Post from my blog (http://tenderhooligan.wordpress.com/)

I was really shocked the other night when I watched two minutes of “Bigger, Fatter, Gypsier” on Channel 4. I was flicking around stations and was stopped by the horror of this show. Channel 4 is known for making programmes which degrade, belittle, horrify and ridicule, but it’s outdone itself with this one. Viewers are encouraged to laugh at “gypsies”, their culture, their beliefs, their lifestyles, and their customs. In short, Channel 4 appeals to the collective elitism in us all and asks to to join them in making fun of the “savages”. It’s horrible.

What I found almost more upsetting, however, was the numerous posts on my twitter and facebook feeds which were joining in the game. She’s wearing a pineapple!! OMG!, and such like. Not big. And not clever.

There have been several criticisms of the programme this week (from segmentpolitics, liberalconspiracy, and the guardian, to name but a few), but none more poignant than this open letter to Channel 4. It was written by a 17-year-old Romany male. Here is the link to his blog post. Below is the copy and paste for your convenience.

Dear Channel 4,

I am writing to you with the hope that you will stop ruining my life. While you’re obsession with my ethnicity is flattering, it has become somewhat apparent to me that you might have gotten the wrong end of the stick. This is sort of awkward for me, because I don’t want to be the one to break it to you, but your documentary, ‘Big Fat Gypsy Weddings’, is unfortunately a work of fiction. There is no need to be embarrassed, it can happen to the best of us, and thus I hope my letter will help you establish the facts, after all I’m sure you are passionate about fighting discrimination against ethnic minorities. Don’t be modest now, we know you are…right?

It surprised me to discover that 99% of Britain’s Gypsy and Traveller population are Irish. Correct me if I’m wrong, as I am sure you have done lots and lots of research on this topic, but just 10% of the Gypsy andTraveller population are actually Irish Travellers. The majority, like myself, are in fact Romany, yet your ‘documentary’ seems to ignore our existence. While I have nothing but respect for the Irish Traveller community, you seem to be unaware that we are two distinct ethnic groups and thus there are many differences between our cultures. While Irish Travellers originate from Ireland, we can trace our routes back to India, so it was hardly surprising that I was somewhat confused when you use the word Gypsy in the title of your ‘documentary’ about Irish Travellers. I was even more confused when your ‘documentary’ about Irish Travellers seemed to feature an alien culture that even most Irish Traveller’s didn’t recognise.

Read more at the blog.

Post from my blog (http://tenderhooligan.wordpress.com/)

In what world is stalking a research “subject” acceptable? I would hope that you agree that such a “methodology” is never acceptable. As academic researchers, we must ensure that the privacy of our research participants is never invaded, that their identity is never revealed (at least so far as possible), and they we never do them any harm. When you stalk someone, you invade their privacy and you certainly do them harm. One would hope that the “researcher” who conducted this study would have known that. Maybe he did and just didn’t care.

In the numerous research projects I have conducted to date, ensuring that I am ethical with my research participants is always a priority for me. I am confident that I never did anything in any study to compromise the safety of a participant, or to cause them harm. I ask you again: In what world is stalking a research “subject” acceptable? Let’s ask the author of this article. It’s called: “Saved!” by Jena Malone: An introspective study of a consumer’s fan relationship with a film actress.

I think you all know what you’re about to read here.

For the “study”, the “researcher” developed an obsession with this woman, built a shrine to her in his home, spent several hours of his life devouring her films, had numerous pictures of her (included in the article), delved very deeply into her private life, and kept a diary and a “contemporaneous dataset” about his “relationship” with her – which, incidentally, stacked up to nearly 200,000 words.

He started off his description of this “relationship” with the following statement:

I still remember the day in April 2005, when I saw Jena Malone for the very first time. Her lovely smile and her beautiful eyes captivated me so much that my entire body was filled with the same prickling warmth that I feel each time I fancy a particular girl/woman.

If you, too, are picturing the archetypal peeping tom in a trench-coat, then you’re in good company here. He goes on to say:

Though I felt sexually attracted to her, my initial interest and admiration for Jena Malone was mainly based on her work and achievement as an actress. But the nature of my emotional attachment to her changed after suffering another major disappointment in my private life. As I hadn’t been on a date for a long time, I was filled with an enjoyable and arousing feeling of excitement, anticipation, happiness and nervousness mixed  together, when a nice girl finally agreed to go out with me.

What the actual fuck is wrong with you?! Is anyone feeling sick yet? Yes, you’re still in good company.

Read more (link to source). 

From my blog: tenderhooligan.wordpress.com.

If you haven’t read this piece already, you should now: Gang-rape woman arrested during trial, following overdose.

The linked piece concerns a woman who was gang-raped by three men and who had to stand in front of them in court and identify them. She was later arrested for not turning up to court again. Unsurprisingly, she self-harmed because she couldn’t cope with what was happening to her. The three accused men have since been acquitted. After the victim’s arrest, Mr Justice Carney said: ‘If she has to spend a long time in prison herself waiting for a re-trial that’s her fault.’ Yes, really. A spokesperson for the Rape Crises Centre (Ellen O’Malley) criticised the trial process, ‘As making the complainants “feel they are the ones on trial and not the accused”.’ O’Malley went on to say, ‘This system in our opinion is very imbalanced and needs radical reform. As a result Ireland has one of the highest attrition rates for rape and sexual assault cases in Europe.’

But it’s not on its own. The clear up rates for rape and sexual assault cases in England and Wales are equally low. The attrition to which O’Malley refers starts right after the attack takes place when women are too frightened to report it, for reasons that should be obvious to anyone. If they do report it, it may not be recorded and pursued by the police as a offence that can be tried. And that’s before anything even. reaches a courthouse where the horrific tales of victim-blaming, brutal cross-examination, and even threats from the crowd and blatant intimidation, are numerous. O’Malley is right when she says that rape victims too often feel that they are the people on trial. Clear-up rates for rape cases in England and Wales hover around the 5% mark. That means that there is only a 5% chance of a rapist being convicted for his crime.

Anyone who has been on the feminist blogosphere this week has heard about uniLad. This is a site that is run by male students (“affectionately” known as “LADs”) and seems to be something of a “tip” site for getting laid. Except it’s not. Observe this little beauty:

‘If the girl you’ve taken for a drink… won’t “spread for your head”, think about this mathematical statistic: 85% of rape cases go unreported. That seems to be fairly good odds.’

Read more (link to source). 

From my blog (tenderhooligan/wordpress).

In most countries in the world, parents can tell their kids that if they work hard and do everything right, they could grow up to be the head of state and the symbol of their nation. Not us. Our head of state is decided by one factor, and one factor alone: did he pass through the womb of one particular aristocratic Windsor woman living in a golden palace? The American head of state grew up with a mother on food stamps. The British head of state grew up with a mother on postage stamps. Is that a contrast that fills you with pride?

- Johann Hari

If ever the problem with the monarchy can be summed up, it’s in that quote. Elitism, privilege, and a spurious claim to power indeed. Incidentally, Johann Hari makes a very good case for a republic in the remainder of that piece. This country doesn’t “need” a monarchy (despite the claims that the tourism industry would fold if it were disbanded) and I, for one, am tired of my tax dollars keeping it in an ostentatious lifestyle.

Praise the gods one journalist was able to keep her head screwed on about the royal nonsense while all the others fawned, bleated and generally disgraced themselves when they allowed their critical faculties to escape them for the day. Laurie Penny rather wonderfully (as always) discussed in a number of pieces in the New Statesman how the reality  of life in the country continued abound while we were all subjected to the royal celebration. Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m sure Wills and Kate are very much in love and I don’t begrudge them that. But the country spending yet more money on unnecessary whimsy,  and it being the sole focus of most of the news for days if not weeks while 1000s in this country continue to lose their jobs, their homes, and, quite possibly, their minds, is very troublesome. The Wedding of Mass Distraction indeed. (Incidentally, the best hidden news of the daycame courtesy of the BBC at approximately 11.30, around about the time they said their vows, most likely. The regulator of NHS foundation trusts in England has warned hospitals they must make even bigger efficiency savings than previously thought. Nice work, Beeb.) Penny also points out the affront of this debacle to democracy and liberty. Protestors were told that they could not protest at the event and pre-emptive arrests of potential dissenters were made. Since when did we live in a nation where we arrest people before the fact (said “fact” being subject to definition if and when a definition is required)? Since about two weeks ago, is when.

It’ll all blow over, of course, and we’ll be talking about something else come Wednesday but I intend to remain bitter about the whole sorry situation for quite a time to come. And so should you. The next time you hear of a governmental cut to something as important as the Poppy Project (links 1, 2, 3), ask yourself if it could possibly have been avoided had the royal couple decided to get married in a village church in Berkshire. Answer: yeah, probably.

And come on, we might as well be honest in any case. What has most of the chatter around the royal wedding been about anyway? That’s right. Babies. Our Kate better be able to spit out the babies or she’s not going to be of any use to her new husband. He might not be king yet but he needs an ‘eir nonetheless. Just as her father “gave her away”, and she is the only one of the newly-entangled duo to wear a wedding ring, she is now a possession of the royal house. And, as she should know from her betters before her, she needs to procreate and she probably needs to do it fast. THAT, the great British public, is her role now. And, although they’re going to start discussing the Law of Primogeniture (where a younger brother can accede to the throne before his older sisters), she still better hope it’s a boy.

Some may feel that my concentration on the sexual hinterland of the royal bride is a little prurient, but let’s get this perfectly straight: this royal wedding, like all other royal weddings that involve the line of succession, is all about sex and nothing else. I say sex but what I really mean is procreation – I say procreation but what I really mean is breeding, although not “breeding” in the sense used by old-fashioned snobs, but breeding as practised selectively by members of the Kennel Club, or, indeed, adherents of a satanic cult that uses a so-called “broodmare” in its rituals.

Too right Mr Self. Too right.

–
In case you missed it: Charlie Brooker’s précis of the day.

bibliofeminista:

I’m nearly 50. I’m tremendously fortunate. I live in a safe neighborhood, I am comfortable, and I have the privilege of a terrific education and opportunities in life. I am not timid — I have spent much of my life suing states for violating women’s rights. But when I think about Women’s History Month, I think about the ways in which all too often, as I walk on the streets, I put my head down, how I feel the street is not my place. And I think about how little I and other women talk about this.

Today will be different.

I first remember it happening when I was around 14. I was in high school. I lived in the country. I had to walk a quarter of a mile from where the bus dropped me off to home. Guys driving by would sometimes call stuff out the window of their cars. Sometimes they slowed down. Sometimes they stopped the car to say things and offer me a ride. I was afraid. I didn’t know if they would take no for an answer. I didn’t know if I could run faster than they could. I knew bad things happened.

College. I was 20 feet or so from my dorm one night. A guy grabbed me from behind. He put his hands between my legs. He told me not to scream. I screamed. He ran. The cops asked me if I was frequently asked out on dates.

Life after college. I’m living in D.C. I’m walking on 18th or 17th Street. I’m walking with a friend. A man passes, walking in the opposite direction. He reaches behind to grab my ass as he goes. I turn. I point. I yell: “This man just grabbed my ass! Stop it!” People stare. I feel vindicated.

Some of the comments on the piece are, predictably, horrible.

I met Mrs Parry a few months ago in the centre of Ashington, a 27,000-strong community about 17 miles north of Newcastle. Once the world’s biggest mining village, thousands were thrown out of work when the local pit closed in 1986. The community never recovered. “We died!” Mrs Parry insists. “Once all the mines closed, all the community had gone. It’s just been a big depression ever since, just struggling to survive, that’s all.”

Many middle-aged miners never worked again, but the next generation suffered too. I asked her what jobs there were for young people. “Nothing. There’s nothing. My son’s 24 now and he joined the army because there was nothing.” His ambition was to be a barman and he trained in silver service, but he was soon laid off from his first job and joined the ranks of Britain’s burgeoning hire-and-fire, temporary workforce with its insecure terms and conditions. Before long, he was ground down by spending weeks in and out of employment.

As far as Mrs Parry is concerned, the political elite no longer care that people in her community even exist. “We’ve just been totally abandoned. Maggie Thatcher put the knife in and they just left us to bleed to death.”