Holocaust Remembrance, and Prejudice

Why is it so important that we remember the Holocaust and how can we make sure future generations never forget?

It is commonly asserted that we must remember the Holocaust to ensure that it never happens again, and of course the importance of this is unquestionable. I feel, however, that the Holocaust can also teach us many lessons in a more day-to-day sense. It can lead us to question various issues in more depth, and serves as an example of the worst case result of problems such as prejudice. We must work not only to avoid a repeat of such atrocities, but to tackle the issues that led to even the possibility of something so horrific.

The Holocaust was so unfathomably awful that it inevitably brings many things into question. It challenges ideas about human nature, in terms of the limits of cruelty and of people’s willingness to cooperate with it. It calls into question the ethics of war – with British conscientious objectors from the First World War changing their stances when faced with this greater evil, while German soldiers, following orders, fought to prop up a regime which was attempting genocide. Hitler’s success in creating a society in which he could implement the Final Solution demonstrates the potential weaknesses in democracy, leading us to consider how we can safeguard against such things in the future.

I feel, however, that the biggest lesson to be learnt from the Holocaust is that of the dangers of prejudice and inequality. When we look at mountains of shoes, representing countless tales of human suffering and countless stolen lives, it is important not to dismiss this tragedy as simply the doings of one evil man, or even a group of them. The Holocaust was perpetrated by the Nazis, yes, but it was enabled, amongst other factors, by the widespread anti-Semitism of the people of Europe. Many civilians in Germany and occupied counties were keen to see the Jews brought low and humiliated, with Rabbi Shimon Huberband recalling how ‘the assembled Poles laughed uproariously with pleasure at the sight’ of forcibly shaven Jews being made to kiss Jewish women without their consent in the street.  Prejudice is still a big issue today, and has a huge effect on the lives of many. It can be encouraged and grown upon by religious institutions, social norms and outdated laws. Unchecked, prejudice can lead to extreme unnecessary pain for people who have caused no harm, and it can also be very easily exploited and manipulated. The Holocaust should serve to everyone as an extreme yet real example of where prejudice can lead. Many young people in Britain see the Holocaust as a terrible yet freak, isolated event, powered purely by unimaginable evil. Not a lot of thought is given to the prejudice, credulity and manipulability of ordinary people, and the huge role this played in allowing the Holocaust to happen. An example of anti-Semitic collaboration that stuck out to me was when a group of SS officers gathered some Jewish men into a square, and called for scissors to be thrown down from surrounding windows so that they could cut off the men’s beards and sideburns. Scissors rained down from the flats around the square. I hate to think how many people today, including those living in Western democracies, would jump at the chance to witness or aid in the humiliation of groups such as Muslims, homosexuals, or especially trans people.

The Holocaust makes it clear to us just how dangerous it is to allow the marginalisation and ‘otherisation’, even to a small degree, of sections of society. It also highlights the importance of thinking about the deeper implications of segregative or discriminatory laws, rather than focussing solely on their immediate and direct effects. The Nazis introducing segregation in terms of facilities such as park benches may seem largely immaterial and unimportant, but what it did was mark the Jews out as different, other, helping the Nazis dehumanise them in the eyes of the population and spread the idea of them being ‘the enemy within.’ This struggle to make understood the dangers of inequality still goes on today, for example with many influential people saying that they didn’t see why it was important to grant same-sex couples marriage equality in the debates around the law passed last year; why could they not just stick with civil partnerships? It matters because by not allowing same-sex couples the same rights and recognition granted to straight couples, we were marking LGBT people out as ‘other’, and helping perpetuate prejudice.

The Holocaust and the laws passed in the lead up to it make it very clear why legislation such as Putin’s ‘anti gay propaganda’ law is so dangerous. This law attempts to cut off their voices, and any of support, thus removing their right to protest against their mistreatment. Putin has fed off and built on an existing Russian prejudice towards gay people, to make them unsafe and vulnerable within Russian society, and that the terrible and often sickeningly violent crimes committed against homosexuals recently in Russia are going unpunished is evidence of this. There is little difference here from the early stages of the persecution of the Jews, and our knowledge of the actions of the Nazis should serve as a warning.

We must think critically about our own prejudices, and the use of anti-Semitic Nazi propaganda and its effect illustrates how this must involve us being highly critical of information or ideas we receive from any source, be it the government, religious institutions or corporations. We must take care to be critical and thoughtful in our approach to forming opinions, especially when they are likely the affect the lives of others.

A school trip to the Holocaust Exhibition at the Imperial War Museum in London had a significant effect on me, and greatly helped me to better understand the events, causes and effects of the Holocaust. I feel that schools should be encouraged where possible to visit exhibitions like it, but I recognise that this is likely not viable for all schools.

I strongly feel that every schoolchild in Britain should be taught about the Holocaust, but, by the time students have reached a suitable age for the topic to be explored in detail with them, they can already have chosen to opt out of History. Perhaps it would be possible to introduce a short compulsory course  – even only three or four lessons – on the Holocaust, separate from the GCSE History curriculum.

I feel that this education should include not only a basic overview of the persecution of the Jews and other social groups at the hands of the Nazis, but also an examination of personal accounts of both victims and perpetrators. It seems crucial to me that both of these groups are humanised, but perhaps for different reasons. The Nazis tried to remove the humanity of their victims: removing their citizenship, changing their names, and eventually assigning them only a number, and working, killing and burying them en masse. This dehumanisation must have been key to how the people involved in the slaughter were able to live with themselves. Restoring the humanity of Holocaust victims therefore is vital, and education should cover personal stories showing the complexity and individuality of the people affected, as well as the scale and breadth of the murder. The reason why the Nazi war criminals must also be humanised is that people need to understand that this was not an anomaly occurring at the hands of a few abnormal people, but the product of a combination of harmful factors. SS officers went home to their families at the end of the day; their lives outside of work were largely unextraordinary. We need to think about what factors led to them being capable of aiding in the murder of Jewish children, while loving their own. Their actions were sickening, but to dismiss them as ‘bad people’ is to avoid the real questions that the Holocaust begs.

We must remember the Holocaust to ensure it never happens again, yes, but we must go further than this. We need to think self-critically as a society in order to identify and work to eliminate baseless and harmful prejudices, trying to avoid  even an echo of the climate which allowed the Holocaust to happen. We should educate every student passing through our schools about the Holocaust, its effects, and especially its causes, attempting to convey some of the complexity of real people involved. We need to recognise that we are all responsible for checking our own prejudice when we are swayed in our opinions of someone by harmless and irrelevant factors such as race, sex or sexuality, and for contradicting those around us when they voice their baseless and harmful prejudices. We must thinking critically about how we view other people, and about how we deal with information we receive, considering everything and everyone compassionately, rationally, and critically, to build a fairer, safer society.


Last year I gained a place in a Youth Forum at Downing Street run by the Prime Minister’s Holocaust Commission, discussing how best to preserve the memory and lessons of the Holocaust, especially when the remaining survivors are no longer with us. I was really encouraged by how constructive the discussion was (and was honoured to meet Larry the cat!) This essay was my entry for the competition through which I gained my place. It’s a little out of date, although perhaps even more relevant today given the recent increase in the UK of racist and xenophobic hate crimes.

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Boys Do Cry

Being male doesn’t make you invincible. It doesn’t mean you’re made of rock, of ice, unfeeling and solid. Men can hurt, men can suffer, men can break. Men can be insecure about their bodies, worried about their futures, cut up over losing partners and friends. They cry and bleed, they drink too much and for the wrong reasons, take drugs, stripe their arms and legs with scars, throw themselves off buildings or in front of buses and trains. Being male doesn’t save them from sadness, from depression and anxiety, from helplessness. Gender identity doesn’t dictate how much someone feels.

But it can, and often does, dictate how we respond.

Men are actually 3.5 times more likely to take their own lives than women.

We leave men isolated, assume they will be fine, dismiss their feelings, attack their masculinity for experiencing human emotions: ‘Man up,’ ‘Don’t be such a pussy,’ ‘Grow a pair.’ The stiff-upper-lip doctrine is still thrust on men from a young age. Be isolated. Hide your tears. Suffer alone. Give everyone else the impression that you’re fine, unruffled. There’s a brave boy. Because bravery is solitude, seeking help is shameful and weak, and you must prove your masculinity, that you are somehow inherently stronger than women, by going through everything alone, when they would never be expected to.

This has to stop. All people can suffer, and there’s nothing shameful about that. We need to make it clear to all our friends, all our loved ones, regardless of gender, that we are here for them. We need to stop shaming people for feeling, shaming people for hurting, and shaming people for asking for help.

We must abandon this insane, poisonous myth that men must be invincible, and encourage everyone around us to care for others, and allow themselves to be cared for.

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I’ve been thinking about humanity a lot, recently, and in many ways, I hate us as a species.

I hate the way we never learn, with the myth of ‘home by Christmas’ repeated naively throughout history, and marriage inequality deemed as okay by so many when history has shown us with painful clarity where prejudice can lead. I hate that the Holocaust has already revealed to us the worst-case consequences of fearing and hating, or even simply resenting, a group of people without thought or reason, has illustrated where bitterness-fuelled manipulability can lead, and yet still today gays, Muslims, trans people, immigrants, experience such pain at the hands of other people’s prejudice, other people’s thoughtless bias and loathing.

I hate humanity like I hate films and books that have fantastic premises, fantastic ideas behind them, fantastic potential, but that manage to let themselves down. Films and books that should have been something amazing, but somehow manage not to be. We are compassionate, intelligent creatures; yet we mock those who apply their compassion and intelligence in ways that our preconceived and unfounded prejudices are challenged by. We can empathise with and understand one another, and yet we succeed in closing off that empathy to so many of our fellow humans. I hate how we use religions to make our own ideas and prejudices sacred, to elevate them beyond criticism or interrogation. I hate how we rush to find someone, anyone, to blame, for anything and everything, or to follow the line of someone else’s pointed finger. And yet we could be so much better, so much more critical, more rational, more compassionate; we could cause each other so much less harm. We could place fairness before politeness, real widespread happiness and wellbeing before getting along day-to-day, justice before the fear of feather-ruffling. We could accept harmless diversity, and work to eliminate our prejudices. We could allow ourselves to care about all of our fellow humans.

We shouldn’t see the Holocaust as something alien, the fault solely of Evil People with whom we have no parity. We shouldn’t see X-Men as purely a superhero film, dismissing the sight of a young boy trying to cut off his own wings when discovering, horrified, that he will never, harmless and even beautiful as his mutation may be, meet the expectations of his father or his society. We shouldn’t instantly dub someone making different life choices to ourselves as immoral or wrong. We shouldn’t feel that cruelty is alright when directed towards some.

We should, and we can, think about everything, in order to try to reduce the pain, and increase the joy, we bring to people, in as real and significant a way as we can manage. We should be willing to examine the very essentials of what we think we know, and to discard of these what is harmful and baseless. We should want to really help each other, not just to allay our guilt.

I feel like I hate us, sometimes, because we could be so much better, but I’m not sure that we ever will.

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Just Your Opinion?


A friend of mine recently expressed the view that we should all be respectful of everyone else’s opinions, regardless of to what extent we may disagree. Her subsequent dismissal and rejection of my disagreement to this seemed to me proof enough that indiscriminate acceptance of views is not as practical a policy as she may have thought.

As children, we are told to show complete respect and consideration to everybody’s opinions, and I think this is only right. For one thing, I believe that teaching acceptance and open-mindedness to children is definitely a positive thing, when there is so much prejudice and narrowness in the world; and for another, I really cannot see many of the views expressed to each other by young children being damaging enough to warrant any change of this approach. But I think that it is safe to say that once we have developed into people capable of understanding the difference between petty dislike of those who disagree with us and a justified disregard for bigotry, we no longer need to pretend to live by this rule of universal apology.

For this idea of views being damaging, I think, is the real crux of the matter. As we progress from childhood, we encounter more and more opinions which can truly affect the lives of other people. Whether opinions are harmful must surely be a huge factor in deciding whether or not they deserve respect. I see no reason why I should acknowledge views which cause people harm. It seems bizarre to me for anybody to feel entitled to the world’s automatic respect, whatever their outlook on life. Thousands of young gay people commit suicide every year, and this cannot be blamed solely on the direct hateful actions of bullies, but also on the steady, imposing disapproval and intolerance which even our relatively liberal-minded society radiates from various quarters. When your views contribute towards the otherisation and demonisation of a group of innocent people to the extent where they feel cornered into taking their own lives, to expect those views to be seen as sacrosanct on the basis that they are ‘just your opinion’ is absurd, arrogant and thoughtless. There is no ‘just’ about opinions, and nothing trivial about anything you might think and express which may cause unnecessary harm to other people. Your beliefs do not exist in a vacuum, and I am amazed that anybody could be so irresponsible as to think that a view being solely their personal belief on a matter could absolve them of responsibility for it. How many girls have been made to feel worthless by being frowned upon, sneered at and bullied simply for harmlessly exploring their sexual desires as a boy might? How many people have been made to feel inferior because of such superficial and harmless things as the colour of their skin, or their parents’ nationality, or their gender?

The beginnings of the vilification and ostracism of the Jews by the Nazis was made possible, and even easy, by the existing widespread prejudice and resentment towards them throughout Europe: an undercurrent of apathetic and relatively mild anti-Semitism, the dangerous potential of which was soon to be revealed. Ordinary Poles threw scissors from the upstairs windows of their homes on the Nazis’ request so that Orthodox Jews could be publically ridiculed and deprecated by having their beards forcibly shorn in the square. I wonder how many people in Western democracies today would be only too eager to go along with something similar to strip the dignity from Muslims or gays. I think I would rather not know.

Of course, there are other opinions that I really wish people didn’t hold, but, ultimately judging them not immediately and directly harmful, my respect for people who do hold them can remain untarnished. I think that a good example of this for me is religion. Whilst religion itself certainly has the potential to cause great harm, it is evident to me that many people who believe in a higher power and identify with a certain theological belief system are not causing any harm in doing so. There are many reasons for my longing for people not to follow religions. The blind acceptance of some taught wisdoms and the idea of faith can lead to a susceptibility to blindly accepting further assertions, and can result in being easily prejudiced or manipulated. This discouragement of criticism and independent thought is, to me, very troublesome. People have been led to do terrible things through religion. However, whilst I think that most religious institutions and doctrines are a profoundly negative force in the world, it would be unreasonable to claim that everyone who is religious is causing harm by being so. It may generally involve a seemingly odd sort of cherry-picking from supposedly sacred texts, but many people do manage to believe in God and identify with a religion without harming others. And for this reason, I do not believe that being religious is in and of itself an opinion not deserving of respect.

Of course, if somebody’s belief in God, or any other factor, leads to them holding other opinions which do cause people harm, then my respect for and good opinion of them may well be lost completely – and I am certainly concerned by the role that religions often seem to play in forming or exacerbating peoples’ hatred and prejudices. And, of course, people often tend to feel that their opinions deserve respect and recognition purely because they are backed by religious teachings.

I strongly feel that the only degree of respect that everybody should be able to expect irrespective of what their views are and how much they may affect others is that their basic human rights not be violated, and they be able to continue to feel safe in their day-to-day lives. Everyone, however bigoted, should be free from being hurt or threatened; free from themselves or their loved ones being endangered; free from their voices being silenced – even in the case of the poisonous chants of the loathsome Westboro Baptist Church. But I strongly feel that there is no reason for people to be free from the anger and frustration of the people affected by their views; nor should they be free from the disgust of people whose compassion and empathy mean that they resent the harm caused to these people. Everybody deserves to be able to express their views safely, but their entitlement does not and should not extend beyond that. People whose opinions cause or perpetuate the harm of other human beings must be prepared for scorn and contempt – and, yes, for a loss of respect.

[photo taken from www.colorsrainbow.com]

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Bare-Faced Honesty

When I was little, I had a little set of children’s eyeshadow. Colourful and intensely sparkly, I would scoop great globs of it onto my finger and smear it over my cheeks and forehead. A particularly brash red and purple shade of gunk would often find its way into my hair.

When little children play around with make up, they, yes, invariably look absolutely ridiculous by the end of it, but I feel that they get the point of it far more than most adults. Or what the point of it should be, anyway. Makeup, no matter how loudly the cosmetics companies may shout to the contrary, is not a necessity: it is an extra, one of those frivolous, superfluous things that are inarguably not of any practical value. And I really do think that useless things should be enjoyable in some way.

None of us should feel ashamed to leave our homes without our true faces buried six feet under in foundation, or shy away from letting strangers see us with our eyes less defined than we’d like; with paler lashes; with less full lips. We shouldn’t wear make up out of fear, but out of fun. We should be batting our mascaraed lashes with glee and flicking the edges of our eyeliner with a sense of fun and frivolity – or else what’s the point? Why go to all that time and effort if you don’t enjoy wearing it? There is nothing wrong with your natural face, and it shows that something is very wrong when so many women are ashamed of theirs.

We may no longer slather our faces in red and purple glitter, and, as we grow older, I reckon that’s pretty understandable. But our attitude to make up should still be the same. Instead of slapping on your foundation like a mask, put on your make up like you’re sat, four years old, with glitter in your hair and a big gappy grin on your face.

Or don’t put it on at all.

Also, I found these articles on the topic of make up:

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Your Opinions Aren’t Facts

In this country, we are free to openly believe whatever we see fit: that there is a God, or there isn’t; that aliens are out there, or they aren’t. We have freedom to believe in tarot, or witchcraft, or that we are all living in the Matrix. We can believe anything we choose to, regardless of it not being supported, or even being disproved, by evidence. And quite right, too. We also have license to hold whatever opinions we wish to, on everything from euthanasia to Prince Charles, from Syria to the X-Factor. And again, so we should. Furthermore, we have the right to teach our beliefs and opinions to our children in our own homes however we see fit. And yet again, I believe that this is as it should be.

However, I strongly believe that with this right must come a great deal of responsibility. You have the right to teach your child that the coalition government has put monsters under their bed, or that immigrants are responsible for all ill, or that everyone with different religious views to you is inherently evil. You could teach them your beliefs and opinions as rock-hard solid facts. Of course, as they go out into the world, and are educated by school and the media and experience, they will probably start to question these fallacies, but nevertheless you might succeed in planting ideas in your child’s head so deep-rooted that they are almost inextricable from the bedrock of their personal identity.

But refusing to present your views honestly for what they really are – opinions and beliefs – is doing your child a serious injustice. Right and wrong are undeniably not black and white, and to pretend otherwise to your child will do them no favours. Children have to work hard enough to make sense of the world as it is, without being lied to – and that is exactly what presenting an opinion as a fact is: lying.

We must bring our children up to think about issues critically and to hear both sides of an argument; to decide for themselves what they believe based on an unbiased assessment of proven facts and the beliefs of others, and to form opinions from educated standpoints. To function as a member of the electorate and as a human being, this is absolutely vital. We must not lead them to be easily manipulated, blindly accepting the views of others as concrete and following, sheep-like, anyone who seems to know what they’re talking about; or to be intransigent and stubborn, desperate to cling to unfounded and perhaps even damaging beliefs despite all evidence and sense.

It is absolutely fine to talk to your children about your beliefs and opinions, and explain why it is that you hold them, and why they are important to you. What is not fine is to abuse their trust and respect for you by falsely claiming that these beliefs and opinions are facts.

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Religious Fundamentalism: A PR Nightmare

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A lot can be said about religious fundamentalists: firstly – and I apologise to my politically correct friends for stereotyping – they’re misogynistic, homophobic, irrational, intolerant, indoctrinated, dangerous, occasionally murderous, and generally just nasty bastards. Secondly, the nice, normal religious types, who are only low-key homophobes and hopefully very rarely murderous, justifiably resent them for making their love-filled religion seem, shockingly, outdated and repressive. Thirdly, as promoters they are quite remarkably appalling.

As PR campaigns go, the destruction of a pair of major and significant buildings, resulting in numerous fatalities, in a country already with a superfluity of xenophobic and strongly Christian sentiments and a shitload of nukes, is certainly an interesting one. It’s been devastating for American Muslims and for American civil liberties in general, and resulted in America embarking on a sort of high-tech sequel to the crusades, heroically journeying to Muslim countries and causing the deaths of innocent civilians whilst searching for possibly mythical Weapons of Mass Destruction. The Muslim extremists certainly got themselves noticed, but, as with the French Orangina ad featuring a gay humanoid cat who uses the drink as aftershave, although it is memorable and unexpected, it doesn’t particularly make me want to try the product. It makes door-to-door Jehovah’s Witnesses seem like marketing geniuses.

It’s also quite difficult to claim that your religion isn’t outdated or intransigent when you fiercely and single-mindedly deny evolution; that it’s not bigoted when you bear slogans so gloriously proclaiming ‘God hates fags!’ (by which, I feel safe in assuming, cigarettes are not meant, although maybe cancer rates could be reduced by threat of hellfire; perhaps it’s something the Department of Health should try.) Would your loving God agree that a women should be forced to bear the child of her rapist, or is He also confident in the female body’s magical rape-detection system that was explained to us by the dazzling Tod Akin? Either way, informing strangers online that, by turning away from the traditional and noble values of homophobia and the denial of strong scientific evidence, they are earning themselves a first-class ticket to Hell, is an interesting recruitment strategy.

Heaven sounds increasingly like a place full of the most fastidious, boring and irrational people imaginable; a borderline police-state, with no-one allowed to question the one who’s running the show, and with plenty of snobbery and superiority from its inhabitants about being there at all. I must say, my rejection of Christian dogma is seriously tested by the lure of the possibility of spending all of eternity with a bunch of self-satisfied sexist homophobes. Or perhaps heaven is actually a place where God awards suicide bombers with flocks of women as though they were livestock (were you the sheep-awarding sort and the recipient Welsh). In which case (I’m sketchy on the details): would I, as a woman, were I less of a sinner and more kamikaze, be presented to one such suicide bomber as a sexual gift? Gosh, sounds enticing, toss me a hijab.

You’ve got to feel bad for the moderates really, considering how much they’re putting into their attempts to convert our lost, free-thinking generation to their faith. The churches that from the outside look like doctor’s practices or health clubs and the music that sounds like boy-band crap with the occasional ‘Hallelujah’ and ‘Jesus’ thrown in all seem rather futile when we are exposed through the internet to the louder voices of nutters raving about the evils of Harry Potter and how gays should just never experience romantic love, because for fuck’s sake how demanding can these faggots get? Creationism, cancer being the result of original sin and therefore fair enough, Muslim girls on YouTube using a paper plate to demonstrate how dating will ruin any chance you may have of a future harmonious marriage, mothers of five saying that they can’t see why gays can’t be celibate, people actually believing that abstinence-only education could lower rates of teen pregnancy; they inspire the same patronising snort as homeopathy or end-of-the-world predictions. It starts people doubting, people questioning: if that’s ridiculous, then, really, when we think about it, isn’t the idea that the one omnipotent being who allegedly created the universe did it for us, and cares about every one of us individually, equally unlikely? And just a tad arrogant?

As I said, there is a lot that can be said about religious fundamentalists; in my view almost all of it negative. But what extremism does do is drag the more politically correct bigots out of the closet, and expose the darker tones of religions that outwardly preach peace and love. Women have ‘a different role to play’ in society; we ‘hate the sin, not the sinner’ where homosexuality is concerned; we must ‘pray for’ those with different theological beliefs. The pretty words and niceties may be more palatable, but it certainly is satisfying to see polished facades shattered by people allegedly on the same ‘side.’

Modernising hymns and religious buildings whilst people screech hate and bigotry in the name of the same faith is like repainting the front door whilst the back of your house is in flames. Christianity and Islam need to do some truly magnificent PR if they are to live out the century, at least in this country.

I can’t be the only one rather hoping that they don’t.

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[images from www.godhatesfags.com]

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Listen To Your Children

It is something that we are all guilty of: dismissing the opinions and views of those younger than us. Whether we are eighteen or eighty, we are forever scornful of those with fewer years of experience, forever patronising and condescending, even (or perhaps especially) towards our younger selves. The young are seen as ignorant, foolishly optimistic, not fully comprehending or appreciating the merit of the traditional values of our elders.

In some ways, this view may be fair: we have not had so much time to learn, to live, to have our hearts broken and discover how they might be healed. We are not so wise to romantic love or tax applications or anti-wrinkle cream; we haven’t experienced first hand the constant threat of Soviet bombs, or Spam, or the rise of television.

But this doesn’t mean that our opinions are invalid, that our voices are but noise, chattering oversimplifications and baseless fantasies. Our opinions are not axiomatically unattainable idealisms, simply because we dispute some outdated norms. The reason for the widespread irreligion of English teenagers is not a callous rebellion against our elders and wisers, or something that we will grow out of with experience; it is based on a critical look at the facts available, and an ability to see with clarity that some conclusions would simply be illogical to draw.

When I preach gay rights, I do so not from a standpoint of political correctness or hippyish sentimentality, but because it honestly disgusts me that supposedly civilised adult members of society feel that they are entitled to deny others of rights that they themselves take for granted. I don’t think that creationism, and holocaust or global-warming denial, are ridiculous because I have been taught to think so. I have judged them to be ridiculous, as well as damaging, myself through an assessment of facts and evidence, and that anyone might deny facts and evidence to further their political standpoint, or be brainwashed to do so by religious or cultural pressure, is appalling to me.

The voting age in this country is eighteen, and I believe this to be fair. Not everyone my age has sufficient interest in or knowledge of the issues and process involved in politics to make informed decisions in our democracy, and whilst this is also true of many adults, I am happy to wait until I am eighteen. But this does not mean that we should dismiss the opinions of the young purely because of their youth, or revere those of the old because of their age. And the fact that something worked well enough before just not justify its continuation. Just because a certain manner of doing things has not led to universal destruction does not mean that it cannot be improved, and indeed our society must continually be improved, through a critical assessment of what is fact, what is opinion, and the reasons for and validity of said opinions.

The younger generation has been raised in a far more tolerant and freethinking society than that of older generations. We are encouraged to consider every opinion we hold, to decide why we hold it and whether it is valid. We are taught to, at least in theory, respect other peoples’ religious views, sexuality, opinions on current affairs; to question any stigma we place on a subject or group of people, decide for ourselves if it is justified. We may be less experienced, and we may be supporting things that the older generation would instinctively label immoral or impractical, but many of us are truly thinking about things, considering issues and imagining other people complexly, and our views should not be discredited.

We must judge the merit of a view not on whom it is held by, but by the sensibility and worth of the opinion itself. Age may lead to experience, but not necessarily to wisdom.

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The Price of Bread and Circuses

An internal monologue about the thoughts and feelings of a slave condemned to death in one of the circuses of Rome, paying the ultimate price for the Empire’s requirement to keep the crowds happy.

When just one minute of it remains, life becomes something precious. 60 seconds left to live. Agonisingly, they tick away, each one stretching out a lifetime, yet flitting by wildly, erratically, carelessly. Not enough time. Nowhere near enough. The air is rank with the unmistakeable stench of fear, and the frantic cacophony of animal noises. I hear my heart pound manically in my ears, as though it knows it hasn’t long left to beat. I draw jagged, tortured breaths into my lungs.

Up above me I can hear the roars of the crowd, bloodthirsty and eager. The bars of the cage are oppressively solid, pressing in, trapping me. Across from me I can see the lion, also caged. Trapped, like me, for the remainder of its life; but unlike me, its captivity wouldn’t end today.

50 seconds.

I don’t stand a chance. The lion must be 10 feet long, with eyes filled with wariness, echoing a lifetime of persecution, years spent being trained to hate, to attack, to kill…to entertain. Kept starving and desperate, provoked into fury. Rewarded for aggression and punished for contentment.

Not that this fight’ll be particularly entertaining. As if there can be any question how it’ll end.

40 seconds.

I stare down at the sword in my hands. I’ve never handled one before; I have no idea what to do with it. I’m just something to keep the crowds happy between the real acts, unimportant, forgettable. They don’t expect it to be much of a fight.

30 seconds.

The blade glints in the near-darkness. I’m nearer to the ceiling now. The sounds of the crowd are closer now, baying for my blood. They scare me more than the lion.

The beast’s been forced into cruelty, trained into blood thirst, and so perhaps has Rome; the people brought at an early age to cheer and applaud at pointless slaughter; to gossip afterwards about the fight, chatter with vulgar enthusiasm; to judge the entertainment value of the end of a man’s life, of the destruction of exotic creatures. The lion is not really my executioner. All-powerful, all-controlling…the lion is as much a player in their games as I am. And so, perhaps, are the crowd.

20 seconds.

I’m going to die.

I’m going to die.

My life flashes before my eyes. My mother’s face, forever lined by worry; my sister’s toothy grin. The sunset over the hilltops. The smell of the ocean. Laughter, tears, love, loss, hopes, dreams…they all seem so trivial, now at the end of everything, these things that make up who I am.

Tears choke my throat. I can see light above me through the cracks in the ceiling. Ceiling? The floor. The floor of the arena. My hands shake on my sword, my whole body wracked with sobs. Everything seems hyperreal, the slits of daylight from above overly bright, the floor so solid beneath my feet. I relish the weight of the sword in my hand, the coarse material of my tunic, rough and dependable against my skin. It all seems suddenly precious, now at the end of it all. Pointless, all of it pointless, but somehow valuable nonetheless.

10 seconds.

O gods have mercy! This is really happening.

I’m going to die.

I can no longer see the lion – hidden behind a beam with just a paw visible. Its claws are out, knives in the darkness.

I can’t win.

I’m going to die.

My heart beats fit to burst, feeling as if it’s trying to escape from my chest. I’m dragging in great lungfuls of air.

The lion’s leg is covered in scars. Beaten and abused from its long years in the arena.

The crowd screams.

They’re eager for a fight, waiting to see me die, as gorily and excitingly as possible. Am I human to them?

I glance down at the sword in my hand, so foreign, so far from who I am.

5 seconds.

This is happening.

This is really happening.

3 seconds.

I stretch my legs as far as they’ll go, one last time.

2 seconds.

I’m going to die.

I’m going to die.

The trapdoor opens.

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The World’s End

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Film review of ‘The World’s End’, the final installment in Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg’s ‘Cornetto Trilogy’.

I often find that films inspire me in bizarre ways: Pirates of the Caribbean gives me a sudden leaning towards nauticalism and criminality; The Avengers makes me want to become a superhero, or at the very least a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. The World’s End had less of an aspirational effect on me: I came away from it simply with a serious desire to get pissed. As someone who should’ve been ID checked to even get into the film, this is perhaps not a cogent advertisement for it; but the fact that it is truly bloody brilliant certainly is.

When a sci-fi film still would’ve been good without the sci-fi, you know it’s a damn good film. With a dazzling cast playing a fantastic array of characters, the plot wouldn’t have even needed to be very good for the film to be enjoyable – although it certainly didn’t hurt that it was in fact excellent. The norm for alien invasion sci-fi films is for the supernatural aspect to be introduced very early on, and for us to meet the characters as they battle hoards of aliens. The World’s End takes a very different approach, seeming for the first half hour or so as though this might simply be a comedy about some old schoolmates reliving the pub crawl of their youth; and the brilliant thing is that it’s still good just as that …And then Simon Pegg starts wrestling with a teenaged robot with Lego limbs and ink for blood, and you realise that actually you didn’t misunderstand the description on the cinema’s website after all. The two genres seem to wrestle and intertwine throughout the course of the film, to effect of great (and utterly ludicrous) hilarity.

Pegg plays the tragic yet riotous Gary King, a boy who never grew up, suffering from a hell of a lot more than a midlife crisis. His character is actually very moving as we learn more about his past, and yet, despite discovering just how troubled and unhappy he is, he simply doesn’t allow us to feel more than fleetingly sorry for him, for, bizarrely, it is here that he is in his element. The adventure, the excitement, the drunken reversion to teenaged immaturity; this is what he has wasted his whole life dreaming of. Stephen Fry once said that British humour favours the loser as opposed to the hero, and I think that this is perfectly embodied here. From asserting that no one was ever quite sure how many Musketeers there historically were, to smashing his head against a pillar to prove his humanity, and quoting the lyric, ‘we wanna be free to do what we wanna do, and we wanna get loaded,’ from a 90s rock song whilst negotiating the future of the human race with a bunch of politically correct aliens, Gary King is the ultimate hilarious idiot. Yes, he’s a seriously unhappy man, a liar, and manipulative; but he’s also mental, ridiculous, insane, and just good fun. As his best mate from school, played by Nick Frost, poetically says: ‘Gary may be a cock. But he’s my cock!’

One of the most incredible (both literally and in the colloquial sense) aspects of the film is the way in which the pub crawl continues, with unheralded Blitz spirit, despite the pesky intrusion of alien-controlled robots – Gary isn’t about to let the invasion of Earth obstruct his alcoholic escapades. Through a mix of inebriated logic and ironic coincidences, the men continue along the so-called ‘Golden Mile,’ Gary downing pints amidst constant threat of robot attacks, actual robot attacks, and witnessing his friend stave off a robot attack whilst he – first things first – finishes his lager.

This film seems to do everything at once. It is utterly outrageous. It is just scary enough to make everything funnier, keeping you in a state of heightened nervous tension and disbelieving laughter. It effectively combines both teenhood nostalgia and an alien invasion. It presents tap water as a heroic choice of in-pub beverage. It is, in parts (few parts, but still, they’re there) utterly heartbreaking. And it made a whole cinema of cynical Brits laugh and clap at a one-liner.

I couldn’t help thinking; watching a truly plastered middle-aged man in a black trench coat yell “Get back in your rocket and fuck off back you Legoland, you cunts!” at a hyper intelligent alien invasion force; Doctor Who could do with more of this.

[film poster from www.edgarwrighthere.com]

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