Closure at last, and a significant event, but the end is still a long way away

Osama bin Laden

Waking up to the news of Osama Bin Laden’s capture, and ultimate death gave a sense of relief, but also a sense that this significant landmark is only a mark in the long path to defeat terrorism. We can only wonder and hope that there is some closure now for those that have lost loved ones, friends, colleagues and family in the atrocities before, on, and after September 11th 2001, but it won’t be the end of this story. Bin Laden was a figurehead, the head of an organisation that had, for the last 15 years, been at the hub of multilateral actions against the West, and, as is often overlooked, many Muslims around the world. Seeing the events and reaction unfold today brought a rush of the blood, but not excitement. While the man behind so many deaths is now gone, it gives me no pleasure to rejoice the death of another human being.

Scenes in America have been more colourful than in the UK. It’s understandable when their operation resulted in the killing – with, tellingly, no direct assistance or involvement from the Pakistan government – and their country was so horrifically affected. I can’t imagine how those friends and relatives of those lost in the Trade Centres must have felt over the last nine years as bin Landen evaded the clutches of the allied forces, and countless American soldiers and intelligence, prolonging the agony and seeing the man responsible taunting the West with videos, messages and more attacks. Dancing and cheering in the streets – from a mostly young and sometimes well-oiled crowds – didn’t sit too comfortably with me, as I can’t bring myself to celebrate a death, however repugnant the person may be. But the US has invested so much emotionally, financially and ideologically into finding and killing Al-Qaeda’s leader that the reaction was always going to be different on the other side of the pond. Watching some of the reactions today of the bereaved to the news, and how they conducted themselves with such dignity was very moving. For them, the victory, however hollow, must bring an end in part to a harrowing period.

For Britain, it’s also a landmark. We’ve been – justifiably or not – invested into this battle ‘shoulder to shoulder’ with the United States since its beginning, and we’ve been directly affected by the spectre of Al-Qaeda, its operations and figurehead looming over the last decade. For teenagers and younger adults, they’ll struggle to remember a time before this was so. Having attended a funeral after 7/7 – something I hope I never have to go through again, let alone seeing the pain it caused to the family – it’s a relief to be at this point. But the reality is that little will change. In fact, we may see things escalate if revenge attacks are orchestrated. London will be a more tense place for a while. But we can only hope that this is the beginning of a new chapter, and that, with all the change that’s now afoot in the middle east, that Al-Qaeda’s lustre is reduced, and that their dominance ebbs in the coming years.

And predictably, even as the news surfaced, there were naysayers already debunking the news. However low governments and the military may stoop – whatever we may say, we left thousands dead in Afghanistan and Iraq – it’s hard to believe that this would be an untruth. It would be one that would dwarf the spin that so ashamedly took us to war in Iraq. The US and its allies have invested way too much time, money, resources and emotion in this claim otherwise, and there have been none of the usual denials from the terror groups that form the cabal involved. I’m a skeptic, but this is one thing that I am taking on face value. And cheeringly, Obama will have a grandstand moment to validate his presidency, giving him a boost that even grudging Republicans can’t deny him. The States are united for a short time, and great that is too.

We will be talking about this day for many years, and the main hope is that it can be a positive landmark, that we will look back at this as a turning point. But to think that cutting the head from one of the snakes in Medusa’s hair renders the rest of the beast incapacitated would be short-sighted. But at least for many, this will hopefully be some sort of closure, and draw a line under the terrible events in New York and London. It’s the least that the bereaved deserve.

A shame on our city…..

The G20 summit brought with it the usual concerns – would the day be hijacked by anarchists? Would those groups wanting to ‘hang the bankers’ really do it? How would the disparate groups be kept in one place safely? Would the protests really have much resonance across the world? But many of the press before the event nervously questioned the police’s insistence that they would turn violent. Yes, there were elements in any anti-globalisation demonstration that would be bound to hijack it for their own skewed means, but the talk up to the event seemed like it was a self-fulfilling prophecy: violence would need strong-handed police, which would result in trouble, justifying their actions.

No one would’ve guessed the events of that day would turn out as they had. While violence did erupt sporadically, and the symbolic destruction of a branch of RBS (bailout money to fix the windows, how poetic, and pointless) fed the news frenzy, one tragedy appeared almost a footnote to the day’s events. Ian Tomlinson, a newspaper seller, had died of a heart attack in the early evening in the backstreets around the Bank Of England. Seemingly unconnected to events, statements from the police called it a ‘tragic accident’.

But over the last 24 hours, as eyewitness reports of the events started to tell a different story. And a video shows most of the attack as it happened, pouring cold water on the police’s version of events. The man – not even a protester, and on his way home, and came across the remnants of a police line ‘kettling’ protesters away from the Bank of England. Walking away from a line of police, hands in his pockets and quietly, he appeared to be struck, first by a baton, then pushed from behind by the same man, falling and apparently hitting his head on the pavement. Dazed, he appears to talk to the police, who do nothing to aid him, before being helped up by bystanders. Three minutes after walking away groggily, he dies on a pavement of a heart attack.

The storm that’s been played out today, with the IPCC’s enquiry mercifully having the City of London police removed from it (would we face more ‘inquiries’ the like of which have seen no policeman from the capital convicted of any violent offence against a protester in the last 50 years?) we may yet see justice for a man whose only crime was to head home, through an area he used daily, and walk away from a line of over-zealous police. It’s hardly the scandal from Genoa, but it’s the final straw in a city and country where we should pride ourselves in our democracy and our civil protectors, but we face an ever eroding set of liberties, sacrificed to the ‘war on terror’ and the police with ever-increasing reign to ‘protect’ us. We have a right to protest, and yet even that seems to be diminished now. From Stockwell to Forest Gate, I have little faith in their ability to deal with truth any more, and the skewed statements, denying any contact with Ian Tomlinson before his death, sounded like the echo of Sir Ian Blair all over again. We haven’t learnt, it seems, a single thing.

Indeed new footage uncovered by Channel 4 news tonight gives further evidence that the officer struck Tomlinson forcefully before he was pushed to the ground. And the officer who was involved has gone to the IPCC – no doubt to tell them of his provocation. There are glimpses of hope, that process can be followed, and that the police can be held accountable, but we’ve heard it many times before, only for it to ebb away in a sea of misadventure, of ‘cannot recall who was at the scene’ or ‘details have been lost’. I hope for once they can do the right thing. If the protester had struck the policeman, we all know he would be in court before his feet had touched the ground, and it’s high time the police were treated with the same ‘respect’ we are by them.

The King of Pap…

It’s with a bit of a heavy heart that much of the music world greeted the news of Michael Jackson’s series of concerts at the o2 this July (and, after ‘massive demand’ more in August). While it’s undeniable that, in his 70s and 80s pomp, there may not have been a better performer on the planet, since Bad, his career, and his life, have been one slow, painful descent into the abyss. Albums retreating further and further into schmaltz and saccharine pop, a shadow of his former self, and that was the good news. Sexual abuse allegations, failing health, baby dangling. It was a car crash that you couldn’t even bear to look at.

So, you have to ask the question: are we flocking to see him instigate a career renaissance, or to laugh at the freakshow? It’s no secret that, while this is billed as a gift to his many UK fans, The King of Pop is broke, so this is as much to probably pay his tax bill as much as give his die-hard (and probably blinkered) fans one last chance to see him. Compare it to Prince and it’s not hard to see where the pathos is heading.

Mind you, it could be worse. You could have to sit through U2′s latest album.

New Year? Out with the new and in with the old….

While New Year’s Eve continues (like Valentine’s with it) to be as much of a shameless money-spinner as a reason to live it up into the next 365 days and propose a few shaky resolutions while wobbly on your feet, New Year’s Day seems to be the where the smart money lies in terms of a decent night out. And there’s no better place to add to the previous night’s hangover than in a distinctly credit-crunch free environment of a pub. And that pub is the Old Queen’s Head in Essex Road.

Home to Bugged Out‘s party for a few years now, it’s an odd contradiction in terms. Shoreditch scenesters and glammed-up Londoners shuffle outside the front door waiting for the one-in-one-out to allow them entry (this is to a free night, remember, and upstairs, when entry is finally gained, it’s not Berlin-tinged techno you’ll be hearing but everything from 10cc and Phil Collins to Donna Summer and Take That. In the hands of Tayo and Johnno Burgess (he of the most entertaining Resident Advisor podcast of the year in 2008), you won’t find a more entertaining way to bring in the New Year, and anyone that turns up their nose at the thought of compromising their artistic integrity need not bother making the journey. After all, isn’t it just about having fun? It certainly is here. Roll on 01/01/2010!

Just how close we came….

For a bit of end-of-year ‘cheer’, you only have to read the latest entries of the BBC’s Robert Peston’s business blog to realise just how lose we came to disaster in October. HBOS (Nat West’s owner) and RBS were hours away from closing for business, only kept alive by their substantial deposits.

In an extraordinary interview, the always readable Peston shows the distinct underestimation of the crisis from the Bank Of England that was responsible for the slow reaction and lack of foresight in the road to our current financial status. Maybe that will be the turning point, or just another blip in the downward arc that will see us strike much lower before recovery starts. It’s another piece in the ever-complex account that, had it been a novel, would be essential reading, but is sadly reality.

Slow progress…..

The human body is an incredible thing. It’s made up mostly of water, but it’s constructed around a brittle skeleton of calcium-based bone. When it breaks, it’s a gruesome sight and feeling, and it’s an amazing feat that it can blend itself back together, even if it’s with a little help from the NHS.

My jaw was broken 12 days ago, by two cowardly, thieving little fucks, and put together expertly a mere 18 hours later by the undervalued, and underpaid members of the NHS that work at Whipps Cross Hospital. So, here I am, down the line, trying to rationalise the slow, ponderous process by which the human body mends itself. My jaw is struggling to fit together as it once did, stitches holding it together, covering plates underneath. I try to bite and can’t get my front teeth together, and worry is seeping in. I reassure myself that things will be ok, that I’ll speak to the hospital, and that everything is taking its natural course, but it’s only human nature to think the unthinkable.

I walked down the dimly lit road it happened on for the first time today. Unlike the night it occurred, this was bathed in sunlight. It was daytime, and it’s going to be a long time before I go down that route after dark. It’s not a matter of kicking myself that it was somehow my fault, but there’s no point in prodding fate once more. I’ve been fairly placid about the whole affair until now, but I was in minor turmoil as I headed under the bridge and along the long, straight path again. I’d be daft to think it wouldn’t affect me, of course not, but I don’t want to let it do anything more than that. I need to convince myself I’m strong, and that it’s not beaten me, and I’m fine with that at the moment.

Maybe it’ll hit me, it’ll all come tumbling down like a pack of cards. I hope not, and I believe not. I like where I live, and I feel an affinity to it, even though I’d never been there before I moved. And I don’t want to be forced out. I live in the best city in the world, and I’d no intention of changing, even if I’ve suffered as I have. Instinct tells me to confront the feelings, and not push them to the back of my mind, to resolve them and not hide them. I remind myself on a daily basis that it could’ve been worse, and maybe should have been. No possession is worth dying for, and even if I’ve confronted my own mortality in the last few weeks, I’m a comfortable distance from it still, and I intend to be for a long time yet.

So, it’s not all plain sailing for hedge funds

I read in the ever impressive and entertaining blog of BBC’s Robert Peston that Hedge Funds have taken a rather mighty kicking over VW in the last few days. When much of the ire (and now much of the fallout) has been directed at the murky financial behemoths over the last twelve months, it’s refreshing to see some short selling take them the other way for once.

In fact, it’s a staggering 18bn loss in just two days after speculating on Volkswagen. Germany, not known for its predeliction towards funds, will no doubt be chuckling to itself (as will many of the public) but it remains to be seen which funds have taken the hit. I’ll be keeping an eye on this. Some schadenfreude for once, amongst the gloom.

Through the wire….

So, added to the list of things I’ve experienced that I can’t say I’d wish to repeat (along with appendicitis, a broken leg, glandular fever, flying American Airlines and watching Channel 5) is having a broken jaw. Not something I planned, or contributed to, but something that was generously presented to me to two of E17′s less charitable inhabitants last Thursday.

Walking home from the bus (so I can blame TFL for this in part, as had there BEEN a tube, then I’d have been coming home another way) I was passed by a guy on a bike, who then proceeded to block my way, then smack me one. I wasn’t lucky enough to see his ‘friend’, but they were nice enough to kick me in the head twice once they’d got my bag, my iphone and the rest. While staggering around spitting blood out trying to get someone to call the cops (they ignored me, or even switched the lights off….) I thought I was just busted and bruised, but after stumbling home, enlisting my neighbour’s help, and riding an ambulance for the first time since I was 6, I since discovered the cunts had left me with a double fracture.

So, here I am, after surgery (and treatment from some of the best medical staff I’ve ever come across, restoring my faith in the NHS in one swoop) I’m now at home trying to resolve getting by without my two favourite pastimes: talking incessantly and eating. I’m now restricted to occasional slurred mumbling, like I’ve been out on the piss all day, and even then, with painkillers, it aches and throbs. The plates in my jaw and clips and rubber bands holding my head together, while aiding my recovery, aer not condusive to pain-free movement.

And as for food…. well, I’m reduced to porridge in the mornings, then anything I like, as long as it’s either soup, or a normal meal passed through a blender till it resembles that. No bread, no crunchy veg, no steaks (lamb, fish or otherwise), no pie, no rice, no pasta….. in fact anything I can’t eat with a straw or a small spoon without chewing, it’s off the menu. So, I will learn to love soup like it’s my favourite food. It is, now, after all, my ONLY food.

So, while the bonus of being off work is there, it’s outwieghed, outweighed by a long list of shit. In fact, I’ve not been this rested in years. It’s a shame that I’m also in pain, and hoping I can recover without the need for more surgery. Am i scared to go back? Not at the moment. Will I be walking that road again? Not at night. Do I want the little fuckers caught? I’m not too fussed. I didn’t see them, and I’m sure they’re not going to suddenly be so full of remorse to give up a life of crime. I just want to get my life back. The list of things that have been royally ruined by these events is too depressing to comprehend. Whatever’s gone on up to now, it’s the next 6 weeks that are fucked, so time to buckle down, be sensible and heal. I don’t want to be eating turkey through a straw.

In case you think ID cards aren’t enough….

The government now plans to introduce a database to track every email, text message and phone call made by anyone in the UK in order to ‘combat terrorism’. This is because terrorists used it to plan attacks. They also use speech, to one another. Will this soon be monitored too?

On Question Time, renowned hawk Geoff Hoon went further to justify his colleagues’ plans. Not monitoring it would be “giving a licence to terrorists to kill people”. I’m pretty sure an email didn’t fly the planes into the WTC, but I may be wrong. Police and security services already have powers to monitor phone traffic, but this is on a case-by-case basis, and not a wholesale right to watch every single communication we all send and receive. It makes the ID card scheme, when the government has already proven itself to be far less than competent in managing our personal data, look like a molehill.

Responding to Lib Dem MP Julia Goldsworthy who likened it to “something I would expect to read in [George Orwell's book] 1984″, and asked “How much more control can they have? How far is he prepared to go to undermine civil liberties?”, he continued: “To stop terrorists killing people in our society, quite a long way actually.” Seemingly, by any means neccessary. “If they are going to use the internet to communicate with each other and we don’t have the power to deal with that, then you are giving a licence to terrorists to kill people.” Hardly. Why don’t we just lock everyone up and then no one will be able to kill anyone.

Thankfully, the bill has now been put back to 2009, when hopefully, given the reaction of pilots and students to the first wave of ‘voluntary’ ID cards, it will be defeated in both the house and the Lords. It really isn’t hard to understand that this sort of invasion of our human rights to free discussion and being innocent until proven guilt are being undermined.

Leaving the last line to Hoon: “The biggest civil liberty of all is not to be killed by a terrorist.”

Clearly bigger than every other one, in Labour’s eyes.

The lost art of the frontman…

Rock and roll may still be with us, but where are all the frontmen these days? And when I say that I don’t mean screaming, diving into the mosh-pit, swearing your way through an hour of music. It’s about connection with the audience, those masses that have paid their way to be enthralled by the delight of live music. In days where album sales are dwindling, and the live circuit is an ever-more lucrative, bands that rise above the rest can make their fortune as well as securing their musical legacy. And one such act that is firmly head and shoulders above the mass of soundalikes and NME next-big-things is Elbow. With a solid trade in down-to-earth observation and sardonic northern wit, their music has been a beacon of soaring and atmospheric emotion for nearly two decades. They are a band that can make alcoholism, death and depression sound appealing. It’s as a live act that they truly set themselves apart.

And at their centre is Guy Garvey. The hang-dog expression is familiar, but there’s humour behind the sadness, despite the often bleak subject matter. And their current UK tour, following up their latest (and Mercury-winning) album The Seldom Seen Kid stopped off at the Roundhouse for three nights in October. Live, Garvey comes into his own. The often-gravelly voice is a note-perfect nucleus to Elbow’s soundscapes, from current favourites Mirrorball, Starlings and Some Riot, to a walk through their back catalogue, revisiting Forget Myself and Leaders of the Free World with tubthumping vigour, and dedicating Newborn (and leading the audience to change ‘corpse’ to ‘duck’) to a pregnant fan sat in the circle. It’s as much between the songs as during them that you realise why Elbow are so loved by fans from first timers to those that have been around since the late 90s, when Asleep At The Back (arguably their best album and a more worthy of the Mercury than their current offering) surfaced.

From quips and question-response banter with the floor, to dry sarcasm, Garvey’s skill is making everyone in the room feel like you’re simply witnessing a jam with him, his mates and a few members of the public down the pub. It’s only at the end of each song that you remember you’re in amongst a couple of thousand people, applauding to the rafters. It’s only the music that snaps you out of it eventually. And, for all their image as quirky and introspective northern charm, their music is towering, simultaneously feeling at home up against any bands of the last ten years and also comfortably away from any other pigeonhole the press would care to invent. It evokes emotion, and the concert feels like much more like a communal moment of happiness as much as it does a band onstage for close to two hours.

And for me, who only came to them when their last album, the Leaders Of The Free World, came out, I scratch my head and wonder why I never cottoned on before. It wasn’t for lack of being prompted. Sometimes though, it’s good to be able to discover so many great records years down the line and make them part of your life. And, like most of Camden that night, wish you could go for a beer with Garvey and Elbow, because, if they’re as thoroughly likeable and entertaining over a beer as they are onstage, it’ll probably be the best night out you’ve had for a while. And to think Johnny Borrell is still getting away with all-white ensembles and tired iggy Pop (in his eyes) pastiches. He could take a few lessons from Elbow, and realise he’ll never get close.