TONY ON CRIME, STRIPE & MORE

Including Manic Monday and ReadWritePoem.
Have you had a go yet?

Welcome to my Monday Magazine post.
I actually agree with a senior police officer, who has said that Brit gang culture and violence cannot be solved by policing alone. This is so true, and I think an answer can be found by looking at the 18th century crimewave that so damaged Britain.

The times were quite specific.

It occurred at a time when religion was in decline and capitalism was first becoming the central ethic of society. In other words, social movements were very similar to today. So if the cause is similar, could the solution be found here, too?
The crimewave ended following a three-pronged attack – targeted zero-tolerance policing, mass re-moralising from outside government (Methodism, etc), and a total transformation of society through new institutions and ideas.
Of course, the last two would have to be very different to those in the 18th century, but it gives a clue how fundamental the problem is, and where answers could lie. I suggest they lie in a resurgence of ideas on community, and a move away from globalization.

An interesting question has been posed to me.

I get into quite a few deep debates on my Sunday and Tuesday essay posts, mainly because I tend to take a ‘middle ground’ stance on most things.
Does this make me a good moderator, or do I simply like a good argument? Well, there must be a certain amount of Ego in any writer, but my main concern tends to be this: I think any extreme stance is always counter-productive.
Which leads to another problem. You could say I’m fanatical about this middle ground, which makes me extreme, too. Which is, of course, a contradiction. And I think this explains me perfectly.
All of life leads to contradiction in the end. So best, I think, to cancel out these contradictions as much as we can. And the best way to do this is to take a more moderate stance. So yes, I may well like a good argument, but only in terms of my ideas. In all other things, I prefer a quiet life.
Tomorrow’s essay looks to what, exactly, the ‘individual’ is. Next Magazine post, Wednesday.

© Anthony North, July 2008

TO THE LIGHT

The light I crave, I need it so,
within it, we can really glow,
The light is what we all desire,
from ignorance, fear, we can retire;
To find the light is to make your mark,
to begin, enshroud yourself in dark,
concentrate on nothing at all,
’til alien thoughts seem to install;
Now you’re approaching a different place,
interwoven in ethereal lace,
connections come from you, to where?
realities, truths, end of despair;
You are now the Starchild, the ultimate glowing,
light is complete, you have total knowing,
but grasp it, you will simply not do,
its a truth only glimpsed,
too magnificent,
for me or you

(a) Anthony North, July 2008

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STRIPES – Fiction

I hated him. I can tell you that without any doubt whatsoever. I hated him, and I hated those stripes that allowed him to do it.
‘Come on, move it!!’ he’d scream as we were pushed beyond the pain barrier. ‘Get off the grass!!’ he’d shout as he ran up to us, fuming – and then 50 press-ups. Come on, man, we’d only walked on the grass!
Then there’d be ‘left, left, left’ for hour upon monotonous hour. And then the taunting in the dormitory. ‘You ain’t got no mother. Not now. You ain’t human. You’re a machine. MY machine.’
Maybe that was it. Strip down the character and build something new – as if he was Dr Frankenstein or something. Or maybe Dracula, sucking all life from us before returning to his coffin.
I hated him. Oh, yes, I hated him. I responded to his commands – any commands – like an automaton, but – damn him.
Of course, I was young – didn’t understand. But I learnt on the day I grew up, in the mountains.
‘DOWN!!!’
How do I explain it? In my mind’s eye, I saw it all. I stared at the bullet as it whizzed towards me. At one point, I even thought it had my name on it – and I remember thinking, no. And as it approached, the sound of it, lancing through the air, as if a Banshee warning of impending doom. And as it was about to smack my flesh, the movement of my head, and the feeling of heat as it whizzed past, harmlessly.
I was Superman that day, dodging bullets. Yet, in reality, I just dived for cover – instinctively – as trained.
Well, I’ve got the stripes now. And I’m gonna make real sure the grunts hate me. ‘Cos they’re gonna live!!!!

© Anthony North, July 2008