. We have yet to learn whether it is a crime in Britain to put up stickers saying ‘It’s okay to be black’ or ‘Reject black guilt’. The most egregious of his stickers asked ‘Why are Jews censoring free speech?’ Yet marching at a Palestine demonstration waving a placard saying media is ‘controlled by Zionists’ does not – as with Mr Melia – result in a charge of incitement to stir up racial hatred and a two-year prison sentence.
It is a dangerous game that the police are playing: lean on one lever overzealously the better to keep the peace. This is why the brave Iranian man who turns up to Palestinian demonstrations in London with a sign saying ‘Hamas is terrorist’ is terrorised not only by the peaceful attendees of the peaceful marches, but by the police too. It doesn’t do to state British government policy amid a peaceful march, does it? It might inflame opinion among the peaceful attendees.
The same is happening all over the West. Earlier this month a new Holocaust museum was opened in Amsterdam. A protest against it was arranged by Palestinian activists, ostensibly because the ceremony was going to be attended by Isaac Herzog, the President of Israel (and son of British second world war hero Chaim Herzog). At the service in the nearby synagogue, attendees could hear the chants of their opponents outside. Footage of the day includes images of Holocaust survivors, with their grandchildren, walking past screaming protestors.
In response, the Dutch comedian Hans Teeuwen made a video which he posted on social media lampooning the mayor of Amsterdam for allowing such scenes to happen in the city. Wearing a funny wig, he did a biting impression of her saying that sometimes you have to break a few eggs and Jewish hearts in order to make a nice diverse and inclusive omelette. At the end of the sketch, as the camera pulled away, there was an air gun on the table, a satirical reference to the fact that the mayor’s son was found a few years ago with a disabled firearm belonging to his father.
Within two hours, six police turned up at Teeuwen’s door claiming they were investigating reports of a firearm. The idea that he was posing any kind of risk to the public was preposterous, and Teeuwen treated it as such, telling the police that they could take the toy gun and give it to the mayor’s son as a reminder of the shame she’d brought on Amsterdam by refusing to let the opening of a Holocaust museum proceed with dignity. The police suggested that he was lucky that they hadn’t broken his door down. ‘Aren’t you just a little bit ashamed of this?’ Teeuwen asked them when they finally left.
But that’s the state of things in the West. If you can’t control the mobs and you can’t control the criminals, why not try to control everybody else?