Do you hate speech?

My Twitter account is locked. I locked it after seeing the correspondence from Imran Ahmed to ‘Katy’, (I assume representing Twitter) and acknowledging a meeting on Tuesday. Time stamped  Wed 29 Jan 2020 08:52, the email says:

“Given the positive nature of the talks, we hope to see the following in the coming weeks:

1) A commitment to not just bring back the import/export facilities for blocklists but a commitment to work with CCDH on a new initiative to make it far easier for people to more easily share their blocklists so we can start to harness social power to collectively exclude hate actors from public discourse.

2) The banning of hate actors as we discussed in the meeting, including [redacted] and the people in the attached document.

3) A full review of both George Galloway and Katie Hopkins’ ability to use your platform to spread hate and a commitment to publicly publish the full decision with reasoning by March 13^th (six weeks’ time) so that our society can have a constructive and evidenced debate on Twitter’s merits as a place for people to communicate, build relationships and find new information.

Could we schedule to reconnect on progress w/c March 9^th? In the meantime, I will be on email and phone although some hours behind you in the States.

We think these are reasonable and constructive requests. We hope you agree.

Best wishes,

Imran Ahmed”

CCDH stands for the Center_[sic] for Countering Digital Hate. Now, my opinion of hate is that is a visceral, primitive emotion which has little place in cool adult discourse. It is a word used by truculent children to hurt their parents. It is a word uttered in anger and frustration by those with no vocabulary to distinguish between dislike, antipathy, aversion, loathing or even simple preference. Increasingly it is used against people with a different opinion to the hate-detector, for this is what CCDH really is. Clearly of the left, this is an organisation with one purpose; to de-platform those with whom they disagree.

In setting themselves up as arbiters of what hate is they also get to impose rules about what kind of hate is permissible. For, make no mistake, the suspension of Katie Hopkins is motivated by the pure leftist hatred for anybody who gets in their way. If the fascists – limitation of free speech is an instrument of fascism – of CCDH get their way, Twitter will become a thought-free bubble of ideological consensus which uses the acquiescence of useful idiots to further an agenda as insidious as any they loudly proclaim to oppose.

I hear through the grapevine that my blog has restricted access under certain ‘safeguarding’ processes of the ISPs. I regularly see Tweeters I follow complaining that their reach has been limited, their tweets rendered invisible and their ability to follow others curtailed. I hear of shadow-banning and other practices which reduce the ‘volume’ of their voices. And I see, daily, members returning after short suspensions for the most innocuous of expressed sentiment, where clearly no ‘crime’ was committed.

They are of one mind, the banners, the mass blockers, the deniers of others’ freedoms. And they have one aim which is to create a sanitised ‘safe space’ where only the approved opinions may be promulgated. This is an extension of state education, where teachers quietly reinforce the ‘correct’ modes of thought and turn their charges against the politics of their parents. They speak of harm, where no harm exists. They pretend to openness and diversity, but brook no diversity of thought.

As with school, so with Twitter

Tonight, when we symbolically part company with a supranational exercise in restricting independent freedoms, I will unlock my Twitter account again; It is far too restrictive to remain behind self-imposed bars. How long I survive this hostile environment is going to be a matter of chance; no doubt I am already on a number of blocklists and if Ahmed and his brownshirts get their way that will be all they need to remove me from the platform altogether. Be careful what you wish for, you who see hate in every disagreement; be very careful indeed, for you may be next.

(If you have got this far and you agree, endorse, or just want to share, there is a link below which you can use to spread the word. Many thanks in anticipation.) 

Don't feed the trolls

As Brexit Day approaches and the Remoaners become ever more frantic in their garment-rending and shrill in their spiralling invective, it is curious that they need to tell themselves that it is the Leavers who are somehow triggered. Possibly – and they have demonstrated this propensity many times – they don’t understand what the word means. Let’s face it, they have never understood the concept of leaving, somehow mistaking the clear instruction of the electorate, for a far more vague and woolly half-exit, inventing soft-Brexits and Brexit-lites to somehow keep their dream alive.

But triggered? The Cambridge English Dictionary (Oxford English is so discredited these days) defines triggered as “experiencing a strong emotional reaction of fear, shock, anger, or worry…” I see no such fear, shock anger or worry among the Leavers. What I do see is Brexiteers increasingly bemused by the antics of the woke joke that is Remain. Bemused and amused at the lengths some will claim they will go to keep their dream alive long after roseate fingered dawn has intruded on their slumbers. I say claim because some of their declarations are way beyond the borders of fantasy:

They will refuse to handle the Brexit 50p; who even looks at the coins in their pocket? They will turn the lights off at eleven o’clock tomorrow night for ten minutes; to what purpose, other than to signal their defeat? They will continue to fly the EU flag, which jingoistic behaviour is one of the things they say they abhor the most in patriotic Little Englanders. They will get Ode to Joy – a good old Hitlerian jingle – to Number One on Friday. They will refuse to conduct business with anybody supporting Brexit; how will they know?

Meanwhile the cheerleaders for the Fourth Reich – Femi ‘tits’ Oluwole, Steve ‘Dave’ Bray, Mad Madeleina Kay ‘Alas’tair Campbell, Jolyon ‘Foxy’ Maugham and on and on and on continue to predict doom and disaster, swear allegiance to a political construct and generally behave like pre-teens denied Internet access and ice cream. If nothing else you might think they would display some signs of embarrassment, but no; Eyes tight shut they clench their little fists, stamp their tiny feet and thcweam and thcweam and thcweam.

If nobody is studying this then they really should consider it because there at least a dozen PhDs to be had from it. Is there something we are missing? I mean, maybe there is a prize for the biggest, the most outlandish, the most inventive expression of pain? The biggest hurty? Or maybe the joke really is on us and the plethora of parody accounts apeing them has become indistinguishable from the real thing? Either way I still don’t feel triggered; do you?

I hope tomorrow night’s party is well attended and peaceful, although the majority of Leavers will more likely mark the occasion by turning off the lights and going to bed, possibly after a civilised night cap. I do hope the celebrations are not disturbed or provoked by remainers continuing to protest at a done deal, long after the whistle has been blown. And I do hope that none of them carry out some of the more outlandish acts of self-harm they have threatened…  unless, of course, they are funny!

Own Goal

The sickly yellow fluorescent lights in the canteen made a harsh buzzing noise, like an angry wasp trapped in a dustbin, as the queue slowly shuffled towards the grimy servery. The usual fare was rapidly cooling and Winston knew that by the time he received his daily ration of unspecified meat it would be sitting in a sea of congealing fat, surrounding the soft mound of overcooked vegetables, or at least what passed for vegetables in the Ministry of Truth cafeteria.

“Morning, Smith!” A fat, jowly blob of a man, always unnervingly cheery, greeted Winston as he joined the queue. “See the game last night?” Winston looked around him quickly and with dread in his eyes. Big Brother was always watching, always listening and always on the alert for words and deeds which fell outside the approved list. Only yesterday had come the announcement: Football banter bad. Winston tried to hush his interlocutor but it was too late; two men in party uniforms had dragged George – that was his name – from the line and began laying into him with batons.

The background murmur in the canteen became silent as everybody obediently turned to watch the beating. Nobody was quite sure if they should join in, cheer, or just stare with hopeless eyes at the inevitability of such punishment. But one thing they did know was they must be seen to witness the act; a good party member must show no squeamishness and be prepared to turn in their neighbour, their friends, their family, if any indiscretions came to light. Big Brother might be watching over you, but only you can protect yourself from harm, if necessary by using those you hold dear as human shields.

Seventy years ago, George Orwell wrote the dystopic nightmare, 1984, a work which has become synonymous with the worst excesses of party politics and the intrusion of the state into every part of your life, even your thoughts. Today, it is the go-to reference for every barmy utterance from the Joy Police. Opposite meanings are a trope in the world of Ingsoc, so you all know what is really meant by joy.

We are supposed to avoid offending anybody of a different hue, culture, religion, accent, gender identity, sexual orientation or philosophy, either deliberately or by accident. We are expected to anticipate that people may perceive offence where none was intended and we are minded to curb our tendency to use micro-aggressions. So subtle are such slights that sometimes even those on the lookout for harm don’t manage to nip them in the bud; instead they must pore over every sentence, every phrase, every roll of the eyes, interpreting the maliciousness through the lens of white privilege.

Thus it came as no surprise that on Monday Ann Francke, Chief Executive Officer of the Chartered Management Institute appeared on the Today programme to berate us about office football talk. Why? Why, because it is not inclusive enough and may alienate those who have no interest in football. Even worse, it could lead onto – are you ready for this – banter. As we all know by now banter and what she referred to as ‘laddish culture’ is literally Hitler.

In a way I guess we can seek out the positives here and realise that if this is what the CMI is getting exercised over, then all of the other problems must be solved. The devil makes work for idle hands to do and I can only imagine that the very acme of idle handedness was responsible for this. Perhaps they could turn their attention to the hate crime of women talking about babies and reality shows in the workplace? Or better yet, run these genius ideas past a living, breathing human being before parading such idiocy for all to see.

Orwell that ends well

It is 70 years since Eric Arthur Blair’s death and the BBC has been marking it with an excellent series of radio essays, documentaries and dramatisations of his life. His massive contribution to political discourse can hardly be overstated, with many of the words and expressions he coined still in regular usage and his own pen name used to describe the worst excesses of totalitarianism. Newspeak, thought crime and doublethink are pressed into service every time somebody invokes the Orwellian dystopia that some see in the world today.

But his opus, 1984, a book which, despite its name being common currency for the intrusion of state into every facet of people’s lives, hasn’t been read or understood by anywhere near as many people as use its language, was not really the prophecy many lazily think it was. It was in fact, like all of his writing, commentary on what was actually happening, as he saw it. His telescreens weren’t futurology because television had been around for over a decade when he died, but if he was prophetic about anything the smart-spy in your pocket is a manifestation of his nightmare vision.

For all the warnings over extreme surveillance of citizens’ actions, sentiments and thoughts, those most engaged in ‘the resistance’, the young, are those most likely to carry the secret agents of IngSoc in their pockets. I use IngSoc as a cypher not for English Socialism, as in the book, but for big ‘S’ socialism generally. Because, wherever it has been attempted, small ‘s’ socialism soon becomes capital. S for socialism, S for state and when the state owns you, little good ever comes of it.

And it is little wonder that this always happens, given that socialism, in Marxist theory, is a mere transitional state between the overthrow of capitalism and the institution of full Communism. Orwell’s Animal Farm was a commentary on Stalin’s pursuit of exactly this goal and yet still the left refuse to see. Orwell was that rare breed, a leftie who opened his eyes and realised that the enemy was not ‘the right’. The enemy was/is totalitarianism from whatever source. He saw the Hitler/Stalin pact and realised that these supposed opposites were actually allies in the aim of bringing the people under control.

But what about the rise of the far right, the much-feared and vaunted evil which is said to be on the march across Europe? The terms left and right, politically, derive from the French Revolution where those loyal to the king sat on the right of the president of the National Assembly, while on the left were the revolutionaries; those who would wrest control from the monarchy. I see the logical extreme of rightism as the very opposite of the mobs of socialism, with all the power vested in one, divine-like entity, the king or queen.

Which means, in my book, that mass organised movements are necessarily of the left, of revolution of – in their eyes – progress away from the status quo. It stands for upheaval and it attracts ideologues. Whereas the right stands for tradition, small ‘c’ conservatism and stability and it attracts older, possibly wiser, certainly less volatile types. Those who are, perhaps, more satisfied with the society they have played a major hand in shaping to its present form, those with misty memories of the unformed thinking of their younger days.

George Orwell is watching you

The atomisation of society into more-finely defined identity groups plays into the grasping hands of both sides. The more you lot squabble amongst yourselves the more ‘they’ win and it is the left, almost universally, who spend the most time squabbling. This is one of the things that Orwell observed and one of the sources of his despair. He rejected the devotees of Marxism even as some of them would claim him for themselves. But his message, his thoughts, his warnings are for everybody. So, do yourself a favour and instead of forever accepting what others say he wrote, read the bloody book and work it out for yourselves.

Shut up and start talking!

Depressing. That’s the state of national debate when, if you come out for either side you are instantly derided as offended, triggered, woke or worse. Every riposte has a counter, every argument a clever rebuff; it almost feels like each side has a committee convened to take apart every stance and find a way to remove its sting. Express amusement at the latest gender-bender nonsense and you are either a fascist pig, or else you are, somehow, a weeping snowflake. What? I was having a laugh with like-minded people, you berk. Burst out of your bubble, comes the reply.

Somebody has always coined a handy and usually derisory epithet to describe you, regardless of what you really are. And what are you, anyway? When ‘lefty-liberal snowflake’ and ‘neo-liberal Nazi’ coexist what does that say about plain old liberals? How do genuine liberals feel about this? (And more to the point, I have yet to read a consistent description of what a libertarian is, as opposed to what he thinks he is.) When Laurence Fox did what he did last week the Twittersphere erupted with lefties losing their shit and righties poking fun at them for it. But here we are, days later and now it’s the lefties saying the right are losing their shit and they are being precious snowflakes for doing so. It is the political debate equivalent of “You smell!” “No, YOU smell!”

And none of it gets us any closer to working out how we continue to function as a society. From my angle, those who see offence in every off-colour utterance every departure from the sacred script of diversity and equality are the unhinged ones, but what about seeing it from their side? By attacking every perceived ‘woke’ fragility we distance ourselves from ever understanding where others are coming from. Likewise by their opposing everything which is not in their own script as fascism, they let the actual fascists (all eleven of them) off the hook.

Seeing racism as inherent in white skin, speaking of the fallacious white privilege that few of us will ever feel, waging war on the fictitious far-right, the left are making a mockery of free speech by insisting that we must never speak of these things. But the 1% ‘rule’ is utterly ridiculous. If one of your great-great-great grandfathers was a doughty ‘Blackamoor’ you may now identify as black… even though you are 31/32 white. Oh, come on, this means you are literally erasing white ethnicity before our eyes.

This is monumentally stupid and reduces every argument to ad hominem fallacies; the message must be corrupt because the messenger is a moron. And he is a moron not because of any demonstrable lack of intelligence, but simply because his message is off the reservation. When you can’t believe news, from almost any source you have to fall back on what you know. But when you won’t believe any news except what reinforces what you believe, what you know is worthless.

At some point the country really has to begin the process of rebuilding the national dialogue and to do that, both sides have to – and here’s that awful word – compromise; we can’t afford to do otherwise. So, in that spirit, I’ll start. Without capitalism we would be horribly poorer, but under capitalism there are winners and losers; we have to look after the losers. Socialism has no real mechanism to improve prosperity for the losers, but is enormously successful at caring about doing so. The old centrist parties seemed to understand this and I suspect that Johnson’s administration does, too.

I’m not asking the left to get behind Boris Johnson. Neither am I asking the right to completely trust him with all the policies they want implemented. But while you are at each other’s throats and while Her Majesty’s Opposition is incapable of voicing a single coherent syllable of effective opposition, how about a bit of a truce between the rest of us until we can see where this new government is actually leading us, as opposed to where we have already imagined it might? I’m not holding my breath.