When one part of our community is dismissed, or separated, or attacked, we must all bleed. To share the burden of pain from said event in order that we rebuild, grow stronger and closer, that we are solidified in our family.
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What worries me most about contemporary society isn’t perhaps the sharing of extreme views that I fundamentally disagree with. It’s not the crap that is peddled by some, but the fact that people can be so primitive about an argument they are unable to judge evidence at face value and seem to take everything published as gospel.
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I am seething as I write this. We’ve been led, forced to walk the plank under duress, by this Conservative premiership since day one. We’ve been kind and understanding, we (the public) have entrusted not only her, but our official opposition to debate Brexit like adults and put not the desires of their party funders before the national interest.
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There are times when I think, ‘what the hell am I doing?’ And then there are times when instinctively, I feel like I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I had a conversation with a friend this weekend about faith, about religion, about my role in the world, about standing up and being counted for perhaps the first time in my life.
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I found myself dancing the Time Warp next to a statue of Riff Raff, a character from Richard O’Brien’s Rocky Horror Picture Show, in a sleepy Kiwi town on as we made our way through the country. The dance moves are emblazoned in a mural on the wall Riff Raff is facing: “It’s just a jump to the left!”
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Yesterday, I landed in London after travelling to New Zealand and California, staying with friends, visiting museums and galleries, and avoiding any news for three weeks. Suddenly the intensity of UK and global politics came sharply into focus and it feels like I’ve been thrust back into the middle of it all.
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