Some Thoughts on Equality, Truth, and the Car Bombs in Britain

Dr. W.E.B. Du Bois devoted his entire life to establishing one notion: the notion of Truth. Only once the Truth is laid bare for all to see, can there be equality and any hope of freedom. The ignorant may still try and tarnish the truth through their continuing believing in old and dated lies, but the truth will still be set free.

Here follows some truth. Persons arrested regarding the two unexploded bombs in London, found this time last week (June 29, 2007), and the flaming jeep sat in the doors of Glasgow's terminal 1 building the day after, were of Asian origin. [Former] friends gave details of their lives to news agencies, and it became clear they were Muslims. This is all Truth.

But this is all Truth as well: these people were extremist believers in the Muslim faith.Their beliefs are not typical of every Muslim. The Muslim Council of Great Britain knows this, rational thinking people of all faiths and creeds realise this, and yet there is animosity towards Muslims in British communities.

In 1897, Dr. Du Bois established that, in Philadelphia, the African-American community around Philadelphia's Seventh Ward, was, indeed, in no way monolithic. He determined that, within the black community, there was racialised stratification. Why is it that, now, in 2007, many Caucasian people are unable to realise that the same is certainly true of the modern Muslim community in Britain. What will it take for such a Truth to be realised? How long before such a Truth is universally accepted in what would a momentous forward step? For too long, decent respectable Muslims have been tarred with the same brush as those who plot to blow up trains and cause mass panic.


Yours, wherever you may be,
Daniel C. Wright

My Week

This week feels though it has almost been a wasted week. But no entire week can ever be entirely wasted. I remember Ross once saying that sometimes it is good to completely burn out. Whilst I won't disagree, it is also good to take a step back. Since Good Friday, I have reverted back to old habits. I haven't really done anything. I haven't been anywhere or seen anything. I haven't acquired first hand experience of our transport system and haven't seen anything to suggest I have made a journey of any significance. All I have done is enjoyed the sunshine. I re-read James Baldwin's The Fire Next Time and am once again part-way through Claude Brown's Manchild In The Promised Land. As a first chapter, the opening section really is a baptism of fire into a world quite alien to me.

For two solid days I did very little but mess around on Facebook. This I consider to be a useless endeavour. Friends added me as a 'friend' and I added people as 'friends'. People who I haven't seen since High School (and who I truthfully hope never to see again) have listed me as 'friend'. I have pages of these 'friends' who I never even used to speak to at all at High School -- people who I am never in a million years going to actively make the effort to communicate with through Facebook.

But I spend most of the time searching the groups. I try and find humorous ones with a satirically important point: Petition To Revoke The Independence Of The United States Of America, for instance, or Virgin Media -- I Want My Sky Channels Back! or Belichick For President in 2008. Some of the groups I have joined are ridiculous: Everyone Loves A Guinness, for example. It sounds quite normal. It is, though, in the category Extreme Sports. Right, ok then.

I went up to the Church Wednesday evening and had a few drinks with the old crew. The few people from High School I actually get on quite well with. That night highlighted the false community created by Facebook. According to this 'social utility', everyone is friends. Sadly the real world does not work in such a harmonious Utopian manner. Our group was all sat together round two tables (there was not that many of us, the tables are small), talking and enjoying each other's company. I talked less than everyone else because..... I'm shy. Anyway, at the table next to us there sat another group of friends from my same year at school. At least one of them (possibly two) is/are listed as my friend(s) on Facebook. They did not bat an eyelid when I walked out there. And neither did I. I did not acknowledge there presence, and they did not acknowledge mine. The unspoken understanding of the clique was in full force Wednesday night. On the table next to them, there sat someone with whom I had a similar relationship. He was listed as a friend on Facebook, but we did not speak. The term 'friend' seems to have been redefined: friend, v. anyone from way back when who's name you vaguely remember and who you recall to be alright, though you not necessarily spoke to them way back when. Act of friendship no longer necessary. That would be a seemingly correct understanding of today's situation. Thanks, Facebook. In fact, I have just had a scary thought: if Facebook ran the world. If this was the case, we would have all been sat with each other round one large table Wednesday night. Ugh, a scary thought.

Yours, wherever you may be,
Daniel C. Wright

The Second Amendment

I just sent out a quick, basic search on Facebook groups. All I searched for was 'second amendment'. Page after page after page was filled with pro-gun, pro-NRA, pro-second amendment groups. I could not find a single group that wanted to take guns away from Americans.

Firearms, like the second amendment to the United States Constitution, have no place in a civilised, modern society. The United States has more homicides than any other country anywhere in the world. Over 11,000 Americans each year are shot dead. There is concern in Great Britain at the moment as the number of gun-related killings topped 200 a year.

Regardless of what the 200+ year old document says, no civilian needs a gun. If nobody has a gun, then no one can be shot dead. One argument says that civilised citizens need firearms for protection. If the criminals did not have guns, then the law abiding citizen does not need one either. Another argument states that guns do not kill, people do. Guns do not kill, but they sure do help. The right to bear arms was necessary when the Constitution was drawn up, but this is 2007. The Wild West is no more. It has been tamed and is a completely different place. Utter lawlessness, utter anarchy does not exist with the United States anymore. Towns are no longer run by gangs of criminals. Elected Governments, Sheriffs, and Governors run the show and are held accountable through checks and balances. Guns do not even enter the equation.

So many Americans claim they have a 'right to bear arms'. What lunacy! Americans have the right to walk down the street without fear of being shot. Americans who argue against the NRA and the pro-gun lobbies are branded as liberals. What is liberal about wanting to walk down the street without wondering who is carrying a gun, about who could shoot you dead at any time?

Like a lot of anti-gun campaigners, I feel the need to make the point that I am not a hater of the United States Constitution. I believe a written, entrenched Constitution should govern every country. I wish we had one in Britain. I do, however, loath the second Amendment. It is unnecessary, it causes more problems than it solves and it portrays the United States to be arrogant on the world stage.

An America with guns is not the land of the free and the home of the brave. There is nothing brave about shooting someone dead from 500 yards away. To shoot someone is the most cowardly way to kill them. Some of the twentieth century's most inspirational characters have had a bullet put through them: John F. Kennedy; Martin Luther King, Jr; Malcolm X; Abe Lincoln; John Lennon However, Winston Churchill, Bob Geldof, William Gladstone and Margaret Thatcher have all spent the majority of their time (or all of their time) in the United Kingdom. Not a single one has been shot dead. Think about it.

Yours, wherever you may be,
Daniel C. Wright

Sales Assistants Are Just That: Sales Assistants!

The following is written for the benefit of sales assistants across the United Kingdom. After two days of persistent, soul-destroying abuse, enough is enough.

Retail is a fast-moving, quick paced industry, with a high turnover of staff at the bottom. Sales assistants come and go in the blink of an eye. Their job is self-explanatory: to assist with the sale of goods in any way. Yet there are difficult complexities within this wide-ranging brief.

At the weekends, many people who do this difficult job are still in full-time education; they are 16 to 22 year olds who are still at school, college or university (Where I work is no different). For five days a week, these people stress, strain and worry about exams, assessments and coursework. These are the primary concerns of these people.

For two days a week, they seize the opportunity to earn some money. Many, like myself, do this through the retail sector. And for most, this is their first job.

I personally like my job. I am happy to work for the amount of money I am paid. I think the working conditions are good. I like my boss. My good relationship with my manager means I want to do a good job not only for myself but for him as well (it was not always like this). If I fail in some way, I let myself down, and I let him down. I do not worry about the company because we are part of a chain. The company does not exist on a day-to-day basis.

What makes the job difficult is the customers. Very often, it is they who determine how difficult the job is. While they have the ability to make the job easy, they can also make it near impossible.

My workplace caters for the upper echelons of our society. The people who shop there are wealthy, affluent, successful people with a large amount of disposable income. The middle and upper classes are our target market. As a result, our prices are staggering. A tin of coke: 75p Seeds that you can get from a market stall for 99p: £3.00. Chocolate bars that are 30p elsewhere: 55p. My personal opinion is many of our products are overpriced. But there are people willing to pay these prices, and as long as they keep coming through the doors, we will continue to charge them over the odds. One gentlemen came and complained to me about the price of one of our products. He was a pensioner, and he struck me as being a smart man. But he kept complaining to me about the prices. I tried my very best to explain that it was not me who set the prices. I was just the person who had to charge them. But he could not understand that. He persisted. Quite what he wanted to achieve, I still don’t know. If he wanted me to feel bad, he succeeded. All customers should remember that the sales assistants are just that: sales assistants! We do not set the prices, and we cannot change them. I don’t mind customers who come and say to me “oh, these are a bit expensive, aren’t they?" because that implies they do not expect me to do something about it. Customers should not persist with probing questions about the prices of small goods because it is not us who set them -- it is either the manager or the company!

A gentlemen came to my till with two bags of compost: the first was a 75lt multipurpose, PLU code 106; and the second a 25lt John Innes number 02, PLU code 132. ”It is not £3.99!” he bellowed. I was absolutely certain the multipurpose was £3.99 because it was also on offer, three for £10.00. I explained this to him politely.” It bloody well isn’t,” he cursed, “it says £2.99 outside!’ He slapped his credit card on the counter.

“If you’re disputing the price,” I said, gritting my teeth, “I’ll get the manager.” He crossed his arms, furiously. He was not going to be overcharged by some punk, I could see it in his body language. I am a calm person, but I wanted to give him a swift right hook. “Here, hold on to this a minute,” I said sliding his credit card back to him. It lay openly on the counter for all the customers behind him to see. He turned his back.

In a way, that made me laugh, but it also made me cry a bit inside. I was crying for his stupidity. He was making a scene about one pound, but he was quite happy to abandon his credit card -- his entire bank account -- on a shop counter, with no sales assistant present.

Thankfully the manager was not very far away and came and dealt with him. He eventually agreed to pay the £3.99 for the multipurpose compost, and after he had taken it to his car, he came back inside and insisted he showed the manager the sign that said £2.99. The gentleman had been looking at the wrong sign. He made a fool of himself. But he was not very humble about it. He walked past me on his way out. I glared at him. He did not apologise. He did not apologise for raising his voice, for shouting, or for using abusive language. He did not apologise for being incredibly rude about the small matter of one pound. He had more money than sense, and I hope he never sets foot in our store again.

Customers like this man are more and more common. The customer is always right, apparently. This is nonsense. Why is it acceptable for the customer to abuse sales assistants? Why can we not give as good as we get? I fear one day I might just speak my mind to a customer. I might just let them know what I really think.

Without the customers, we would not have jobs. And without us, they would not be able to spend their money. Respect needs to be a two-way thing as well. If someone shows you respect, you should show them respect. I always greet my customers with a pleasant smile. They usually just grunt or sneer. Sometimes I wonder why I bother. I had no pleasant customers over the weekend. No one discussed the weather, and no one engaged in phatic talk. It may have been just phatic talk to them, but I would have been glad of the interaction.

Yours, wherever you may be,
Daniel C. Wright

John Howard Griffin’s ‘Black Like Me’: Essential Reading

About twelve months ago now, I went into the Aldham Robarts Library at Liverpool John Moores University and stood in front of a large selection of books. I scanned the titles as quickly as I could, my eyes jumping from one part of the shelf to another. All the books appealed to me. I did not know where to start reading.

I wish I could say this book jumped out at me, but I picked it up at random. I read the title. Black Like Me. I read it over and over in my head. Black Like Me. Black Like Me. The book was a lot smaller than many of the other books. It was the same size as my New Testament. There wasn’t very many pages in it, and it was quite battered. It was ragged, and worn.

I made the assumption this was an educated black academic writer, putting pen to paper and explaining (or at least, trying to explain) what it was like on a day-to-day basis to be a black man.

I was wrong.

I was very, very wrong. This book goes beyond that. It draws attention to the part of American society that officials claim does not exist, but everyone knows that it does. John Howard Griffin first highlighted it, then drew a line underneath it, and then got ten, 4,000 watt light bulbs and pointed them all directly at it. Everyone could see. The problem was clear, and there was no disputing it. It existed, it was real, and it was American: racism. It could not be denied.

But Black Like Me is more. It gets under your skin. It eats into you, though you, and leaves you empty. There is nothing left in you. What remains is a hole. You are incomplete. Your soul is incomplete. How can you be complete when someone tells you that the black man is equal, but he is not? He is just the same; the only thing which is not equal is his relationship to society, and this is different because society treats him as different, but Griffin confirms what educated people already know -- that he is not different. He is just the same. You cannot be complete if you have a soul and you know that people just like you are in trouble. They are the brotherhood of Man. They are my brothers, they are your brothers, they are our brothers.

Some whites will say this is not really it. They will say this is the white man’s experience as a Negro in the south, not the Negro’s. But this is picayunish, and we no longer have time for that. We no longer have time to atomise principles and beg the question. We fill too many gutters while we argue unimportant points and confuse issues. The Negro. The South. These are the details.

That is John Howard Griffin speaking. In the preface, he abolishes the primary concern of the reader. And he is right. I wish he was wrong. But he was not. He was not wrong in 1959. I doubt he would be wrong in 2007.

Rest at pale evening…
A tall slim tree…
Night coming tenderly
Black like me.

Yours, wherever you may be,
Daniel C. Wright

Poverty Is A Poor Excuse For Violence

Poverty in Great Britain is not the same as poverty on a global scale. Relative poverty is not that bad: houses and flats in Peckham, Clapham, and South London, though not luxurious, are habitable. Regeneration is needed in these areas, but only because of the wealth of the surrounding areas. These areas are made to stand out because of the prosperity of the areas around them.

Turning to crime or gang/gun violence is the easy option for the youth who grow up these deprived areas. What is needed is to make the youth of these areas see that there are other options, and that turning to criminal activities (though the easiest option) is not the most sensible choice. Lashing out at the world because "my Dad left my Mum" or because "I never knew my Dad" is simply not acceptable. The conventional viewpoint maintains that a breakdown in the family structure results in the child becoming violent. This is not necessarily so!

July, 1981. Merseyside is gripped by fear as hundreds of black youths riot in Toxteth. For nine days, they burn down shops, attack innocent passers-by and fight with the police. More than 1,000 officers are injured as they battled against petrol bombs and paving stones.

In 1981, Toxteth was the most poverty-ridden area of Liverpool. It still is. It also happens to be 'the Black area' of Liverpool. Although it is still a rundown area, a lot has changed since the riots of 1981. The changes concern education. Educational initiatives have sprung up all over Liverpool, including the regeneration of Liverpool Community College, the creation of Toxteth TV, and more coloured students than ever before attending Liverpool John Moores University. Education is the key. Education is not impossible in poverty-scarred areas. It does not cost anything to read a book.

(It is perhaps necessary to address the notion of the ghetto at this point. There was in 1981, as there still is now, a desire to see these areas turned into fully-blown ghettos, where the gang leaders have the final say on issues of justice, what is right and wrong &c. in an area which is no longer policed by the authorities.)

What is described above is the hard option. After 1981, many of Toxteth's youth turned their back on violence for equality. They turned their back on the easy option of self-pitying drug dealing and gun crime. Toxteth is an example which should be learned from by those in Peckham and Clapham.

Hip hop needs to be looked at objectively. It is true that most rappers are rags-to-riches stories through this black artform, but their childhoods really were in ghettos. The inner city areas of Nottingham, Toxteth in Liverpool, Peckham in London -- these areas are not as bad as Compton, CA., or South Central Los Angeles, CA. We should be thankful Britain is not that bad. Rap has good qualities. It encourages black empowerment. My advice would be to take the energy from hip hop but shed the violence; use the energy constructively to assert oneself academically, and escape those who are less well educated -- escape those who are the violent ones.

Some take hip hop literally. This is illustrated by all the recent shootings in Peckham. The media suspects links to gang culture. They are probably right. But if Booker T. Washington can go from being born a slave to being one of Americas foremost black representatives in an era of strong white assertion, why can not the Peckham gang members go get a proper education, a decent job and a good family life in what is an era of racial equality relative to Booker T. Washington's day?

I'm not saying every Black Briton should adopt Booker T. Washington's conservative views; I am saying every Black Briton should do like he did so they can better assert liberal pro-black viewpoints and make a difference to the wider community (as well as make the community a richer one), rather than just going around killing each other in violence shrouded behind a veil of poverty.

Yours, wherever you may be,
Daniel C. Wright

The Non-Existance Of Valentine's Day: The Mother Of All Non-Holidays

The pain of Valentine's Day is less than a fortnight away.

It is an aesthetically pleasing day, during which romanticism grips the hearts of all those citizens who long for companionship. Yet I would argue that a lot of it is very false, driven by capitalism, commerce, big business and

It seems to me that it is usually this time of year all the advertisements for Valentine's Day related merchandise appear on our billboards televisions and in our print media. Around about now, the mind of lonely singles, which cry Dear Miss Lonelyhearts for 11 and a half months a year, are whipped up into a frenzy of irrational hopefulness. The feelings that people come across are not authentic. The feelings people feel are, more often than not, driven by the commercials. "My God!" the stranger thinks, "Valentine's Day is approaching! For whom shall I save my rose this year?"

'For whom shall I save my rose this year?' At this time of the year loneliness, fanned by the flames of commercialisation of our society, makes people feel feelings they wouldn't usually be driven to feeling at any other time of the year. People are forced into looking into close friendships with greater depth than they normally would, pushed on by the 'Valentine's Day is coming!' notion.

This is, we must remind ourselves, a holiday void of any religious foundation. Therefore the commercialised transformation of Valentine's Day can happen a lot easier than, say, Easter, for example.

Furthermore, in a celebrity-centric society, where the glorification of the global superstar is achieved through tabloid newspapers (especially here in the United Kingdom) and tabloid magazines (both here in the United Kingdom and in the United States), a great many people look to the celebrities for Valentine's Day inspiration and gossip. What they do is hold up a mark of excellence for the rest to follow. But sadly what they do is often underpinned by spending copious amounts of money to 'show their love' for their celebrity partner.

Hmmm, interesting, Since about 1985, I would argue, the celebrities have created an unbreakable bond between the value of the dollar and love. It is the creation of the notion that it is only possible to show you love someone a lot by spending a lot of money. People are happy spending money they don't have to show their 'love' -- no, too stronger word -- to show their admiration for someone, but, as explained above, that admiration is not authentic, as it is driven by companies looking to make a quick buck out of people's emotions, and by whipping them up into a frenzy.

True love is not inspired by commercials. Of any kind. Ever.

Yours, wherever you may be,
Daniel C. Wright

Friday, October 20 2006. The Day I Lost Faith In Society, So I Injected Some Of My Own

The moral corruption of society hit a new low in Liverpool today.

First, I had it clarified that he wasn't a man of his word.
I'd seen it first hand, but it's different when it involves you personally.
He promised me that favour, and I was foolish enough to believe him.
I respect men of their word who come through for you because there aren't many left.
Anyway, that was just the beginning. It resulted in me getting the bus into university, and then things got serious.

I got on at the usual stop and the bus driver (the company was Stagecoach, not Arriva) was very lacking of job satisfaction, I think it has to be aid (that is, of course, putting it politely).
And when that is the case, I suppose the Mind dictates that you have to look for alternative methods of satisfaction.
I saw him gain his satisfaction.
It was sickening.
As we drew to the end of Smithdown, at the junction with the road (I don't know the name of it) that goes to Toxteth, one lady got off the bus.
There must have been about three empty seats at that point, which is a lot at 08:50 in the morning on a Liverpool bus!
At the second she got off, we all saw a young Muslim girl wearing a black headscalfe (not veil, not that that makes any bloody difference) running along side the bus in a vein attempt to catch it.
Just as she reached the doors, the driver closed them.
He pulled off as she banged on the door, pleading with the bastard to open them.
Ignoring her, he carefully pulled out and negotiated the roadworks in front.

No one can tell me the fact she was Muslim didn't have a bearing on his decision.
What he did was mean, Islamaphobic and downright wrong.
He is a disgrace to the City of Liverpool and to Christianity (assuming he is a Christian) as a whole.
As my journey continued, I imagined him down the pub complaining about such things as extremism within the Islamic community, and yet here he was, angering a young Muslim lady and making her hate him.
Aah, the paradox.

Later on, I couldn't stop thinking about what that bus driver did.
I was thinking about it on the train, whilst reading "Uncle Tom's Cabin", when I suddenly realised the entire carriage had gone very quiet.
I didn't look up.
Then I heard one lady say very assertively to someone else that they couldn't sit in a certain seat due to it being reserved.
I looked up.
She was speaking to two Muslim women.
Eventually, unable to find two seats together, they came to the end of the train to where I was.
One sat next to myself, while the other sat on one of the folddown chairs around the corner near the door.
Remembering the incident on the bus, I felt the need to do a good deed to rectify the balance.
I asked the girl who had sat next to me where they were going.
Leeds, was the polite reply.
I explained that I was only going to Warrington (the first stop, 23 minutes away) and swapped seats with the girl near the doors, so they could sit together and have a proper conversation without having to strain to see each other.
My gesture of goodwill didn't go unnoticed by fellow passengers.
I expect some of them thought I did what I did because I didn't want to be seated next to a follower of Islam.
That is not the case.
For the record I have been seated next to a Muslim before on the train, and with a group of Chinese people as well, not that that makes any difference, of course.
(Incidentally, the journey with the group of Chinese persons was great just because I got to listen to their amazing language. To stimulate their conversation, I put my iPod nano on the table we were sat round: it turns out 'nano' and 'iPod' are the same in Chinese as in English!)

The day left me wondering about the good in society.
There doesn't seem to be much left.
It would, of course, be naive to assume that bastard bus driver was representative of every bus driver in Liverpool.
I just wonder what was going through the mind of one old Muslim women who was already on the bus when the incident happened!
One can only speculate...

Aah, the culture of Liverpool.
What a year 2008 will be...

Yours, wherever you may be,
Daniel C. Wright.