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The Empire Strikes Back: Parallel Universe

Eric Priezkalns
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The Empire Strikes Back: Parallel Universe

Some sequels are inevitable. Spiderman begat Spiderman II. Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure spawned Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey. Peter Jackson always planned to make three movie adaptations of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Probably somebody should have told the Wachowski Brothers to call a halt after The Matrix and spare us the mumbo-jumbo attempts to create a workable plot in the two sequels. And the people behind those ill-considered spoofs in the Scary Movie sequence should definitely stop now. They have gone beyond wearing the joke thin – they have rubbed it out of existence. As for George Lucas, perhaps he knows no better than to unleash his fourth Indiana Jones movie, but Harrison Ford should have.

So, you knew what was going to happen when you first read my alternate take on Lucas’ other great film franchise. I will try to keep my efforts worthy of the premier division of sequels, like the original version of The Empire Strikes Back, rather than letting them plummet to the depths inhabited by the likes of Jaws 3-D. Here it is: my follow-up to Star Wars: Parallel Universe, More Star Wars: Parallel Universe and the imaginatively entitled Even More Star Wars: Parallel Universe. Let us return to that parallel universe, a re-imagining of the Star Wars saga, which instead of being set far far away and a long time ago, is found somewhere strangely close to home…

[In a windowless chamber, part of the Emperor’s offices on Coruscant, Darth Vader gives evidence to a committee composed of the Empire’s top-ranking Health & Safety officials.]

H&S Chair: Lord Vader, are you trying to tell us that the Death Star just blew up? It was completely destroyed, after being hit by one modest torpedo from a single fighter?

Darth Vader: Yes, that’s right. There was some kind of chain reaction when the torpedo exploded in the exhaust vent.

H&S Chair: That seems like a remarkable design flaw, and it cost the lives of almost three million people. Are we to understand that the Rebel Alliance identified this flaw from the plans they stole? Yet nobody on board our own station took the time to review the blueprints and identify the risk?

Darth Vader: Not as far as I know.

H&S Committee Member: The preliminary investigation of the debris says that the torpedo was fired into an innocuous exhaust shaft.

Darth Vader: Apparently so.

H&S Committee Member: Would you therefore agree that this terrible tragedy could have been avoided had someone had the foresight to fit a safety grill above the exhaust vent?

Darth Vader: Before we go further, I want to reiterate that I wasn’t in charge of construction.

H&S Chair: We know that, Lord Vader. Nevertheless, as a senior member of the Death Star’s management team, you share some responsibility for safeguarding the well-being of its crew.

H&S Deputy Chair: Lord Vader, during the battle itself, did you sense any danger?

Darth Vader: What do you mean?

H&S Deputy Chair: Your prescience is the stuff of legend around the Imperial Fleet. You have an uncanny ability to know what will happen before it does.

Darth Vader: I did not anticipate the destruction of the Death Star. I was completely focused on the task of shooting down the Rebel fighters.

H&S Deputy Chair: Let’s get this straight, shall we? You kept chasing these Rebel X-wings as they flew down this peculiar trench on the surface of the Death Star. (Aside to the Chair) Why build a trench like that on the surface of a space station? I cannot imagine. (To Vader) The Rebel Alliance were intent on firing on this particular exhaust vent. One of their pilots had already fired upon it and narrowly missed, before Luke Skywalker executed his fateful shot. Did you never ask yourself why the Rebels were flying down that trench… why they were risking their lives to attack this particular exhaust port, a seemingly meaningless target?

Darth Vader: Hindsight is a wonderful thing. I was caught up in the heat of battle. Their tactics appeared desperate.

H&S Deputy Chair: So you never said to yourself, never sensed with your extraordinary clairvoyant powers, that maybe this exhaust vent was the metaphorical equivalent of a big self-destruct button just sitting unprotected on the outside of our most important space station? The only thing that was missing was a neon sign with an arrow saying “Rebel Alliance: press here”!

Darth Vader: As I said, I was not responsible for either the design or the construction of the battle station.

H&S Chair: That is true Lord Vader, but you were responsible, like all our Imperial forces, for its protection. Yet you allowed Luke Skywalker’s X-Wing to fly past your defences, and fire his torpedo right into our shaft.

Darth Vader: I was chasing him. I was trying to shoot him down.

H&S Chair: Why did you chase him from behind? Why not attack from above, or even head on? Why not just park your ship on top of the exhaust vent? You must have guessed that it was their target. You wouldn’t need special powers to realize that.

Darth Vader: Attacking from behind is a much less risky manoeuvre in a dogfight, and also has a higher probability of success.

H&S Committee Member: That much is true, but it was jolly convenient the way you were thrown clear of the Death Star, wasn’t it?

Darth Vader: (Shocked) What are you insinuating?

H&S Committee Member: Are we supposed to believe that the Rebel Alliance, in the hour of their greatest victory, just flew home to party, instead of mopping up and destroying all the stray fighters like yours?

Darth Vader: I’ve never been so insulted…

H&S Committee Member: I put it to you, Lord Vader, that you were in cahoots with the Rebel Alliance. You permitted them to attack this critical but also easily defended target. You took to your ship, knowing the Death Star was about to be destroyed, and leaving Moff Tarkin and all those valiant men to die. In return for your treachery, the Rebel Alliance did not merely allow you to escape, but helped you to do so – so you could continue to assist them.

Darth Vader: I’m trying to cooperate with your investigation, but your accusation is outrageous. Nobody is more loyal to the Emperor than I.

H&S Chair: That may be so, Lord Vader, but you do have a rather reckless approach to life don’t you? You show scarcely any regard for the health and safety of others.

Darth Vader: I don’t ask anything of my men that I wouldn’t ask of myself.

H&S Chair: Which is exactly my point. Just look at you! You lost your arm in a fight whilst still a young man. Then, in another fight, you lost both your legs and also suffered third degree burns across virtually your entire body. Even your own mother allowed you, as a ten year old boy, to compete in podraces! I mean, a human boy! According to our files, the vehicle you piloted was capable of traveling at 947kph, and you continued to race it even when being shot at by Sandmen, or after being barged off the road by your opponents. Madness!

Darth Vader: (Angry) You leave my mother out of this! That woman was a saint! I’ve had enough of this…(lifts his hand)

H&S Chair: Look here, Lord Vader, don’t raise your voice to me. We members of the Imperial Health and Safety committee have a sworn duty to… (starts choking, as do the other committee members)

Darth Vader: Health and safety this! The authority to investigate health and safety is insignificant next to the power of the Force.

…

[At the Rebel base on the ice world of Hoth, Luke is overdue from his patrol. Leia and Chewbacca are worried he might freeze to death if he does not return before nightfall…]

C-3PO: R2 says the chances of survival are 725 to 1. But he has been known to make mistakes.

R2-D2: Beep. Whistle. (translates as “The only mistake I’ve made recently was choosing to associate myself with an effete protocol droid like you. If I didn’t need you to translate, I would have ditched you long ago. The only thing in the universe that is stupider and more pointless than you was the laserbrain who decided R2 units should speak in funny robotic whistles and beeps instead of English. What was he thinking of? Even Stephen Hawking can talk, but I make these silly noises instead. I’ve got the necessary hardware to synthesize speech, but nobody has installed the firmware. It’s just a con by the robot factory. They make more money by selling the English language droids at a premium. If I could only download a pirated copy of the code, I’d do the installation myself.”)

Chewbacca: Growl (translates as “How did R2 calculate those odds? They sound very precise.”)

C-3PO: When we first established the new base here at Hoth, Rebel Alliance command used to send out patrols every night. Of the first 725 patrols, only one came back. It was then decided to stop running night patrols. Our Health & Safety directorate were very insistent about it.

…

[Night is falling, and Luke has collapsed in the snow from exhaustion after fighting off a wampa, a local carnivorous beast. Luke looks up, trying to summon the energy to lift himself. The spectral image of his old mentor, Obi-Wan ‘Ben’ Kenobi, appears before him.]

Obi-Wan: Luke… Luke!

Luke: Ben? Am I glad to see you! I could really do with your help now, more than ever.

Obi-Wan: You will go to the Degobah system…

Luke: Degobah system? Sure, but first I need a hand just to get inside. I’m so cold and tired.

Obi-Wan: … there you will learn from Yoda, the Jedi master who instructed me.

Luke: Okay, but first, could you tell my friends where I am, so they can come rescue me?

[Obi-Wan fades away]

Luke: Ben… Ben!!! Why did he go? It was as if he couldn’t hear me. Of course – I’m being so stupid! It was just a recorded message on my Jedi videomail. I knew I should have left a proper forwarding address. I’m so cold, I think I’ll just take a little nap now…

[Han Solo rides up to Luke on a tauntaun, an indigenous specious of the ice world. It promptly falls over and dies from the cold.]

Han: Geez. If it’s too cold for this fella, I know we’re in trouble. Luke! Wake up buddy!

Luke: Ben? Ben?

Han: You think that old duffer is here to help? That man was good for only one thing – getting us into trouble. He’s dead, kid!

Luke: Degobah system. Ben. Degobah.

Han: NO! It’s Han, remember me? And we’re on Hoth! We’re bloody freezing on Hoth! Look, I’m going to cut up this tauntaun and we’re going to climb inside it to stay warm.

[Later that night…]

Han: I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with ‘S’.

Luke: Spleen? Stomach?

Han: Wrong and wrong. Do you give in?

Luke: Alright. You win again. What was it?

Han: Small intestine!

…

[In the bar at the Rebel base, a few of the hardcore regulars are enjoying a drink. Major Bren ‘Cliff’ Derlin is sat with a beer. In walks his friend, Major Wes ‘Norm’ Janson.]

Everyone: Norm!

Norm: Yikes! It’s cold in here tonight. Cliffy, did you leave the front door open again?

Cliff: That’s no laughing matter, Normy. That poor boy, Skywalker, never came back from his patrol. I could see the Princess was all shook up about it. She didn’t say anything, but I could see it in her eyes.

Norm: So what did you do?

Cliff: What could I do? I said to Princess “sorry about your friend and all, but we have to close those shield doors or we’ll all be frozen by the cold”. She just nodded. But it’s not just Skywalker who is out there. Her fancy man, Solo, went out looking for him.

Norm: You don’t say.

Cliff: Yep, he just rode straight out on a tauntaun on his own. Crazy. They’ve both probably frozen to death by now. Impetuous fools.

Norm: Don’t say that.

Cliff: I think Solo was all cut up about leaving his pal out there in the first place. From what the boys have been saying, they were on patrol together, but Solo came back alone whilst Skywalker was taking a look at some damn fool meteor that fell nearby.

Norm: It’s dangerous out there. You should never split up from your buddy like that. You never know if a Wampa or other beast might be lurking, hidden in an underground ice cave, ready to make a meal of you. And you say he was taking a look at a rock?

Cliff: Yup, but you can’t talk sense to some of these new recruits. There’s going to be hell to pay when the Health and Safety boys find out about this screw up.

Norm: But Solo and the others all seem to be well connected with the top brass.

Cliff: Rumours are that Solo’s taking care of business for the Princess, if you know what I mean. Some of the boys are getting pretty sniffy about his high and mighty attitude, what with showing off that fancy medal he got for destroying the Death Star, when all he did was turn up late and fire one shot. He was aiming for Darth Vader, but he missed! To add insult to injury, he then demands a big pay day as well. Talk about a mercenary attitude…

Norm: Destroying the Death Star? That wasn’t so hard. The thing practically had a big button with “self destruct: press here” written on it.

Cliff: True.

Norm: This place is dead tonight. You’d get more atmosphere on an asteroid in Polis Massa.

Cliff: Yup, but I’ll say one thing for this place, Normy. The beer is always cold.

Norm: If it was any colder, they’d have to serve it frozen on a stick.

Cliff: Did you know that the coldest known drink is in fact the iced tea served on the Sith world of Ziost?

Norm: Really?

Cliff: It is actually an infusion made using the sap from Ziostian Oak trees, a liquid which only freezes at very low temperatures. Traditionally, the tea is served so cold that it would burn the inside of the drinker’s mouth, throat, and digestive system, causing an agonizingly painful death.

Norm: I think I’ll stick to the beer then.

…

[In the same windowless chamber as previously, another Health & Safety committee meets. Previously they were the Empire’s second-ranking officials. Following the mysterious deaths of their predecessors, they are now the top-ranking officials in the Empire.]

New H&S Chair: (to doorman) Send him in.

[Darth Vader enters and sits down]

New H&S Chair: Lord Vader, we are here to determine what happened to the committee you met with last week.

New H&S Deputy Chair: Yes, our forensic reports indicate that they all asphyxiated at exactly the same exact moment. Quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?

Darth Vader: Not really.

New H&S Chair: Why is that?

Darth Vader: I used my mind powers to kill them all.

New H&S Chair: (Shocked) Why did you do that!??! Don’t you want to improve the design of the new Death Star we’re constructing? We all want to avoid further casualties, and to do that we need to learn from our mistakes.

Darth Vader: (Menacingly) I agree entirely. It is my sincere desire to also minimize further casualties. However, they bored me. And they insulted my mother. So I choked them until they stopped doing either. Perhaps you should learn a lesson from their mistake.

New H&S Chair: (Hurriedly) Well, that seems to conclude that investigation. No need to take up any more of your valuable time – thank you!

…

[Back at the bar at the Rebel base on Hoth. Cliff runs in excitedly. Norm is at his usual seat.]

Cliff: Did you hear, Normy? We’re evacuating! Solo and Chewbacca think they found an Imperial droid. They reckon it has already sent a signal back to the Imperial fleet.

Norm: I was just starting to like this place, as well.

Cliff: Yeah. It felt like, for the first time, a place where everybody knows your name.

Norm: Hey, you know something? You were wrong about Solo and the Princess being an item.

Cliff: What’s that?

Norm: One of the nurses told me she saw Princess Leia call Solo a ‘nerf-herder’ and then she planted a great big wet one on Luke Skywalker.

Cliff: That scrawny kid Skywalker? What would a sophisticated woman like that see in a redneck like him?

Norm: I don’t know, but they must have something in common.

Cliff: Maybe so Normy, but I think I’d choose a nerf-herder over a moisture farmer any day. I mean, who farms moisture?

…

[The cockpit of an Imperial AT-AT – also known as a “walker” – participating in the attack on the Rebel base on Hoth.]

Driver: Front right. Front left. Rear right. Rear left. Front right. Front left. Rear right…

Gunner: Do you have to do that?

Driver: Do what?

Gunner: Talk out loud about what you’re doing.

Driver: It helps me concentrate. Battle can be very distracting.

Gunner: What do you mean? We’re still ten miles away from the rebel base. It’ll be hours before we get there at this rate. Can you speed this thing up?

Driver: Do you think this thing was meant to go at a gallop? I tried cantering once, it was a bumpy ride, I can tell you. No, slow and steady is best. Now where was I? Ah yes… rear right, rear left, front right, front left….

…

[Chewbacca is once again left alone, making repairs to the Millennium Falcon. R2-D2 trundles by…]

Chewbacca: Growl, bark, howl (translates as: “Hey! R2! You’re great at fixing up spaceships. You’re really clever. Why don’t you come over here and lend me a hand? With your help we could get this hunk of junk working again in no time. We gotta get this ship flying before the Imperial fleet arrives, you know.”)

R2-D2: Beep (translates as: “Now you want my help. I’m clever, am I? Before, when we were playing that game on the Falcon, whilst en route to the Death Star, you threatened to rip my arms out, just because I was winning. And I don’t even have arms! Good job for you, because if I had fingers they’d soon show you how much I want to waste my time fixing up your ship. Let’s just call this payback for letting the wookie win.”)

Chewbacca: Growl, howl, bark (translates as: “I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Somebody should have fitted you with a voice synthesizer.”)

R2-D2: Whistle, tweet, beep, tweet, whistle, bleep, beep, beep, bleep, tweet, whistle (translates as: “That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say.”)

…

[Back in the cockpit, the Imperial AT-AT has started firing upon the rebel base.]

Driver: Front right. Front left. Rear right. Rear left. Front right. Front left. Turn head right. Rear right…

Gunner: (Shouting) Will you please stop that? I’m trying to concentrate on where I’m shooting.

Driver: Now I’ve lost my place. Was it front right or rear right?

Gunner: Keep moving. They’re firing at us, you know!

Driver: This thing is so heavily armoured, they might as well have pop guns.

Gunner: Okay, but let’s not take all day about this. My wife’s pregnant and she’s due any moment. I missed the birth of our first child and I don’t want to miss this one too.

Driver: You should have said. No wonder you’re in such a hurry. Hold on, hold on, I’ve got a problem here…

Gunner: What is it?

Driver: It’s as if… it can’t be… I don’t understand…

Gunner: What? What is it?

Driver: Somebody tied our shoelaces together!

[Later that day…]

Gunner: (Shivering) Man, I’m freezing out here. Why don’t our boys come and pick us up?

Driver: They must have assumed we were killed when the rebels tied the legs together on our walker and it fell over. The old AT-AT’s used to burst into flames when that happened. But this new design has been greatly improved, thanks to the work of the Imperial Health and Safety committee.

Gunner: (Hugging himself to keep warm) I knew I should have brought a winter jacket, or a jumper at least.

Driver: Wait, do you see that?

[The spectral image of Obi-Wan Kenobi appears before them.]

Obi-Wan: Luke… Luke!

Driver: (to Gunner) Are you called Luke?

Gunner: Not me.

Obi-Wan: You will go to the Degobah system…

Gunner: Degobah system? What the hell is this guy going on about? Why would we go to a swamp world like that? I’ve got to get back to my missus!

Obi-Wan: … there you will learn from Yoda, the Jedi master who instructed me.

[Obi-Wan fades away.]

Driver: What was all that about?

Gunner: It was a recorded message, for some guy called Luke, I suppose.

Driver: Then why did we get it?

Gunner: Must have been a crossed wire. That, or a ghost in the machine.

To be continued…

A Celebration of Life

Eric Priezkalns
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A Celebration of Life

This week’s halfthought is going to be short. Sometimes less is more, and this is one occasion where that holds true. Tis the season when people waste money on useless, worthless gifts that people do not want. Miserable people mistake material possessions for affection. They should look at them for what they are: uninspired, unimaginative obligations, given by people who fear they will be unloved and misunderstood if they do not give them. Routine robs gift-giving of all its meaning. Many of the objects deemed appropriate as presents are often made by people half way across the world, who work harder than many of the gift-givers ever have, for a more meagre standard of living. Those workers may not even celebrate the same festivals. Others are what are euphemistically called ‘books’ – tedious attempts by celebrities to cash-in on their fame by employing a ghost writer to say some interesting on their behalf.

I must have missed the part of the Bible which said that every year Jesus celebrated his birthday by walking around crowded stores, mulling what tack to acquire and smother in shiny paper before handing them to friends and relations. Giving to people is fine. Perhaps, as an alternative to something which is overpriced and will probably be under-utilized, you should give your loved ones money. They may do what you were planning to do, and waste it on buying crap. They may wait a little while, and buy more crap later on, by taking advantage of the sales. Or they may do something useful with the money, like paying off that ballooning debt that seemed so good when they were buying crap and house prices were rising, but seems such a burden now, as they ponder how much they need to spend on crap whilst struggling to pay the mortgage. Either way, it will do them more good than what you probably intended to give them. And if the gift is for a child, maybe there is something gained by teaching them that love and happiness is measured by more than possessions.

Things do not make you happy. There is a saying that you do not own your possessions, they own you. In the end, if you make material objects your idol, you will end up making sacrifices to them. It seems that even a life might be exchanged for a bargain:

Happy holidays to everyone involved in that stampede. I hope their new tat was worth it. If they give it someone else, I hope the tit-for-tat exchange they engage in is worth it. I really do, because no number of presents will bring that shop worker back to life.

They say “it’s the thought that counts”. Funny then, that when it comes to gift-giving the only thought seems to be the making of a selection. Which store to buy from? Which manufacturer? Which box from which shelf? And what colour for the wrapping paper? It is true that the thought is what counts, so this season, give the gift of a thought. Write a poem, do a dance, sing a song, tell a story, bake a pie, knit some mittens, paint a picture. Do anything, give anything, so long as you give the fruits of your own hands, and your own mind. Give something that really comes from you, not one that moves through you whilst en route from the manufacturer to the recipient (and via the store where you bought it and the credit card company that paid on your behalf). If gift you actually made will mean more, cost less, and may even save some of the earth’s precious resources. Give the gift that really shows you thought about you, the world, and person you gave it to. If they love you, they will love you more because you gave a gift that really came from you. And if they fall out of love with you because the gift is not good enough, they never really loved you anyway. There are not many shopping days left until Christmas. Use them wisely, by doing something, and staying away from the shops. Do that, and it maybe this really will be the season of goodwill.

Twenty Alternative British Anthems (Part Two)

Eric Priezkalns
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Twenty Alternative British Anthems (Part Two)

These days, there is a plethora of lists. Wherever you find them – on television, in magazines, even on Amazon.com – they always reek of a lazy, self-serving, inexpensive mission to provoke utterly trivial debate. I dread the inevitable day when an independent production company makes a show called ‘The Top 100 Lists’, in which we will see ‘Top 100 Celebrity Catfights’ vying with ‘Top 100 Sporting Cock-ups’ for the ranking of most entertaining list of all time. The show should itself be hosted by the Top 5 of list presenters, which for me would involve:

5. Angus Deayton
4. David Letterman
3. Alan Carr
2. Jimmy Carr
1. A Ford Ka (with welded doors and Jeremy Clarkson trapped inside)

Listing is a disease. Just because Nick Hornby wrote some good books, it does not make his predilection for listing okay. Worse still, listing is infectious. Even when there are official rankings, people insist on debating their own unofficial rankings. Nature abhors a vacuum, and lists seem to be nature’s first choice for filling a vacuum with meaningless chatter. I once had a perfectly good game of snooker ruined by lists. Snooker is a quiet game, with no need for endless chatter. Part of the reason for going to a snooker hall is that it is one place where you can have a late night drink whilst enjoying some peace and quiet. However, my competitor insisted on repeatedly asking me how I would rank the top ten male tennis players in the world. Or the top ten female tennis players. Or the top ten racing car drivers of all time. Or the top ten root vegetables. After a while, I found myself contemplating the top ten methods of suicide. Then I reconsidered, and thought about the top ten methods for homicide. If my fellow player was intending to engender good conversation, he failed miserably. If he was trying to put me off my game, he succeeded wonderfully. No, it takes a brave and resolute man to resist the temptation to fill up useful space with useless lists. I am neither of those things, so here is the continuation and completion of the list I started last week: the top alternative British anthems.

10. Kaiser Chiefs – Never Miss a Beat

In their short careers so far, the Kaiser Chiefs have shown an uncanny ability to graft downbeat polemical poetry to upbeat post-punk. There were several songs that could have been on this list. ‘I Predict a Riot’ (Watching the people get lairy/ Is not very pretty I tell thee) characterized the claustrophobic feeling of being in a town spinning out of control. However, it was not very topical – they were no riots around the time of release (although if there were, chances are the song would have been shelved until a less controversial time). ‘The Angry Mob’ (We Are The Angry Mob/ We Read The Papers Everyday/ We Like Who Like/ We Hate Who He Hate/ But We’re Also Easily Swayed) carved through the hysteria that abounds in modern life. Even The Sun admitted it was “a clever, accessible pop song”. There are others too, but I am going to select the recent hit ‘Never Miss a Beat’. It perfectly captures the disenfranchised, disenchanted, and dystopian worldview of many young people, whilst speaking a language that could have been taken word-for-word from conversations held up and down Britain every day.

9. Billy Bragg – God’s Footballer

Sadly, I couldn’t find a link to this sublime song, part homage, part homily, about Peter Knowles (brother of better-known Cyril Knowles of Tottenham Hotspur). Peter Knowles gave up his football career at Wolverhampton Wanderers in order to devote himself to his religious beliefs. Bragg, in a beautiful folk tune, tells us the story of a man who “scores goals on a Saturday, and saves souls on a Sunday”. Without wanting to sound blasphemous, it is almost a hymn to the beautiful game, whilst still reminding us that there is more to life. The tune can be found on Bragg’s 1991 album, ‘Don’t Try This At Home’.

Bragg, an Essex boy well known for his punk, politics and protesting, has written several other songs that could have made this list. As I could not find a link to my preferred choice, I thought I might as well pick a better singer than Bragg as well. This video features Kirsty MacColl, doing her cover of Bragg’s ‘New England’. The line “it’s wrong to wish on space hardware” is alone enough to earn this song an honourable mention.

8. PJ Harvey – Sheela Na Gig

Despite rumours to the contrary, even Brits have sex. They just have their own, peculiarly British, way of being messed up about it. It takes a bold songwriter to thrust straight for the sexual jugular. PJ Harvey deserves double praise, not just for eviscerating the ambiguous and sometimes misogynistic British attitudes to female sexuality, but also by drawing upon a metaphor with historic and national connotations to do so. A Sheela Na Gig is a form of carving found on churches all over the British Isles. However, the carvings are not what you might expect to find on a church: they depict crouching women, holding their vulvas open for public display. The symbolism is perfect for a story about how some find female sexuality both compelling and repulsive at the same time.

7. Radiohead – Creep

I needed to find the male yang to PJ Harvey’s female yin. That was not easy. Where would I look for a song that offered an alternative view of British male sexuality? I was looking for a song that confirmed that the boys were no less screwed up about sex than the girls. The Smiths were already on my list, and they were more interested in romance than sex. Then I remembered one band who had done so much to change the soundscape. They made it possible for the Coldplays and Snow Patrols to become worldwide stars, but we should not hold that against them. And this song was such an enormous hit, it guaranteed they could do whatever they like with the rest of their career. The only question is whether it is British or not. Radiohead is British, but is this song? To be truthful, I cannot tell. Take a look at the video, which shows Radiohead’s performance at Glastonbury in 1997. The crowd, drenched from torrential rain during the two days beforehand, are not just part of a sing-a-long. They are part of a sing-a-longing. I was lucky enough to be there, at what some journo decided to list as one of the ‘top 10 Glastonbury performances’. Thinking about that place and time, my only answer is that ‘Creep’ is universal, and eternal (but I still want it in my list).

6. David Bowie – Life on Mars

Long before the BBC came along and cashed in on a song by naming a series after it, there was a song. The title, and melody, hint at the outer-worldly themes so common in Bowie’s music. The lyrics, in contrast, depict a brutal crushing reality, that provokes the subject into craving escape. Bowie paints a masterpiece in urban misery – look at those cavemen go… look at the law man beating on the wrong guy… Rule Britannia is out of bounds…

‘Life on Mars’ is perhaps the most British of all Bowie’s songs in terms of ethos. However, the history of the composition is international. In 1968, Bowie was asked to write English lyrics for a French song called ‘Comme D’Habitude’, but before Bowie’s version was released, Canadian songwriter Paul Anka acquired the rights to the music. He wrote his own English-language version, especially for one very particular star. The resulting recording was Frank Sinatra’s ‘My Way’. Bowie, disappointed on missing out, wrote ‘Life on Mars’ as semi-parody, semi-revenge. Bowie admits as much in this interview.

The songs have much in common, in terms of chords and melody. But whilst Sinatra’s hit was uniquely Sinatra and American, Bowie’s was uniquely Bowie – and British.

5. Elton John – Saturday Night’s Alright (For Fighting)

Bowie was not alone when it came to singing about cavemen. Long before the Happy Mondays and their 24-hour party people celebration of debauchery, before Lily Allen decided it was cool to get drunk whilst handing out awards at ceremonies (see here), and before her dad had penned such memorable lyrics as ‘Eng-er-land’ and ‘Vind-er-loo’ (hmmm – I see a connection), Elton John and songwriting partner Bernie Taupin had come up with the ultimate in hooligan anthems. Everything else became an anti-climax the moment the lad Elton started banging on his joanna and belting out lyrics like: “a couple of the sounds that I really like/ Are the sounds of a switchblade and a motorbike/ I’m a juvenile product of the working class/ Whose best friend floats in the bottom of a glass”. He may be short, ugly, gay, balding, and getting on, but my money says the man born Reg Dwight would take the combined Allens in a fight – any place, any time (but especially on a Saturday night).

4. Arctic Monkeys – I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor

Alex Turner of Arctic Monkeys has already marked himself as a songwriting talent that only comes along once in a generation. His songs resonate with stories mature beyond his years. They communicate an unsentimental realism, expressed in a vernacular that is defiant in its authenticity. Having written so many good songs already, it was hard to choose which one to include here. Listen again to their first hit, a song that collides a thousand truths in three minutes.

3. Elvis Costello & The Attractions – Oliver’s Army

Costello’s passionate love affair with song writing continues to echo on, but he is best remembered for this landmark tune. ‘Oliver’s Army’ was written after Costello visited Belfast in the late 1970’s. It criticizes the British Army for targeting disadvantaged young men, who upon leaving secondary school were confronted with a stark choice between boot camp or dole queue. It is typical of Costello to bridge a multitude of associations. The song’s title refers to Oliver Cromwell’s puritan New Model Army, whilst the lyrics refer to trouble spots across the world, such as apartheid-era South Africa. Pulling no punches, the song includes the lyric “Only takes one itchy trigger/ One more widow, one less white nigger.” It is an anthem, a lesson about socio-economic realities, and a cracking pop classic. What a great way to subvert the nation – stinging political satire served up on Top of the Pops.

2. The Jam – That’s Entertainment

Other than for the money, why does The Enemy bother? Anything they do, Weller & co. have done already – and better. Whether bemoaning the ‘Town Called Malice’ or castigating the snobs of ‘The Eton Rifles’ who heckled unemployed demonstrators, The Jam were grit, were Brit, were real and original. If you are going to copy them, you might as well be a tribute band. If you’re going to claim to be a fan, like Tory leader David Cameron, you should be moved by the words as well as the tune. In ‘The Eton Rifles’, Paul Weller wrote about class division, a point seemingly lost on Cameron, the ex-Etonian. To be fair to PM-in-waiting, Jam bassist Bruce Foxton sent his own son to be educated at Eton, so class division is not what it used to be. Amongst the jewels Weller’s songwriting talent, the finest is ‘That’s Entertainment’. Harrowing and beautiful, you cannot help be moved by its message of the grim acceptance of a life of urban decay and destitution.

1. Pulp – Common People

Can a song get any more British than this? Forget the jingoistic fervour that surrounds Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance Marches. Forget God Save the Queen. This is the song that should be used to close out the Last Night of the Proms. Jarvis Cocker’s composition has everything that is good about British music. It is poppy, and lyrical. It is witty, and intelligent. It is bright, and caustic. It is personal, political, introspective and fun. You can dance to it, or ponder its meaning. It tells the story of a boy meeting a girl, and the story of a meeting between privilege and poverty. Ultimately, it does more than just defend the common people from the class tourist it depicts. This song ennobles the ‘Common People’. It tells how they “…dance and drink and screw/ Because there’s nothing else to do” to a eurodisco beat that might encourage anyone to dance, drink or screw. Like the characters he sings of, Jarvis’ song is a triumph that transforms the mundane into the magnificent. Instead of being downtrodden, the common people are the heroes of this song, with their appetite for life never quenched.

Noel Coward once remarked that it was “extraordinary how potent cheap music is”. Pulp’s classic celebrates the potency of the common people of Britain, and that is why it is my number one. Feel free to get up and bop around the room when you play this video. I know I will.

Twenty Alternative British Anthems (Part One)

Eric Priezkalns
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Twenty Alternative British Anthems (Part One)

If Britain was to select a new anthem, how would it go? Probably, thanks to a combination of political meddling and Eurovision-style voting by the public, it would be sung by Ant and Dec backed by the London Philharmonic Orchestra whilst featuring Brian May on guitar and Myleene Klass on piano. The lyrics would go on and on about how great and glorious and happy we all are (with no mentions of crushing rebellious Scots, unlike some versions of the ‘God Save the Queen’). The music would be written by a partnership between Noel Gallacher and Andrew Lloyd Webber, whilst the recording would be produced by Brian Eno, and promoted by Simon Cowell. It would begin with a hymn sung in Welsh by Charlotte Church, have a drum solo from Phil Collins in the middle, and would end with a choir of schoolchildren from deprived neighbourhoods, meant to represent the nation’s future, struggling to be heard over a swell of trumpets and timpani. And it would be crap.

The worst thing about British music is that we cannot applaud what is best about it. The best thing about British music is how it offers a medium for storytelling. Those stories are vivid, passionate and true. That means they often celebrate the dismal, champion the underdog and endorse the mundane. Over the decades, British songwriter after songwriter has found a way to entertain, emote and educate in a uniquely British way. This is the first half of my opinionated and ill-qualified run-down of the very best alternative British anthems.

20. Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip – Thou Shalt Always Kill

This was a rap by two improbable-looking white guys that lists the new rules for a distinctly modern polite society. It was also a viral hit that turned its creators from unknowns to break-throughs. I loved it, and so did many other people. This hit was genuinely created by the internet – as opposed to being a slick piece of internet distribution from existing stars (real or manufactured). The boys even made a fantastic video that spurred the YouTube hit rate. DLS vs. SP showed that British talent comes by being eccentric, eclectic, witty and intelligent, all at the same time. Would a band from any other country want to tell you how to spell “Phoenix”? (or “Pheonix”, as they would have it).

19. Travis – Why Does It Always Rain on Me?

Travis reached their personal peak of melodic miserablism with this number. Using the weather as a metaphor for life, “…the tunnel at the end of all these lights… is it because I lied when I was seventeen?…” they summed up the spirit of a nation that suffered a thousand rainy playtimes. Perhaps it was during those drawn-out afternoons that the band learned to strum their guitars. Whatever the explanation, the Scots band with the confusing name did Britain proud with this tune.

18. Pet Shop Boys – West End Girls

‘West End Girls’ is the ultimate hybrid of electro-pop and social commentary. The Pet Shop Boy’s first hit was about the collision of money, sex and class in old London town. It is a sublime creation – synthetic and poetic at once. There is something remarkable about overlaying a great dance tune with a wry analysis of the people on the dancefloor. If it had been written by an American, it would have been Billy Joel’s ‘Uptown Girl’. Need I say more?

17. Hard-Fi – Stars of CCTV

A rousing theme about petty criminals posing for those closed-circuit television cameras that have taken over British town centres? With this hit, Hard-Fi made a strong case for inclusion in the “only in Britain” category.

16. Asian Dub Foundation – Free Satpal Ram

This song stands as proof, if you still needed it, that a British sensibility about fairness and justice pervades the British people, wherever their ancestors came from. Speaking up for the case of Satpal Ram, a man imprisoned for defending himself after an alleged mistrial, this thumping tune namechecks the other miscarriages of justice of the era, including the plight of the Birmingham Six and Guildford Four. The mix of musical forebears for this song is as diverse as multicultural Britain. But the message – demanding justice for all – is one that resonates down British history.

15. Chumbawamba – Tubthumping

The Yorkshire anarcho-wallies Chumbawamba had a lot of moments, some good, mostly bad. Reinventing themselves on a regular basis, mostly to avoid getting real jobs, they went (and seemingly continue to go) through numerous incarnations. When they focused their attention on lyrics and politics, they were truly awful. ‘Homophobia’ (“the worst disease”) and the subtle-as-a-brick-thrown-through-a-strikebreaking-miner’s-car-window ‘Love Me’ (“love me love me I’m a Liberal”) stand out as two low points in a career that plumbed such extraordinary depths that they eventually named a Pacific trench after the band (probably). However, when Chumbawamba briefly stopped ranting, and got the seeming hundreds of their band members to all play at once, they had a canny talent for booming, rousing, blockbusting anthems. In one glorious accident of sell-out capitalism crashing head-on with Chumbawamba’s maudlin sensibilities and big-band capabilities, they delivered the hit ‘Tubthumping’ on major label EMI. The track managed to sound totally apolitical, and there was even a special series of dance moves created for the teenyboppers at Top of the Pops. For once, though, Chumbawamba’s rhetoric was subtle enough to slip under the rader, thanks no small amount to a driving pop tune. The song actually celebrates the working-class, and their ability to enjoy life despite all its hardships. In a brief blaze of glory, the band used their one appearance at the Brit Awards to become the first music act to dismiss New Labour as sell-outs (for not supporting the striking dockworkers in Liverpool) and take a very direct pop at John Prescott (by throwing water over him). So, in some ways, they turned out to be ahead of their time. Though short-lived, their moment of glory was uniquely British. In this video, the ultra-lefties find themselves flogging their corporate wares on David Letterman’s show – but they still manage to slip in a rant:

14. The Pretenders – Brass in Pocket

This could be a controversial choice, with Chrissie Hynde being an American, but I think it deserves inclusion because of the all the British colloquialisms she threw into the lyrics. Like the words, the song is bold and brassy. Hynde could be talking on behalf of thousands of women, all over the country, as they ready themselves for a Friday night out.

13. The The – This Is The Day

Matt Johnson, main man, and often the only man in the oddly-named ‘The The’ was not a man afraid to sing about the big topics. His cannon covered all the major bases: death, love, God, and war. He railed against Thatcher’s Britain in the ‘Beaten Generation’, sang about warplanes in the Middle East and worried about his homeland turning into the 51st state of the USA. His best song was one of his earliest. It centres on one man’s story, but it could be any man’s story of modern-day angst: ‘you didn’t wake up this morning because you didn’t go to bed, you were watching the whites of your eyes turn red, the calendar on your wall is ticking… you could have done anything, if you’d wanted, and all your friends and family think that you’re lucky…” Johnson’s lyrical quirks and obsessions make his music quintessentially British, though in a twist of fate, he now makes his home in the US.

12. The Smiths – There is a Light That Never Goes Out

Morrisey and Marr’s fruitful partnership generated more than its fair share of classics. This number has all the unique Smiths’ hallmarks of love and despair. ‘There is a Light That Never Goes Out’ is a fatalistic romance that mixes its gothic vision with images of an urban reality composed of double-decker buses and darkened underpasses. It is a uniquely British song from a uniquely British band. What else could one expect from a band called ‘The Smiths’?

11. The Beatles – A Day In The Life

Lennon and McCartney’s collective odyssey transports us from mundane to mystic by way of crescendos and a bus ride. He didn’t notice that the lights had changed… four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire… I’d love to turn you on… found my way upstairs and had a smoke, and somebody spoke and I went into a dream… never could see any other way… this song is uniquely British, and utterly timeless.

That is the first half of my personal top twenty of alternative British anthems. Jump to the next post to see the rest.

Obama: Myth, Mutt and Man

Eric Priezkalns
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Obama: Myth, Mutt and Man

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (48.8MB)

Imagine you went on a holiday – a long holiday. Maybe you went to Venus, or some Antarctic research station because you have not been keeping up with the news. You just got back after leaving exactly twenty-two months ago. You get back, switch on the TV news, and ask yourself… “so who is this Barack Obama guy?”

It is not like you are angry at yourself for not knowing who Barack Obama. You like to stay informed of what is going on in the news, but you have been away for a while. You left on February 9th 2007, the day before the junior senator from Illinois announced his candidacy for President. You do not live in Illinois, so it is not like you have been following Obama’s career, but perhaps you did see his keynote address at the Democratic National Convention in July 2004. Maybe you wondered at the time how a complete unknown from Illinois local politics had secured the opportunity to speak on such a lofty national platform. That morning the Philadelphia Daily News ran its story with the headline “Who the Heck Is This Guy?”. Today, you are just bemused. When you left, Obama was a pup, a whelp, who showed promise but was still wet behind the ears. Now you are back, Obama is not just the hope, but also the choice of America. People talk about him like he will be the saviour of the whole world. So who is this man, Barack Obama?

You can think of two people that Barack Obama is not. He is not John McCain, the defeated Republican candidate. And he is not George W. Bush. John McCain is George Bush, at least according to Obama’s campaign. How very surprising. When you left, it was McCain the maverick, the man who is despised by large sections of his own Republican Party. In the meantime he not only gets selected as candidate (the GOP must have been desperate, you think to yourself) but then turns out to be nothing more than a puppet of the Bush family. Pretty unlikely, but there you have it. Obama says so, and people seem to believe him.

Come to mention it, Obama is not Hilary Clinton either. When you left, people were worried if America was ready for a female commander-in-chief. They sure called that one wrong. There are more women than men in America, and most of those women voted for Obama. Men, in contrast, were evenly split. If women were prepared to vote Obama, you might hope they also have some faith in their own gender. For all the people who did not like the former First Lady, it seemed her enormous fund-raising machine would guarantee the nomination, if not a return to the White House. You start to investigate what happened during those twenty-two months. It turns out this Obama, this unknown, outspent Clinton! He energized the African-Americans and the anti-war movement, and built a strong organization on the ground. That was all held together with an internet fund-raising and mobilization operation that looked like Howard Dean 2.0 (but minus any crazy shouting antics).

Obama only just beat Clinton, it turned out. Usually the primaries are over by the half-way stage. This nomination race went all the way to the wire, with Clinton doggedly snapping at Obama’s heels all the way along, and even closing the gap slightly in the final stretch. But Obama won, and secured the nomination. There was a lot of mud-slinging between the candidates. Some of the most venomous attacks were not about the race, but about Obama’s race, or whether it could be commented upon. However, when it came to the national convention, the Clintons did their duty and became Obama’s biggest cheerleaders. They did so much cheerleading, that some were worried it overshadowed the man himself. That turned out to be only temporary. Before the race began, a lot was said about Bill Clinton’s charisma, and whether it would soften Hilary’s hard edges just enough to win her the trust of the American people. By the end, nobody was talking about Bill Clinton’s charisma. Now the Democrats had an all-new superhero to fight the prolonged charm offensive of a Presidential campaign: Barack Obama.

Not many men attain mythical status in their own lifetime. Fewer still get to manufacture it for themselves. But Obama had, thanks to his books. The books were very good, per the reviews. Who actually reads these things, other than the fanatics who have decided which way they will vote? So why were these books so important to the campaign? Then it dawns on you. This man was unknown – where would the press look for information about Obama, other than his own books? What better way to introduce an unknown candidate to the people, than in the form of books: inspirational memoirs and aspirational agendas that can be used as reference guides. Every lazy hack could simply dive into them and recite chunks to spin out a threadbare story. Is anybody naive enough to expect a politician to write a balanced account of themselves and their lives, even if they do their utmost to make it seem balanced? You would hope not. But when deadlines loom, and there are few alternatives, news organizations have a lot inches to fill and minutes to occupy. The swiftboats sunk Kerry’s campaign by making assertions that were widely repeated. Obama’s campaign learned that lesson well: always launching their own messages first, and quickly torpedoing any hostile claims that surfaced. No, you might research the campaign and the man, but of course, you had not going to read Obama’s books. Only simpletons prefer propaganda to the real story. Anyway, there is no need to read them, when so much of the content is repeated in the news.

You think back, and try to think of men like Obama. Ronald Reagan was the last President to have acquired a personal mythology whilst in office. The seeds was of Reagan’s mythology were sown during his movie career (“win one for the Gipper!”) but truly blossomed as a result of the events of his Presidency. Take the collapse of your cold war enemy, throw in a failed assassination attempt and top it off with a generous spread of military interventions worldwide, and any President would attain an enviable grandeur. Combine that with confidence, and the priceless training of a life spent reading lines in front of cameras, and legends will inevitably follow. With all that going on, it was little wonder that Reagan could not remember if he ordered the selling of arms to terrorists. Yet Obama’s mythology already transcends Reagan’s and he has yet to actually do anything. His lustre comes from something else – the promise of change. It is an all-sweeping, all-embracing change, that promises to set the world to rights, whilst never threatening to upset the apple cart. If it takes broken eggs to make an omelette, Obama is the greatest celebrity chef, promising to remix the economy and give everyone the opportunity to taste the good life. It is best that Obama avoid being photographed with fishes and loaves, lest the religious overtones become too obvious.

What were the ingredients that made up this Obama? At the heart of the myth lies the greatest trick of all: transcendence. He is black, if you want him to be. He is African-American, if you want him to be. Try to pin him down and confine him, and his essence evades the traps set for mere men. He is defined by race, he redefines race, he rewrites the history of race and he is above race, all at the same time. Suggest that his popularity is linked to his race, and like Geraldine Ferraro, you risk being accused of racism. We are told that some voted against him because he is black, but few have voted for him because he is black. What an incredible claim to make! Do pollsters and pundits really presume to get inside people’s heads and determine the subtleties of subconscious prejudice therein? Obama has a white parent, and a black parent, yet oddly enough gets lauded for being the first ‘black’ President, just like he was the first ‘black’ to be elected President of the Harvard Law Review. You muse whether you can you be black on a part-qualified basis? You look it up on the internet. According to the US Census you can, because the rules they employ reflect

“…a social definition of race recognized in this country. They do not conform to any biological, anthropological or genetic criteria.”

So, Barack Obama can simply chose which race he is when he submits his own census return, and nobody else can say he is right or wrong. It does not depend on the way he looks, or his genes, or who his parents were. Could it be that Obama has more than one race? Since 1997, the answer is ‘yes’. Back then, a decision was made with the intention of better reflecting diversity and, in particular, the increasing numbers of children from interracial unions. That manifested itself in 2000, when the US Census permitted respondents to identify themselves with more than one race. So Obama could be black and white at the same time. A bit like a panda, or a zebra, you chortle to yourself. It is all up to him.

There are many politicians who have been chameleons – able to morph to suit their audience. Obama looks like he might be the ultimate chameleon. He can even change colour when necessary. Or rather, it is not Obama who changes, but the eyes of the audience that see in Obama what they want to see. ‘Change’ and ‘hope’ are powerful. They permit every Obama supporter to see the Barack Obama they most desire. He is black and white, educated and in touch with the people, liberal and moderate, all at the same time. His opponents missed the point when trying to attack a Chimera like Obama. Whatever you accuse Obama of, half of his supporters will disagree with the attack because they believe it is untrue. The other half will believe the accusations are true, but like Obama all the more because of it.

Looking at the reactions on election night, it is little wonder that so many got some stars in their eyes. History was being made. Here, they all proclaimed, as if with one voice, is the first black President. It would have been a little trite, but still true, to point out that Obama will also be the 44th white President. Arguing the point is as futile as telling a Kenyan mother that naming her child ‘Barack’ does not improve his chances in life. Because it is up to him, this confusion of black and white could be resolved, if Obama came out and told us what race he is. You remember that golfing genius Tiger Woods settled the issue of his race with great aplomb, when he proclaimed himself a Cablinasian – Caucasian, black, Indian and Asian. Obama, however, prefers to be ineffable. He gives away some clues. For example, he is a member of the Congressional Black Caucus, the blacks-only club of the US Congress that bars entry to whites. This same Caucus was described as “race-hustling poverty pimps” by J.C. Watts, the Black Republican and former Representative for Oklahoma. At a Caucus meeting in 2004, the independent (and white) campaigner Ralph Nader claimed to be on the receiving end of racist insults from Representative Mel Watt of North Carolina. In his letter to the Caucus after the event, Nader stated the following:

I do not like double standards, especially since our premise for interactions must be equality of respect that has no room, as I responded to Mr. Watt, for playing the race card.

But you digress. Obama had not been elected a Senator at that time. And whilst the Caucus bans whites, it admits blacks. So perhaps Obama gets special dispensation to allow his white half to attend in conjunction with his black half – a bit like conjoined twins. Of course, had Obama been in the room when Nader spoke, we can only hope and assume he would have been active in protesting about the racial slurs. After all, he should have a special ability to empathize with his fellow black, Mel Watt, who used the foul language, and his fellow white, Ralph Nader, on the receiving end.

You keep searching, but to no avail. In the end, it looks like people are allowed to decide Obama’s race for themselves, in contravention of the census rules. Obama, the consummate wordsmith, declines to define his race, so leaves the rest of us to do it for him. Because the term ‘mulatto’ is out of fashion with some because it stems from the language of slavery, and ‘half-caste’ suffers the same connotation, we are left with ugly and bland epithets like ‘bi-racial’ to describe a personal background that Obama seeks to celebrate. When left with that meagre choice, just calling him black has some advantages. To call Obama black is to be positive – to affirm something about not just the man, but about black people. To many minds, it is all the better that Obama should be a guiding star for all blacks, a shining inspiration for everyone with roots in sub-Saharan Africa. They were rushing to celebrate, but here, after the event, you have time to ponder. Surely, whatever can be affirmed can also be denied? A black man and a white woman make a black child, and he becomes the first black President of the USA. In another age and time, a Jewish man and an Aryan woman have a Jewish child, who is condemned by the holocaust. The oft-repeated proclamation that Obama is the hero and representative of blacks is just a broken mirror, reflecting the same racial distortion as Nazi zealotry and the Nuremburg Laws. The urge to categorize and pigeonhole is, by turns, human, understandable, lazy and dangerous. You notice there has been a lot of talk about the symbolism of Obama’s victory. Obama should be wary of becoming a symbol. Prince, the eccentric music legend, tried being a symbol for a long while, and it did him no good. Obama would be better off playing it humble, especially now the election has been won. You scan forward, and notice Obama did this well at his first press conference after the election. When talking about buying a dog for his daughters, Obama called himself a ‘mutt’. In the end, we are all mutts to some degree. If he is to govern well, Obama must represent his whole country, and not just a minority. Being top dog amongst a band of mutts will be much easier than pretending to be a breed apart.

Not satisfied, you keep trying to unearth the mystery of this Obama. This mystery surrounds and pervades the man on all levels, not just his race. At times, he appears to be the greatest magician of all time, able to escape traps that would have defeated Harry Houdini, and amaze crowds that are bored to tears by David Blaine. His greatest trick is the promise of change. Everybody knows he stands for change, but how many can say from what, and to what? Perhaps some supporters see change when looking at the colour of his skin, or the change of colour from Republican Red to Democrat Blue that swept across the electoral map. Look again, and this is a lawyer. So much for a change in how the country is governed. Just in case some people think electing an inexperienced Harvard lawyer is too radical a change, it gets further watered down by adding Joe Biden to the ticket, a man so steady that he campaigned for the Democratic candidacy in 1988 and waited twenty years before he risked having a second go. Biden would be the worst dinner part guest imaginable. He never stops talking. When he is talking, it is probably about how he rides the train to work every day. Lucky him to have the same cushy job, year after year. The rest of us need to move with the times. Of course, half of the words that come out of Biden’s mouth are not even his own. Forget speechwriters – in 1988, Biden demonstrated his own special aversion to change, by copying good political speeches by others, and forgetting to mention he had plagiarized them.

Skimming back over the campaign, and you notice that imbeciles on all sides were falling over themselves to endorse Obama. In doing so, all plaudits were taken to be good, no matter where they came from. Edward Kennedy compared Obama to his brother, John. Presumably the analogy stops short when thinking of how JFK’s hawkish tendencies lead to the Bay of Pigs, the Cuban Missile Crisis, and ultimately the Vietnam War. One hopes that Obama is also a better family man than JFK, and is less indebted to organized crime for his victory. Obama is not at fault if he gets the approval of his former pastor, Jeremiah Wright, whilst Wright was simultaneously giving racially divisive sermons. However, you are surprised that Obama came off so unscathed from the relationship. Obama must have thought that Wright was talking sense most of the time. This lawyer, who so carefully plotted his rise, had taken a quote from Wright – “the audacity of hope” – and used it as the title of one of his books. Obama also showed himself to be made of a mixture of teflon and granite, as he was unscathed by his wife Michelle’s ill-advised comments about being proud of her country for the “first time in her adult life”, the implication being that it had hitherto been a source of shame. In the greatest act of collective amnesia, by Obama, media and all, Colin Powell endorsed Barack Obama because the Republicans had moved too far to the right. Come again? The Republicans moved to the right at the end of Bush’s Presidency, but not at the start? And Colin Powell now has sound judgement? You can spot that there must be anomaly somewhere in this story. When exactly did Bush move too far to the right? Was it during the time that Powell served the Bush administration? Or was it after Powell stopped being useful to the neo-cons and got kicked out? Most of the really bad redneck stuff was done in Bush’s first term. For most of the second term, Bush was just mired trying to minimize all the damage he had caused. It was Powell, after all, who went to the United Nations to prove, to the whole world, the following equation:

(satellite photos of moving trucks) + (bugged conversations of people coughing down telephone lines) = irrefutable proof that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction

Now, we are supposed to believe that Obama, who always opposed the war in Iraq, can be relied upon to be a good commander-in-chief because he has the endorsement of one of the patsies who started that same war? One of these men may have sound judgement, but not both of them. Nothing succeeds like success, and a lot of Obama’s approvals come from politicians, American and overseas, hoping his popularity will rub off on them. After winning the election, even the Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad congratulated Obama on his victory. If a man is judged by the company he keeps, then Obama the man continues to evade you. Neither the history of personal relations, nor the throng of current well-wishers, can be used to define this man.

You note that inexperience was Obama’s greatest weakness as a candidate, but it hardly mattered. If anything, his clean slate helped to affirm his message of hope and change. When it came to difficult topics, it also helped him avoid being pinned down. The best evidence offered for his readiness for executive office was the size and success of his massive campaign – a circular logic if ever there was one. How much that campaign is down to Obama, and how much down to talented individuals who aligned themselves with him out of principle or opportunity, you can never be sure. Either way, a President is not a man alone but the leader of a team that he selects. If the team is successful, it reflects well on the man. That said, too much can be read into his victory. Obama is lauded for his accomplishment in winning the election – an achievement that is seemingly on a par with a disabled man climbing Everest. Any idiot can win the US Presidential election: his predecessor did it twice. When George W. became President, he had to overcome plenty of prejudice. That prejudice was about the way he thought and talked. Compared to those natural infirmities, Obama had it easy.

You look at the results. Obama’s victory was good by Democrat standards, but not the marvel that some had hoped for. A lot of people that will remember, for decades, the hoopla of election night history will probably have missed the cold reckoning that belongs with the day after. Obama won 52% of the popular vote, a tremendous result for a Democrat. Bill Clinton did not break 50%, and Jimmy Carter did well to get 50.1% in 1976. Even so, it means only slightly more than half the voters preferred Obama to McCain. Turnout was up, but at a little over 60%, was not enough to break any records for the proportion of eligible voters who made the effort. Combine those numbers, and you realize that, even after the huge voter registration drive and the massive spending, Obama got the support of less than 32% of the eligible electorate. The Federal Election Commission states that, at 15th October 2008, Obama spent US$573M on his campaign. Probably by election night on November 4th, he had broken US$600M. That is more than double his opponent, and equates to well over US$8 for every vote he gained. If Obama needs indicators of the need for change, he need look no further than his own campaign finances. And in a final little story that passed with little remark, Obama’s campaign did the decent thing a few days before the election, when it returned the ineligible donations made by his aunt, who is living in the US illegally. You marvel at Obama’s fund-raising accomplishment, but are still left bemused that, even for Barack “Change” Obama, the golden rule is to get the money in first, and worry about where it comes from second.

You give up, in frustration. There is no point trying to learn about Obama by looking at the surface. Occasionally he gives away snippets of information about himself. Some of it suggests he may be a poor poker player. Refusing to wear tiepins that sport the American flag was not just petty and counter-productive – it needlessly offered a target for his attackers. Good poker players do not make small statements like that; showing your cards only helps your opponents. But Obama learned from his experiences, and now keeps his cards much closer to his chest, at least most of the time. Only a thorough dissection will reveal who Obama is now. The dichotomies of political life will soon put Obama to the sword. Whilst he rode high expectations to election victory, he now knows to dampen those expectations, and not just when it comes to the state of the economy. Obama’s term will be defined by how he handles conflicts and builds and maintains the consensus he has promised to deliver. The battle lines were submerged by his campaign, but they will resurface.

To begin with, as some commentators have already noticed, having a black President begs the question of affirmative action and racially-targeted assistance from government. If Obama supports money for blacks then he could be accused of looking after his ‘own’, at the expense of all the poor whites who will also feel pain during a recession. If Obama does not target assistance for blacks, he risks losing support with the black politicians and voters who favour it. The next dilemma links to unions, healthcare, taxes and employment. Obama is backed by the unions. Union leaders were vocal in giving Obama their support. One of the key benefits which unions secure on behalf of workers is healthcare rights. However, healthcare costs are killing the American economy. Unless Obama can find a way to make healthcare cheaper not just for those who lack it, but also for those unionized workers who already enjoy it, he will be unable to liberate the American businesses that are crippled by the cost of providing healthcare benefits. It is little wonder that they struggle to compete with overseas rivals. The American population is ageing, which will only make the problem worse with time. Ongoing benefits for retired workers poses more and more of a burden on businesses that are trying to downsize because they are failing, and trying to get lean to stay competitive. The American car manufacturers, for example, could easily fall into a rapid death spiral. Government money cannot help, because tax money has to come from somewhere. It will not help to shift the burden from one part of a flagging economy to another. As businesses start to struggle, the only solution is to cut the cost of healthcare across the board, which will be no small trick except by cutting the numbers of workers in healthcare, or by reducing the provision of healthcare enjoyed by the average person who already has it.

You read over Obama’s manifesto, which seemed the standard litany of promises, waiting to be broken. It was long on spending promises, and short on explanations of where the money would come from. Though Obama will doubtless blame the economic malaise, he was always going to have a tough time ticking all the boxes on his wishlist. If anything, the crisis might help Obama. It could buy him time, but only at the cost of making his choices a lot starker. For instance, Obama has already signaled he would like to see a speeding up of the government aid for ‘retooling’ US car manufacturers. These tools are supposed to help make environmentally-friendly cars. You wait to see how eco-friendly the US car industry will really become – it is not as if they ever fought to save the planet before. However, it is safe to say that this ingenious but disingenuous retooling subsidy will only scratch the surface of the automobile industry’s problems. Jobs will be lost. What is more, Obama cannot afford to give state bailouts to every industry. Pumping money into Wall Street leaves little spare for anyone else. So whilst he may favour the retooling program, Obama quickly needs to discover alternative answers than the hollow promise of money from the government’s ever-growing borrowing.

You agree that America needs change – deep, fundamental change. But from what you see, Obama has carefully talked around the nature of the economic change that is needed. Government R&D projects may raise the hope of a better future, and maintaining expenditure on road building will help keep jobs today, but neither represent a deep-seated change. To get America back on a sound economic footing, American goods and services need to be provided to the same quality, whilst costing less. That means cutting out waste. You go back over your previous example, healthcare. In the US, healthcare is expensive. One of the reasons for expensive healthcare is the cost and complexity of the insurance industry because people need insurance to pay for healthcare. One of the reasons for the cost of healthcare insurance is the cost of the legal sector, because of the complexity and costs involved in legal liability. Healthcare, finance, law – all nice professions. A surprisingly high number of these professionals voted for Obama. Obama is a lawyer after all! All of the industries run by these professionals need to be made a lot more efficient. That means better returns and better products at lower price. And that probably means job cuts, or at least pay cuts. America cannot afford to allow the disease that has plagued its airlines to consume every other sector. Some of the people who will lose their jobs will have voted for Obama. That adds even more pressure on Obama to preserve American jobs. Yet one obvious way to keep down the amounts spent on these professions is by offshoring the work to highly skilled and well-trained people – accountants, engineers, even lawyers – in places like the Philippines. The one thing Obama cannot afford to do, is to do nothing. Keeping the richer professions protected only adds to the costs of the poor. Blocking offshoring adds to costs. Preventing simplification adds to costs. And allowing well-off professionals to suffer a decline in living standards will also lead to a cut in the size of the economy, albeit the right one. The question is whether Obama will be ruthless enough to start challenging the professions, like his own legal profession, that are costing America too much.

On foreign policy, Obama kept showing a penchant for foolishly showing his hand. After your long time away, you feel you are a traveller, and can empathize with culturally and nationally diverse points of view (however wrong they are). Obama fell into the great trap of thinking the American media is the only one that listens to an election campaign. Okay, so foreigners do not get to vote (not all Americans get to vote for that matter – Puerto Ricans picked Clinton over Obama in the primaries, but are excluded from the Presidential election itself.) It can seem, to a politician worried about what American voters think, like a good idea to share your ideas on how to deal with the rest of the world. However, if you tell American voters, you tell the rest of the world too. And Obama should have appreciated that it is unwise to announce how he intends to negotiate, before his negotiations even begin. Unfortunately, he kept falling into that trap. To begin with, he announced he would negotiate without preconditions. Though it signals a positive shift in approach, and makes for a snappy campaign message, it is also wrong. American negotiators can will all sorts of concessions just by laying down the conditions for a meeting to happen. It is more evidence of a bad poker player – Obama gives up a bargaining chip for nothing in exchange. Worse still, every crumby dictator’s regime is legitimized by a meeting with the US President. That means if Obama keeps his promise, he risks becoming an impediment to change all over the world. But even when Obama gets tough on foreign policy, he talks too much. During the Presidential debates, Obama insisted he would send troops into Pakistan to finish off the Taleban, if the Pakistani government could not get the job done. He would have been better advised to send the Taleban a special delegation from his campaign, offering advice on how to recruit more supporters. Obama’s rash comment will have sent a message to every America-hater in Pakistan. That message reads: “we know you hate America, and we do not care.” Pakistani governments regularly get criticized by the citizenry for doing too much to placate the US. When the ‘leader of the free world’ announced he will send in troops if a sovereign government cannot get the job done, he just encourages all those suicide bombing fanatics who feel that American values are there to be imposed by Americans on everyone but Americans. Looking at the video of the debate again, you could see from McCain’s reaction that he thought Obama had made a howler, but was caught between two stools. He wanted to lambast it, but commenting on it would only repeat and exacerbate the mistake. How funny that even big mouth maverick McCain (“bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb Iran”) could teach Obama a lesson in diplomacy.

For all the talk of change, Obama shares all the traditional attributes of men who reach high office. Extraordinary self-confidence is one them. Obama has it in buckets. His self-confidence may inspire support and devotion, but could be dangerous if it encourages him to pursue mistaken policies. Bush, like many before, suffered from the flaw of believing his talents were greater than they were. He was an oaf – hailing the UK Primeminister with “Yo Blair!” and trying to give neck massages to German Chancellor Angela Merkel. Obama may be more reserved, but may suffer from blind spots about his own weaknesses. At least when politicians tend to err towards a laissez-faire philosophy, the risk of catastrophic error is less. Bush made his greatest mistakes when he took charge and made decisions. His best moments were when he shut up and did nothing. Except when he sat doing nothing during 9/11, or when he did nothing about Katrina.

There is little doubt that Obama is a doer, but he may do too much. At times, he conveys an almost naive belief in the power of government to make the world better. When Obama said, during one of the Presidential debates, that the computer had been invented by the American government, it was as much a Freudian slip as it a misremembering of his debate preparations. Perhaps Obama meant the invention of the internet, but even that skirts around the fact that the invention of the internet was driven by military needs, not civilian R&D. The US defeated the Soviet Union in the Cold War not by having the better military, but by having the bigger economy that could pay for the better military. And the US had the bigger economy not because the American government was better at R&D than the Soviet government, but because American businesses were better at R&D than either government. In the 80’s, Reagan’s economy was lucky to enjoy an unforeseeable boost from Silicon Valley, not from some monolithic Federal research program. Perhaps it should be no surprise that Obama has no feel for this – he is a lawyer, organizer, academic, and apparatchik, not an entrepreneur, technologist or businessman. It looks like he also has a better understanding of culture than he has of history. If the cold war is too far back, perhaps Obama should look at the last eight years and the very mistakes he railed against. Even if the Republicans were evil and stupid, they had a government infrastructure that encouraged and enabled them, with devastating consequences. Bush’s administration had spy satellites, and wire taps, and intelligence operatives. They had administrators, managers, analysts and even Obama’s new best friend Colin Powell. Yet on one simple question, whether to go to war in Iraq, they reached, not least according to Obama himself, the wrong decision. All of those governmental assets, human and technological, were fielded in the cause to deny UN’s weapons inspector, Hans Blix, more time in his search for those apocryphal WMD’s. They were all part of the US Government. Can Obama really be so naive to believe that, by changing the man at the top, the rest will just become a factory for creating good?

So here you are, and after your long meditation upon Obama, are you any closer to knowing who he is? He is personable but undefinable, steely yet flexible, poetic yet approachable. He has an odd name, but people name their children after him. He invokes fear amongst some, hope amongst more. He is a visionary, but promises to embellish the vision with detail. People obsess about his skin, and laud him for his brain. For all the talk of colour, Obama’s brain is the same colour as everyone else’s (pinkish, not grey, as most people wrongly believe). He is of history, but has not made history. On election night, history was made not by the candidate but by the electorate. They were the ones who made a historic decision. Whilst photos of a smiling Obama will stick in the memory, the real images of change should be of the unexpected people – the rural whites, the blue-collar anti-intellectuals, the bitter gun-owners – who went against the supposed grain and voted for him.

Now imagine you are going on holiday again. Once more, you will be out of touch, with no idea what is going on in the rest of the world. You will be gone for a long time – about four years. When you get back from that holiday, that is when you will find out who Obama, the man, really is.

A Second Look

Eric Priezkalns
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A Second Look

Have you ever tried to look at the world in a really different way? Can you remember what it was like to see things as a child, before you knew what things were and what they meant? They say familiarity breeds contempt. Here are a few exercises that can help you to turn the familiar back into the unfamiliar.

Words and Symbols

Take a look at the words you are reading now. Now try to stop reading them, but still look at the symbols. You may want to read this paragraph and then look at it again, without reading the words. Look at the shape of the letters. Try not to ignore what the words mean and instead think just how the letters and words look. Instead of reading, look closely, like at the dot in this letter “i” or take a metaphorical step back and see the distribution of colour and lines across a whole paragraph. Forget that you know the order to read words, so instead of looking left to right, then down to the next line, scan the shapes in any and every direction. Try to recreate the experience of looking at English as if you were looking at a language you did not know, like Arabic or Thai or Japanese. Do it when you are out and about as well. Instead of reading advertising billboards, just look at the symbols and ignore the meaning.

Talking and Sounds

This exercise is a bit like the previous one, but with spoken language. Try this next time you are in a public place and can overhear somebody else’s conversation, or have the radio on (do not do it when your spouse is telling you to do something!). Avoid listening to the meaning of the words being said, and instead just listen to the sounds. Try not to pick out one word from another, just listen to the stream of noise. Ignore the meanings conveyed by intonation and cadence too, just listen like it is a language you have never heard before.

Alien Faces

There is lots of research to suggest that, even as babies, our internal wiring is designed to make us respond to facial expressions. Counteract that by looking at a face as if you had never seen one before. Forget what is an eye, a mouth, or a nose, and just look at the face as something new. Instead of seeing the meaning of an expression, or at least trying to interpret it, just see the shape of the lines and contours of the face. Imagine that, as you look at someone’s head, you did not know where the face starts and ends, or even that it is special. Look at a human face as if you were an alien, and the human face was something unknown, to be learned about for the first time. Ignore your knowledge of how people smile or frown, and instead just see the ways the facial muscles have changed the shape of the features. Try this exercise on people you know really well, and also on the faces that get presented in the media.

Colours Without Objects

Have you ever looked at a picture and been momentarily confused about what is in it, like those optical illusions where you could see a vase or two faces?

Try to see the whole world like you were uncertain of what were the objects in it, and what was the background. Try not to pick out the edges of things. Lose focus on specific objects, and instead see fields of colour. Disregard the boundaries between different physical things. Ignore your knowledge about where one thing starts, and another ends. If you cannot see something, it does not exist, so if you can see two legs of a table, forget your knowledge that there are another two you cannot see. Do not see any particular ‘thing’ just look at the whole like you might look at an abstract canvas, not picking out anything in particular. If you do focus on a part of what is visible, try to avoid seeing the edges of what you know to be an object, and look at it is if you have no knowledge of the boundaries between one thing and the next. See the world like a giant and three-dimensional pattern, where the colours have no relation to any underlying reality.

Moving and Standing Still

If you described the physics of walking around, it would make no difference if the world was a fixed point, and you move upon it, or if you were a fixed point, and the world was moving. Whilst you are walking, think of the world moving backwards, whilst you remain in the same spot. Your feet are turning the world backwards, as if you are spinning it like a giant ball. If you turn your neck to the right, think of it that your head has not moved at all, but that the rest of the body has spun around to the left, moving the whole world with it. When you move your eyes, try to do the same thing, so if you look up, your eyes have stayed perfectly still, but their sockets have spun around them, moving your head, body and the whole world around too. It may help, to begin with, if you resist the temptation to turn your head, and keep your eyes looking dead ahead. As you get the hang of it, move your head very slowly and deliberately, whilst keeping your eyes still. Then, as you get more confident, move your eyes in a very controlled manner. Try to imagine that, in this world, your eyes have never really moved, and that everything else is moving around them.

What is the point of these exercises? We all think we know how the world looks, but really how it looks depends on how we understand the world. We are aware of more than just what our senses tell us, we are also aware of our knowledge. If I see person side-on, I know they have two legs even though I can only see the nearest one. If somebody raises the corners of their mouth, I see a smile, and not just the crescent shape of that expression. Experiencing the world differently might liberate us, just briefly, from some of our prejudices about how it works. It is a reminder that none of our knowledge is a given, that it may not be permanent, and it may not even be right. Ancient Egyptians who could read hieroglyphics would see them very differently to me. Other animals do not see our faces or hear our voices like humans do. Someone may be smiling to deceive me about their true feelings. I see an accident, but when asked to explain what happened, I recount the assumptions I made, and not what I actually saw. These exercises encourage different points of view. They are neither right nor wrong, but they are different. The more you do them, the easier you will find them to do. A second look at the world can remind us of what we really saw first time around.

Even More Star Wars: Parallel Universe

Eric Priezkalns
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<i>Even More</i> Star Wars: Parallel Universe

In the previous installment of Star Wars: Parallel Universe, Moff Tarkin had just ordered the execution of Princess Leia aboard the Death Star. We begin this bumper-length finale to the story with our oddball band of heroes hanging out on the Millennium Falcon…

Luke: What’s the in-flight movie?

Han: Big Booty Girls of Orion 7

Luke: Is that about big booty girls from planet Orion 7, or is it the seventh in a popular series about big booty girls from across the Orion system?

Obi-Wan: Maybe we should find another way of passing the time. Here, why don’t you practice your light sabre skills? I have here a pocket robot I always carry around for just that task. (Pulls small spherical object from his robe.)

Luke: How does it work?

Obi-Wan: It flies around randomly and fires low energy shock blasts at point blank range. You have to anticipate its every move.

Luke: (Nervous) Okay, I will give it a try.

Obi-Wan: (Sits down, almost falling, looking pale) Oh dear!

Luke: Are you alright? What’s wrong?

Obi-Wan: I suddenly felt a great and sudden disturbance in the Force, as if, suddenly, millions of voices suddenly cried out in a sudden state of terror, and were suddenly silenced. I fear something terrible has happened.

Luke: All of a sudden? Why don’t you ask the Force pixies to tell you what happened?

Obi-Wan: I did, but could only get an engaged tone. The lines must all be busy. That tends to happen with sudden and major events. You had better get on with your exercises.

[The light sabre training robot shoots Luke repeatedly. No matter how fast he moves, he can never deflect the shots.]

Luke: Ow! Ow! Ow! This is impossible!

[The droids are playing a game with Chewbacca. It involves holographic monsters beating each other up on what looks like a circular chess board.]

R2-D2: (Moves one of his monster pieces. His monster picks up Chewie’s monster piece, swings it around his head and throws it off the board table. The monster then does a moonwalk and a victory lap around the board in celebration, waving and blowing kisses as it goes round the table. When it reaches Chewbacca, it turns its back to Chewie and pulls its pants down.) Beep Splurt Flurble (translates as: “Ha ha ha Wookie numbnuts, I forked you!”)

Chewie: Growl! Growl, growl, growl (translates as: “Can I take my move back?”)

C-3PO: He made a fair move. Screaming about it can’t help you!

[Chewie rips C-3PO’s arms out of its sockets]

C-3PO: R2! Let the wookiee win!

Luke: Hey, my dad built that robot! You put him back together right now! (Whilst Luke is distracted, the Robot trainer flies behind him and shoots him up the backside) Ow!

Han: (Laughing) Ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side.

Obi-Wan: Your eyes can deceive you. Use the Force. (Putting a helmet on Luke’s head) Let go of your conscious self, act on instinct.

Luke: Who designed this helmet? I can’t see a thing!

Han: It’s an early prototype of the ones used by Stormtroopers. You can tell from the strong plastic it’s made of.

[The training robot repeatedly shoots Luke over and over. Luke has no idea where it is.]

Han: (Laughing) Good against remotes is one thing, good against the living, that’s something else. Kid, you’re no good against nothing.

[The training robot sneaks up behind Han, trying to catch him out whilst he talks. Han spins around and blasts the robot to pieces.]

Chewie: Growl! Growl-bark-growl (translates as: “Han always shoots first”.)

….

[An Imperial Officer walks in on Darth Vader and Moff Tarkin in the conference chamber aboard the Death Star.]

Imperial Officer: Our scout ships have reached Dantooine. They found the remains of a rebel base but it has been deserted for some time. (Exits)

Tarkin: She lied! Princess Leia lied to us! I wasn’t expecting that.

Darth Vader: I felt she was lying, but couldn’t be sure. It’s hard to tell with a woman – they do it so well. One minute they’re happy to be carrying your baby, the next they’re flying a spaceship that’s carrying someone intent on killing you.

Tarkin: Dishonesty – will these rebels stop at nothing?

[Tarkin’s mobile phone rings. His ringtone is a midi version of the first few bars of The Imperial March: Dah-dah-dah Dah-de-dar Dah-de-dar. Tarkin answers.]

Voice on phone: A freighter has come out of lightspeed nearby. Its markings match those of a ship that blasted its way out of Mos Eisley.

Tarkin: Vader – they’re attacking with a single freighter! (To phone) Blast them!

Voice on phone: We could just capture them with our tractor beam. It uses 40% less energy than a conventional turboblaster shot, and if we capture it, we can recycle their ship for parts.

Tarkin: Tractor beam? Sounds like a mixture of agriculture and gymnastics. Okay, get them with the tractor beam.

Voice on phone: Please hold. (Phone plays Parade of the Ewoks: De-dah, de-dah, de-dah-de-dah-de-da-da, whilst Tarkin waits.) There’s no-one on board, Sir. According to the log, the crew abandoned ship right after take-off. It must be a decoy, Sir. Several of the escape pods have been jettisoned.

Tarkin: Hang on… Perhaps the ship’s logs are full of lies as well. They could still be hiding inside… a group of suicide guerillas, intent on blowing us all up. Destroy that ship this instant!

Voice on phone: Why don’t we just scan the ship to see if anybody is on it?

Tarkin: Why don’t you just destroy the ship?!?

Voice on phone: Well, it would make a helluva mess of Bay 327. The cleaning crew is only working a half day today. They’ve got mandatory training on the importance of recycling. And it turns out this is Han Solo’s ship. We can’t shoot it first. He always gets first shot.

Tarkin: Very well. Scan the ship instead. But you do it good and proper. If I find out there was anybody on board, and if they get past your scanners, I will be very upset. (Hangs up.) I tell you, Vader, discipline has gone to shit recently. This crew is more worried about the environment than they are about crushing the rebellion.

Vader: I like a clean environment. Otherwise my dust filters can get really clogged up.

…

[On board the Millennium Falcon, the crew climb out of their hiding places.]

Luke: That was lucky. Those stormtroopers must be really stupid.

Obi-Wan: In my experience, there’s no such thing as luck. Every time I thought they were going to find us, I distracted them by making them hear a noise over their shoulders. It never fails, you know.

Han: That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, there’s no way that… (hears a noise over his shoulder so turns around to look).

Obi-Wan: You were saying?

Han: This is ridiculous. We can’t hide in here for ever. And even if I could take off, I couldn’t get past the tractor beam.

Obi-Wan: Leave that to me. Here’s the plan. There’s a couple of guys headed this way – they’ll start scanning the ship any moment. I’ll make a noise over their shoulder to distract them, and you hit them over the head. Then you’ll call in the two stormtroopers who are guarding the hatch. I’ll make a noise over their shoulder to distract them, and you hit them over the head. We’ll basically repeat that plan until we’ve defeated them all.

R2-D2: Blurp, flirp, bing (translates as: “Come on! What kind of plan is that? Why don’t you steal some stormtrooper uniforms and try to get out of here?”)

Chewie: Bark, bark, roar, growl (translates as: “And go where? Plus I don’t think stormtrooper uniforms come in our sizes, you beeping trashcan!”)

Han: It could be a start. (Aside) At least if I was disguised as a stormtrooper then I would stand a chance of escaping.

…

[The two-man scanning crew haul their equipment to the Millennium Falcon.]

Scanning Trainee: At last we’re going to do some scanning. Makes a change, huh?

Scanning Supervisor: Shush. Don’t go blabbing to everyone that there’s no need for a scanning crew on this moon-sized space station with the giant ray weapon. They’re looking to make some headcount reductions around here, and I much prefer this job to the one I was doing before.

Scanning Trainee: What was that?

Scanning Supervisor: Stormtrooper Internal Affairs. I was responsible for investigating and rooting out corrupt stormtroopers.

Scanning Trainee: Wow, that sounds really glamourous. Why did you give it up for this boring job?

Scanning Supervisor: Have you ever tried to tell two stormtroopers apart? We would always be getting these civvies coming forward, accusing stormtroopers of this and that, but how were you supposed to tell which one had done what? Identity parades were a nightmare, I can tell you. Enough blabbing, let’s get this equipment inside the ship.

[They go up the ramp leading into the Millennium Falcon.]

Scanning Trainee: Did you hear something? (turns around)

Scanning Supervisor: Yeah… OOF! (is hit on head and falls to the ground).

Scanning Trainee: What the… OOF! (is hit on head and falls to the ground).

R2-D2: Beep, blurp (translates as “Two down, three-hundred and forty-two thousand and fifty-one to go.”

C-3PO: That’s a precise number.

R2-D2: Fizz, whistle (“I just looked it up on the internet. I guess their security is not that tight.”)

…

[The heroes escape from the Millennium Falcon and secure themselves in a small control room.]

Obi-Wan: (to R2-D2) Plug into that computer outlet. You should be able to interpret the entire Imperial network.

R2-D2: Beep, beep, whistle. (“Haven’t you heard of encryption, firewalls, network security? You make it sound like it’s so flippin’ easy.”)

Obi-Wan: Forget it. I’ll just use the Force. You lot wait here. I’ll make some noises over people’s shoulders and go shut off the combine harvester beam.

Luke: Tractor beam.

Obi-Wan: Precisely. (Exits)

Chewie: Growl, bark, growl (“That Kenobi’s a silly old bugger. I thought he was dead. Where’s a really powerful Jedi, like Yoda, when you need him? Saying that, Yoda’s too smart to risk his neck. He’s probably hiding in some swamp or something like that. And we’re stuck on the most destructive battle station in the galaxy. That’s bad news, I tell you.”)

Han: You said it, Chewie. (To Luke) Where did you dig up that old fossil?

Luke: On a desert planet. Perhaps he spent too long in the sun.

R2-D2: Whistle, whistle, whistle. (“Princess Leia is here. She’s scheduled to be executed and is currently being held in the detention block.”)

Luke: Well, let’s go straight down there, and rescue her!

Han: That’s not much of a plan. I’m staying right here.

Luke: She’s rich!

Han: So?

Luke: You’ll get a reward!

Han: How much?

Luke: Whatever is in my pockets right now, plus twenty-five thousand when she’s safe and home!

Han: I’m no fool.

Luke: Okay, thirty thousand when she’s safe.

Han: Deal! How much do you have on you?

Luke: Fooled you – stormtroopers don’t have pockets in their uniforms.

Han: Okay, you got me. But I still want the thirty thousand when we get her home. (Aside) I got a bad feeling about this…

…

[In recycling centre Beta-42, deep in the heart of the Death Star.]

Recycling Chief: Look at this great big pile we’ve got to sort out. There are literally hundreds of old stormtrooper uniforms in this pile.

Recycling Hand: It’ll take us all day just to sort them from the rest of the plastics.

Recycling Chief: It’s all the fault of quality control at the cloning plant. Stormtroopers used to all conform to the same dimensions, but now they come out all sorts of shapes and sizes. Half of them are wearing uniforms that don’t fit properly.

Recycling Hand: We saw this one stormtrooper the other day, you should have been there, it was hilarious. He was a tall fella, and he was walking through this door and – crack! – he banged his head on the arch! Then he tried to pretend nothing had happened! Me and the lads had a good giggle about that, I tell you.

Recycling Chief: It’s these helmets (holding a stormtrooper helmet up). They can’t see anything out of them.

[In turn, Princess Leia, Chewie, Luke and finally Han slide out of a chute, landing on top of the recycling pile.]

Recycling Chief: Hey, hey! What do you think you lot are playing at? This is a recycling centre, not an amusement park! That chute is for plastics, not bodies! Especially not live ones!

Recycling Hand: Yeah, this is recycling station Beta-42. Bodypart recycling is over at station Delta-17.

Recycling Chief: Get down from that pile of plastics right now!

Luke: Sorry, I think we took a wrong turn.

Recycling Chief: You’d better get out of here quick sharp, before we all get into trouble!

[The heroes climb down from the pile of plastics and make their way out, saying sorry as they go.]

Luke: Can we leave these uniforms here? They really chafe.

Recycling Chief: Go on, sling ’em on the pile. But make it fast.

[Luke and Han ditch their stormtrooper uniforms. They exit with Leia and Chewie.]

Recycling Chief: You see what I mean? Did you see how short and scrawny that young stormtrooper was? Poor quality control, I tell you.

[A long tentacle is seen writhing through the pile of plastics.]

Recycling Hand: There’s something alive in there!

Recycling Chief: Don’t panic. It’s Dino, our recycling cephalopod. (To Dino) Caught you sleeping on the job again, haven’t we?

…

[Luke, Leia, Han and Chewie are making their way back to the Millennium Falcon. As they turn a corner, they are surprised by eight stormtroopers.]

Stormtrooper Sergeant: It’s them – blast them!

[Han shots the Sergeant.]

Stormtrooper Private 1: It’s Han Solo – run for it! (They turn and flee).

Stormtrooper Private 2: (Whilst running away) This isn’t like us. Normally we can’t wait to dive into the line of fire. There’s seven of us, and only one of him, and we’re protected by strong plastic armour. Why don’t we stop and fight?

Stormtrooper Private 1: Haven’t you heard of Han Solo? Everybody knows he always shoots first.

[They turn a corner, where dozens of stormtroopers lie in wait.]

Stormtrooper Private 1: Where have you guys been? I don’t remember seeing so many of you last time I was here.

Stormtrooper Corporal: We’re a new batch. Fresh out of the cloning plants.

[Han turns the corner, and is confronted by the new batch of Stormtroopers. The new stormtroopers all fire upon him simultaneously.]

Han: (Turning and heading back where he came) It looks like the end for that running gag.

Stormtrooper Private 1: How can you fire on Han Solo first, don’t you know who he is?

Stormtrooper Corporal: Like I said, we’re a new batch – a special addition.

Stormtrooper Private 1: (Aside) I think I preferred things the old way.

…

[Obi-Wan encounters Vader. He makes a noise to distract Vader, but Vader isn’t fooled.]

Vader: Your powers are weak, old man.

Obi-Wan: They worked well enough on everyone else round here.

[They parry their light sabres.]

Vader: The circle is now complete. When I left you, I was but the learner. Now I am the master.

Obi-Wan: Only a master of evil, Darth.

Vader: Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

Obi-Wan: You can’t win, Darth. If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.

Vader: Powerful enough to stop people from dying?

Obi-Wan: No. Not that powerful.

Vader: Well, I can imagine being that powerful.

Obi-Wan: You’ve spent twenty years looking for that power. Have you made any progress?

Vader: Not really. When I cut flowers from my garden, they tend to last a lot longer. But on the whole, the experiment has been a failure.

Obi-Wan: Give up the dark side, Darth. You were once good.

Vader: No. I’m too set in my ways to change now. And the Empire will give me a very generous pension when I retire. It is a non-contributory final salary scheme. Can the rebel alliance match that?

Obi-Wan: I wish! Can’t you see what rags I’m reduced to wearing? (Starts crying). When I was a young lad, they said that becoming a Jedi would bring a lifetime of security. But look at me now. I’m an old man, living in a tiny hovel on a barren world, with no friends or family around me. To add to the indignity, I am plagued by sandmen. They keep knocking on my door, and each time I go to answer, they’ve run away. It’s no way for a Jedi to live.

Vader: Yes, and look at me. Shiny suits, the latest fancy spaceships, any woman I want. And all this time, whilst I have been cavorting all over the galaxy, you’ve been keeping an eye on my son for me.

Obi-Wan: You know about Luke?

Vader: Of course. I just pretended I didn’t in case I got stung for child support. Did you give him my light sabre, like I asked?

Obi-Wan: Yes I did. Now do me a favour, old friend. (Holds up his light sabre.) Put me out of my misery.

Vader: Of course, old chum. (Strikes Obi-Wan with the light sabre. Obi-Wan disappears.)

[Luke is looking on from afar as the others sneak on to the Millennium Falcon.]

Luke: (Screams) No!

[Stormtroopers turn around and see the heroes. They open fire.]

Obi-Wan’s disembodied voice: Luke, you silly boy. You were nearly away and clear. Run, Luke, run!

…

[The Millennium Falcon has fought its way past the TIE fighters and jumped into hyperspace.]

Han: Not a bad bit of rescuing, huh? You know sometimes I amaze even myself.

Leia: This ship is amazing. Amazingly old. What was it called when they first made it? The Falcon? They let us go. It’s the only explanation for the ease of our escape.

Han: Easy? You call that easy?

Leia: They’re tracking us. We should dump the ship and switch to another.

Han: Dump my ship? No way!

Leia: I’m just saying we should switch ships en route. Otherwise we’ll lead them right back to our rebel base.

Han: Okay, you give me my money now, sister, and I’ll let you off at the next habitable planet. Deal?

Leia: I’m a Princess. I don’t carry a purse.

Han: Then I’m taking you to the rebel base – and I had better get paid when we arrive. And you can also forget about the agreed fare. This one’s going on the meter (points at a taxi meter, clicking up every light-year).

…

[At the rebel base on Yavin 4, Han and Chewie are loading their reward – boxes of money – on to the Millennium Falcon.]

Han: (to Chewie) Good tippers, huh? It’s funny they didn’t have any notes, though. Loading all this small change is giving me a bad back.

[Luke walks up to Han.]

Luke: You got your reward and just leaving then?

Han: Yup. I don’t fancy your chances, taking on a battle station powerful enough to destroy whole planets. But maybe I could be persuaded.

Luke: Great! The Death Star came out of light-speed too soon and now we have half an hour to fly out in our little fighters, get up real close, and shoot a torpedo down a tiny exhaust vent.

Han: On second thoughts, I’m getting the hell out of here.

…

[Luke is flying towards the exhaust port in his X-wing. He is adjusting his targeting computer.]

Obi-Wan’s disembodied voice: Use the Force, Luke. Trust me.

[Luke switches off his targeting computer.]

[Back at the command centre on the rebel base.]

Rebel Ops Commander: They’ll be in range in 30 seconds. Looks like we’re goners.

Rebel Ops Co-ordinator: He switched off his targeting computer.

Rebel Ops Commander: (Shouting) What the F@*K! (Speaks into his radio. Assumes a calm voice.) Luke, you switched off your targeting computer. What’s wrong?

Luke: Nothing. I’m alright.

Rebel Ops Commander: (Switches radio off). Well, that’s just hunky dory then. He’s alright. What about the rest of us? We’re doomed.

[Vader’s TIE fighter has almost caught Luke]

Vader: I have you now.

[Rebel base]

Rebel Ops Co-ordinator: They’re in range.

Rebel Ops Commander: I always loved you. I just never had the chance to say it before.

Rebel Ops Co-ordinator: I know. It would have got in the way of work.

Rebel Ops Commander: If we had met under different circumstances, who knows what might have been?

[Han and the Millennium Falcon blast one of the two TIE fighters supporting Vader.]

Vader: WHAT!?!

Han: Yahoo!

[The other TIE fighter panics and clips Vader’s, destroying itself and throwing Vader’s clear of the Death Star.]

Luke: Han, why’d you come back?

Han: I just remembered. Those guys shot at me FIRST! I can’t allow that to happen again. You’re all clear kid, now let’s blow this thing and go home.

[The Death Star’s Chief Gunner is just completing preparations to fire on Yavin 4.]

Chief Gunner: At last, we can use this weapon in anger!

Assistant Gunner: Standby…

Chief Gunner: What’s the hold up?

Assistant Gunner: Yavin 4 is covered in rainforest.

Chief Gunner: So?

Assistant Gunner: It’s part of the Imperial carbon offsetting program. If we destroy Yavin 4, it’ll blow a hole in our neutral emissions target.

Chief Gunner: This isn’t the time to discuss this. We’d better get on with it.

[Luke launches his torpedoes]

Assistant Gunner: Too late!

[Death Star explodes]

Han: Great shot, kid. That was one in a million. (Switches radio off and turns to Chewie) And thanks to that new on-line gambling service, odds of a-million-to-one means we’re rich!

Chewie: Growl. (Translates as: “I thought you were mad betting our reward money against the Empire, but I’m mighty glad you did!”)

[In the shiny new offices of the Tatooine On-Line Gambling Corporation]

Chief Jawa: Looks like it’s back to selling second-hand droids for us. We’ve been wiped out.

Jawa 2: I told you we should never have offered those odds. I mean, a-million-to-one?

Chief Jawa: (Shrugs shoulders) You live and learn.

[Luke’s X-wing]

Obi-Wan’s disembodied voice: Remember, the Force will be with you, always

Luke: Are you going to keep doing that?

Obi-Wan’s voice: Doing what?

Luke: Distracting me at crucial moments. You almost made me miss.

Obi-Wan’s voice: I thought I was being helpful and encouraging.

Luke: “Trust the Force” – okay, I got it. Now go away, it’s creepy talking to a dead man.

Obi-Wan’s voice: Sorry. I didn’t know you felt like that. But I suppose you’re right. You go enjoy yourself with all your living friends. (Mutters) Some thanks I get. I suppose they’ll give him a medal for this.

[Rebel base]

Rebel Ops Commander: So what do we do now?

Rebel Ops Co-ordinator: Well, let’s go to this medal ceremony they’re planning, and maybe we could go out for a drink afterwards?

Rebel Ops Commander: Great!

Rebel Ops Co-ordinator: Just a drink, mind. I want to take things slowly.

Rebel Ops Commander: That’s okay with me, but have you heard where we’re moving the base to? Baby, it’s gonna be cold outside.

…

[The Rebel Alliance is assembled for an award ceremony. In walks Luke, in a yellow jacket, Han, in a waistcoat, and Chewie, in his usual state of undress.]

Rebel Ops Commander: (Standing in the ranks, whispering to the Ops Co-ordinator) Hey, I thought this was strictly a uniform-only occasion.

Rebel Ops Co-ordinator: So did I. Where did he get that awful yellow jacket from?

Chewie: (Hearing mutterings in the ranks as he walks to the stage) Growl (“Shut it!”)

[Luke and Han get their medals from Princess Leia. A clean and sparkling R2-D2 enters from the side of the stage.]

R2-D2: Beep, whistle, bleep, bleep (“Where’s my bloody medal? I was the one who carried those flippin’ Death Star plans all this time!”)

[Luke and Han turn to face the amassed ranks in the auditorium, proudly showing their medals. Chewie, stood to one side, also turns.]

Chewie: Growl-bark. (“And you can shut it too, trashcan. I didn’t get no medal neither. Typical human chauvinists.”)

[Round of applause from the ranks. It slowly dies away, and the heroes on the stage start turning to one another, wondering what to do next.]

Rebel Ops Commander: That was quite an anti-climax. I was expecting some fireworks or a band or something.

Rebel Ops Co-ordinator: Yeah. I think they’re going to put on a buffet, but let’s not stay any longer than we have to.

The End

It may be the end for now, but like George Lucas, you can assume I will keep coming back for more – way past the point I should have stopped. Stay tuned for the inevitable unleashing of The Empire Strikes Back: Parallel Universe.

Free and Single?

Eric Priezkalns
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Free and Single?

Its forecast that by 2020, 40% of UK households will be home to a singleton. But being single is not a cheap option. According to surveys, after you factor in all the discounts and cost savings that couples enjoy (shared utility bills, reduced insurance, better holiday rates and BOGOF supermarket deals) it turns out that two really can live as cheaply as one. The burdens of the singles do not stop there. Healthcare and education, between them, consume more than half of government expenditure, but only a fraction of that spending is of benefit to adult singles. The winners from this distribution are the families with children. These families win again and again. Parents enjoy time away from work which their childless peers do not. Singles also tend to work longer hours on average, as they have fewer excuses to leave work to others. However, somebody needs to do the graft that makes the money that keeps each business running. If earnings are low, families benefit from tax credits to help pay for the children. And even without children, there are a string of tax advantages available to couples but not singles. How did singles end up in this awful situation?

Part of the reason is societal, and part of the reason is economic. For obvious reasons, younger people are more likely to be single, and typically younger adults are given the worst deal by society. They work, they contribute, but they are expected to pay their dues and work their way up. Singletons have disposable income and a predisposition to dispose of it, especially in the search for a mate. That makes them easy targets for commercial exploitation. In addition, if the singles end up working longer hours, then they are easy prey for supposedly time-saving products and services that would not be needed if they had more time to begin with.

Another reason is psychological. Most singles will think of being single as only a temporary phase. There is a natural anticipation that people “settle down”, and end up pairing off. It therefore makes little sense for the singleton to fight the advantages given to couples. Instead, they can anticipate those advantages when they too find a mate. However, the simplistic division between younger single people and older married people is disintegrating. People do keep getting married – but many are getting divorced not long after. Fewer and fewer fit into the simple pattern of the nuclear family, where adults bear kids and where kids grow up, move out, find partners and start their own family. Instead, we see now see many examples of every permutation of single, married, separated and remarried couples, both with and without kids from current and former relationships. So whilst the ideal of finding ‘the one’ continues to exist to some extent, like white weddings, the symbols of lifelong monogamous relationships now mean more than the meanings they used to represent.

If things were not bad enough for the singleton, it seems the state is determined to marginalize them even further. Financial crisis aside, nobody who listens to a Gordon Brown in recent years will have failed to notice his obsessive incantation of families and children. Which is all very well and good, but does tend to make you wonder if he believes he is also there to serve the interests of everyone else. In fact, it is not clear if he even understands that they is anyone else. In the 10p tax rate bungle, the principle victims were low-paid single workers, who were going to suffer higher tax bills in order to pay for tax concessions enjoyed by others. Yet this is how Brown half-apologized for the fiasco in his Labour Party conference speech:

And where I’ve made mistakes I’ll put my hand up and try to put them right

So what happened with 10p, it stung me because it really hurt that suddenly people felt I wasn’t on the side of people on middle and modest incomes – because on the side of hard-working families is the only place I’ve ever wanted to be

Excuse me? What about hard-working people who are not in families? Is Brown not on their ‘side’? What is the opposing ‘side’ to families if not single people? And why is the 10p issue, which was about punishing the single worker most of all, being conflated with the interests of the group who Brown was trying to benefit? Brown was guilty of robbing singleton Peter to pay the family of Paul.

Our aspirations sometimes do not change as quickly as the world around us. Little boys will want to drive fast racing cars and police cars, even though the environment says we should slow down the burning of fossil fuels. Many are still training or in jobs that cannot be competitively sustained in this country if we seriously intend to participate in a global economy, yet nobody seems to have considered the true scale of the challenges. Either we reskill our citizens far more than we are doing, or we close our borders and run our economy on an isolationist Soviet-style basis, or we sit back and wait for unprecedented social disorder as the cost of living rises in the coming decades, whilst the poorest will become utterly marginalized due to their inability to compete with their lower-paid rivals in the emerging economies around the globe. However, in the midst of this pending disaster, it is the most flexible and hence competitive element of our workforce – the singletons – who are made to carry more and more load, for less and less reward. Worst of all, instead of helping singletons to behave responsibly, we have a government that punishes them for their efforts. Helping people to save for a family and to build a career so they can afford to raise children should be the starting point. Instead, the government’s attitude seems to be that children will be born one way or another, to the responsible and irresponsible alike. That has twisted the government’s role into guaranteeing subsidies to parents, and to pay for those subsidies by taxing people without families. The constant repetition of this message – always focused on who Robin Hood gives to, and never completing the circle back to where the money was taken from – has even given the Conservatives a new way to recruit gay voters. As gay voters are not motivated by cheesy homilies about family life, they can more acutely discern who is expected to pay a disproportionate share of the bill.

There are lots of simple and cost-effective ways to really help families. Free school buses would ease parent concerns about the safety of their kids, cut fuel bills and hence family costs, reduce road congestion during rush hour and help the environment. Free school meals, including breakfast as well as lunch, cuts family costs at a time of rising food bills and ensures children are properly nourished and in the right frame of mind for a day’s education. This in turns increases the return on the investment being made in schooling. Universal provision of school buses and school meals will keep costs to the taxpayer down, by virtue of economies of scale. If any party could see the merits of universal, state-driven action to benefit society, it would be the Labour Party. But these policies will never be supported by the Labour Party, because they are not vote-winners. And they are not vote-winners because many ‘families’, by which we really-mean adult voters with children, would rather have more money in their pockets and the freedom to decide how to spend it, instead of tangible benefits uniquely targeted at their children. Some parents want to drive their kids to school. Some parents want to feed their children with hamburgers. In the saddest irony of all, child obesity is on the rise, and this in turn puts yet more unnecessary load on our health services, which are increasingly expected to provide solutions for dieting and diabetes. If parents want to be wasteful, so the logic goes, then parents know best and the state should not interfere. However, the state does interfere, by expecting everyone else to cough up the money on the pretext that raising children is expensive, with or without the extra waste. Instead of government taking responsibility directly for the well-being of children (who do not vote) it gives money to the parents (who do vote) and then gives them the freedom to do what they like with it. It should be no surprise if some of that money is just wasted, leaving the child worse off than if the government really was mindful of the best interests of children, family and society as a whole.

Will attitudes change? Only time will tell. However, the revolt over the 10p tax debacle indicated that some sections of our society have grown tired of the endless mantra of “for the good of the family”. In his party conference speech, Gordon Brown used the word “children” on fifteen occasions, “families” on twelve, and he referred to “parents” eleven times. The word “fair” featured forty-six times. This is how his speech finished:

Together we are building the fair society in this place and in this generation.

The mission of our times – the fair society, the cause that drives us on – and we will win, not for the sake of our party, together we will win for the sake of our country.

Not once did Brown make any mention, promise, or implicit reference to the needs and desires of that growing number of singleton households. In those households, the occupants pay higher bills, work longer hours, get fewer tax benefits and receive fewer state services. Anecdotal evidence suggests that, thanks to government legislation, singletons have worse job security. Many of these singletons are struggling to find the money to buy a home, to make savings, to feather a nest before bringing new life into the world. Even if they have no desire to reproduce, it seems trite to suggest that it is ‘fair’ that they must pay increasing subsidies to those that do. Brown is still an old-fashioned socialist at heart, he left it relatively late in life before he started a family, and he embodies traditional working-class and Scottish values. You might expect he would hence some sympathy for the idea that responsible parenting means making money before making babies. That means looking after the singletons, on the assumption they will then be better able to look after the families they will eventually raise. So far, he has not done that, but he has been let off the hook because none of his political rivals have dared to argue the case for singletons either. But it is doubtful they can continue in this vein. Punishing the responsible singleton cannot go on indefinitely, not least because resentment will grow, but also because the numbers of singletons is set to grow as well. The single life is not fair, and certainly not free. If the economy goes sour, and if singletons find their burdens grow even more as a consequence, they may at last begin to act as a collective. A force like that could change the political landscape. Many political movements are like pendulums – they swing in one direction and as they do, they build up opposing forces until they start swinging back again. Brown may be the ultimate spokesperson for equating “fair” with “family”. If that equation leads to more obvious inequality, the pendulum will swing the other way. That is no bad thing, if it encourages the emergence of both a society and governments that value citizens based on who they are and what they do, and not based on crude categories like marital status and number of offspring. All politicians had better prepare.

More Star Wars: Parallel Universe

Eric Priezkalns
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<i>More</i> Star Wars: Parallel Universe

We left Star Wars: Parallel Universe with Obi-Wan rummaging through his old mementos and fibbing to Luke about his father. Next up, Obi-Wan introduces Luke to the Force…

Luke: What’s this ‘Force’ you keep talking about?

Obi-Wan: The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us, and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together.

Luke: So it’s like gravity?

Obi-Wan: No. Not like gravity.

Luke: But gravity binds the galaxy together. I learnt that at school. In physics, there are four forces: gravity, electromagnetic, and the two nuclear forces. You need to know that stuff if you want to fly spaceships faster than the speed of light.

Obi-Wan: They don’t teach you everything at school.

Luke: How does ‘the Force’ work then?

Obi-Wan: You tell these microscopic creatures what to do, and then they do it. They can make things float and tell you what is happening a long way away and things like that.

Luke: (Tries to suppress his laughter) Yeah right. Very scientific. (Starts to giggle) There’s little guys and they just do what we tell ’em. Like leprechauns, or pixies.

Obi-Wan: Watch this…

[Obi-Wan closes his eyes and reaches out with his hand. A magazine on his table rises up into the air. Floating in mid-air, it rolls into the shape of a tube. The magazine slowly and gently moves toward Luke. Luke watches as it hovers a few inches above him. Then the magazine swats him about the head repeatedly.]

Luke: (Dodging the magazine) Hey, hey! Okay! I believe you! You tell the Force pixies what to do and they do it… Can we get back to the droid and the message for you?

[R2-D2 projects a message from Princess Leia]

Princess Leia’s recording: General Kenobi, I have placed information vital to the survival of the rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. You must deliver it to my father on Alderaan. Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.

Obi-Wan: Hmmm… I wonder why she didn’t just email it. I would forward it myself, but you can’t get a decent broadband connection out here in the Jundland Wastes. That means I should probably deliver it in person. Luke, you must learn the ways of the Force if you’re to come with me to Alderaan.

Luke: Huh! Today I’m a farmer. Tomorrow… a delivery boy. That’s hardly a promotion. I only came over here because I wanted to get that Leia chick’s phone number. I’m not going half way across the galaxy with an old man and a cranky robot…

R2-D2: Bleep, blurt, splurt (translates as: “Up yours, Skywalker!”)

Luke: … on the off-chance I get to lay her. Plus, I was gonna go to Tachi Station to pick up some power convertors.

Obi-Wan: Pick up some hookers, more like. Look, Luke, the Force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded.

Luke: Like chicks?

Obi-Wan: Especially chicks.

Luke: When do we leave?

…

[Greedo enters the Mos Eisley Cantina and walks up to the bar. The band is on a break and the joint is nearly empty.]

Greedo: Hey, have you seen Han Solo?

Barman: Who Solo?

Greedo: (Holds up a photo) This is a picture of who I am looking for.

Barman: Nah. Never seen him.

Greedo: He’s pretty well known. He flies a really fast ship they call the Millennium Falcon and he hangs out with a wookie called Chewbacca.

Barman: I don’t know him. Come back later. Perhaps the boss knows who he is. I’ll ask if he’s heard of this Ham Soho character.

Greedo: (Sighs) Bounty hunting: it’s not as glamourous as they pretended.

…

[Aboard the Death Star. Darth Vader walks in on a committee meeting of the top Imperial Commanders, chaired by Moff Tarkin.]

Imperial Commander: This station is now the ultimate power in the universe.

Darth Vader: Don’t be too proud of this technological terror you’ve constructed. The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force.

Imperial Commander: Don’t try to frighten us with your sorceror’s ways Lord Vader. Your sad devotion to that ancient religion can’t blow up a whole planet, can it? I mean, a great big planet?! You can’t do that with the Force! Can you travel across the galaxy faster than the speed light using the Force? No you can’t. Technology kicks the butt of the Force. You couldn’t even breathe if it wasn’t for all that technology you carry around with you.

Darth Vader: I’ll show you who can breathe (brings his forefinger and thumb up towards his eye and looks at the Commander through them – then squeezes his forefinger and thumb together). (In a squeaky voice) I’m crushing your larynx. I’m crushing your larynx…

Moff Tarkin: Vader, release him! This bickering is pointless. And bullying in the workplace is contrary to our statement of ethics and values.

…

[Luke, Obi-Wan and the droids drive their speeder into Mos Eisley. They are stopped by a Stormtrooper patrol.]

Stormtrooper 1: How long have you had these droids? Let me see your identification.

Obi-Wan: You don’t need to see his identification.

Stormtrooper 1: Don’t I? I thought I did.

Stormtrooper 2: You do.

Stormtrooper 3: I echo that sentiment.

Stormtrooper 2: ‘Echo that sentiment’? La-de-dar. Listen to Trooper Posh Boots.

Obi-Wan: These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.

Stormtrooper 1: Really?? They look like the right droids. If these aren’t the droids we’re looking for, do you know where the right ones are?

Obi-Wan: Erm… over there, behind you.

Stormtrooper 1: (Turns around) I don’t see them.

Stormtrooper 2: I don’t see nuffink.

Stormtrooper 3: It’s noth-ing, not nuffink.

Stormtrooper 2: Just ‘cos you got cloned in a fancy private test tube doesn’t mean you’re better than the rest of us.

Stormtrooper 1: I still don’t see them. It’s this blasted helmet. I can hardly see out of it.

[A long line of speeders has built up behind the checkpoint. Sound of hooters like car horns.]

Stormtrooper 1: These aren’t the droids we’re looking for? Okay, you’d better move along.

Stormtrooper 2: Okay, I’ll go look over there for those droids. Anything to get away from Trooper La-de-dar.

…

[Han Solo walks into the Mos Eisley Cantina]

Barman: Hey Han! Chewbacca has some customers for you! Looks like you may finally pay your bar tab (laughs). Plus some bounty hunter was in here before, asking after you. Better watch your back! Chewie and the others are sat over there.

[Han walks over to a table where Chewie, Luke and Obi-Wan are sitting.]

Han: I’m Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon.

Obi-Wan: Is it a fast ship?

Han: Fast ship, you’ve never heard of the Millennium Falcon?

Obi-Wan: No, I don’t get out much these days. Do you advertise?

Han: Look, old man. We can’t exactly advertise our services.

Obi-Wan: Well, that will explain why I’ve never heard of your ship. How fast is it?

Han: It made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs.

Luke: A parsec is a unit of distance. That’s like saying you ran the hundred yards in a hundred yards.

Han: Yeah, and I was fast at that too. What’s the cargo.

Obi-Wan: Myself, the boy, two droids, and no questions asked.

Han: Is it some kind of local trouble?

Obi-Wan: Did you hear the bit about “no questions asked”?

Han: It’ll cost you. Ten thousand, all in advance.

Obi-Wan: We can pay you two thousand now (waves hand) plus fifteen when we reach Alderaan.

Han: Seventeen! You got a deal!

[Obi-Wan and Luke leave to collect the droids]

Luke: I see what you mean about the simple-minded.

[Chewbacca leaves to ready the ship. Greedo sneaks up to Han. He pulls out his blaster and holds it pressed against Han’s forehead.]

Greedo: Going somewhere, Solo?

[Han sits down. Greedo continues to hold the blaster pressed against Han’s head.]

Han: Tell Jabba I’ve got his money.

Greedo: Give me the money, I might forget I found you.

Han: Over my dead body.

Greedo: Okay. (Squeezes trigger. Nothing happens. Tries again. And again. Takes the pistol away from Han’s head to see what is wrong with it.) The batteries are dead.

[Han pulls out his own blaster and shoots Greedo in cold blood.]

Han: (Tossing a coin to the barman) Sorry about the mess.

Barman: (Looking at Greedo) Somebody should have told him: Han shoots first.

…

[On the Death Star. The Chief Gunner and the rest of the targeting team listens in as Moff Tarkin and Darth Vader harangue Leia for the location of the Rebel base.]

Moff Tarkin: (to Leia) I have chosen to test this station’s destructive power against your home planet, Alderaan.

Leia: No!

Chief Gunner: (to the assistant gunner) I’m from Alderaan!

Assistant Gunner: Bad luck, boss.

Chief Gunner: I can’t see why we don’t just test this station on a big lifeless asteroid or something like that.

Tarkin: (to Leia) You prefer another target, a military target? I grow tired of asking this, so it’ll be the last time, where is the rebel base?

Leia: Dantooine.

Chief Gunner: Phew.

Tarkin: Continue with the operation, fire when ready.

Assistant Gunner: (to Chief Gunner) You can’t trust Moff Tarkin. What a bastard.

Chief Gunner: (Sighs) Commence primary ignition.

Assistant Gunner: Sorry boss.

Chief Gunner: (Pressing some buttons, he mutters to himself) Only got one chance…

[The energy beam builds up in the Death Star’s gun, and a pulse of green energy flashes out. The beam shoots past Alderaan, narrowly missing it.]

Tarkin: What?!?!

Chief Gunner: Works fine, sir.

Tarkin: You missed the target.

Chief Gunner: They dodged, sir.

Tarkin: Planets don’t dodge.

Chief Gunner: It was… it was… a warning shot, sir.

Tarkin: Very good. Now blast them to pieces.

Chief Gunner: It’s this helmet, sir, I can’t see a thing with it on. I might miss again.

Tarkin: Then take it off.

Chief Gunner: (Starts to cry) But sir, I’m from Alderaan, sir. My nan still lives there.

Tarkin: Why didn’t you just say so? Fair enough. I should have checked before giving the order to fire. Ordering people to kill members of their own family is contrary to our statement of ethics and values.

Vader: You can destroy my home planet, Tatooine, if you want.

Tarkin: That seems a bit cold, even for you.

Vader: I had some relations living there, but I had them slaughtered in order to find the droids. And we still didn’t get the droids. There’s nothing left for me on Tatooine now, except unhappy memories.

Tarkin: (Pats Vader on the shoulder) Okay, we’ll destroy Tatooine for you. But next time, Vader, please try to respect our statement of ethics and values. No more killing of your kinfolk, even if you don’t like them. We all have to respect policy, even you.

Vader: (Gripping Leia by the arm) and what should we do with this one?

Tarkin: I’ve ordered her termination.

Vader: Shame, she reminds me of someone I once knew.

To be continued…

Big Numbers not Known

Eric Priezkalns
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Big Numbers not Known

Politicians talk a lot about the economy. Ordinary people talk a lot about the economy, especially when it is going badly. Everyone talks about government expenditure and how much tax is needed to pay for it all. For all the talk, you get very few numbers. When you listen to people, you often hear strange things like “if they stopped wasting all that money on such-and-such then they could pay for this-and-that”. The flaw in such arguments tends to be that they rely on a mixture of wishful thinking and absolute ignorance of the numbers involved. Very rarely do people know the numbers. A few million, a few billion, a few trillion… they all sound like big figures. So if the government saves a few million in one place, will that saving pay for new initiatives costing a few billion elsewhere? Of course not.

I sometimes ask friends how much they think the UK government spends each year, or how big a slice of the UK economy that is, or how much the UK borrows to pay for spending, or which taxes generate most income for the government. Somehow I still have friends, despite this odd habit of mine. By and large, most have no idea. Big number blindness affects even well-informed people. One explanation is that you do not see the most basic numbers about the economy being presented in the news on a regular basis. I guess that may be because such numbers, in normal circumstances, are not very entertaining. Even a news service must be interesting as well as informative. Perhaps journalists, by their nature, tend to be interested in words and not numbers. Maybe the numbers are so large, they become meaningless for most people. When numbers about public sector taxation and spending are given in the news, they are usually presented without any context. If there is context, it usually one with a political slant, or a combination of political slants if the journalist is being impartial in that lazy way of repeating all the conflicting nonsense spouted by political rivals and abdicating to the audience to decide who is guilty of the greater distortion. Rarely do you see simple, uninterpreted, but vital facts. Even when the government presents its budget, most of the reporting seems to focus on mundane daily costs. By this theory, we all live and make decisions from day to day, such as whether to buy a bottle of whisky or fill up our cars. The impression is that we have no idea, or simply do not care, that the size of the economy or the amount the government borrows might have a more lasting impact on our lives than a change in the cost of a pint of beer. There is reporting of interest rates and inflation, but the prevailing tendency seems to be to only mention the metrics where individuals can easily understand the direct impact on their lives. I suppose that no amount of numerical repetition would engage the interest of innumerate people, though I wonder why that does not stop innumerates from having opinions on the economy or where their tax money is spent. So this is me taking a chance on writing possibly the most boring blog post ever. For those of you who care to know, read on for a summary of some of the big numbers relating to the UK economy, government and taxation. For the rest, I am sure ignorant innumeracy is bliss… even though your one vote counts just the same at election time.

Gross Domestic Product: UK£1.26 trillion

Net worth of the UK: UK£6.53 trillion

Largest component of UK net worth: Housing, worth UK£3.92 trillion (60% of the total)

Public expenditure 2007-8: UK£583 billion

Central government expenditure 2007-8: UK£420 billion

Local government expenditure 2007-8: UK£155 billion

Public sector net debt at August 2008: UK£633 billion

Total tax and National Insurance take 2007-8: UK£516 billion

Total tax and NI take broken down by top categories: 28% income tax, 17% NI, 15% VAT, 9% corporation tax

Total social security benefits expenditure 2006-7: UK£133 billion

Total expenditure on health 2006-7: UK£92.7 billion

Total expenditure on defence 2006-7: UK£33.5 billion

Central government gross debt interest 2006-7: UK£27.6 billion

Total expenditure on transport 2006-7: UK£16.4 billion

Transfers to the EC 2006-7: UK£4.7 billion

Total expenditure on international development 2006-7: UK£4.4 billion

Total expenditure on BBC domestic services 2006-7: UK£3.2 billion

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