Thoughts in Progress

Distance does not just create space between one and a certain object but also offers a new perspective on situations that get muddled up when looked at too close. We think of holidays as “time off”, but for some of us, mainly immigrants, going home from “home”, means sometimes an unconscious search for answers hitherto elusive, i.e., “time on”.

The view from Havana is different

I recently went back to Cuba for a fortnight. I had not been for three years and therefore I had missed out on all the “changes”. Whilst I have a lot to write about my visit, this post will not necessarily deal with the transformations my country has gone through (or subjected to, rather). I am still digesting many of the permutations to which I bore witness. This outing today is about the immigrant’s eternal conundrum: belongingness.

There comes a time when “going home” becomes “leaving home for home and returning home after”, a tautology in and of itself, but an important one. This acquires more urgency when both “homes” have undergone radical changes. Explanations are sought and theories thought up. The latter are concocted on the hoof as the former are blurted out. You ask people and they quiz you in return. Both parties look for ready-made answers but none are forthcoming, only half-baked, spontaneous responses.

I thought I had left Brexit and Cameron’s crew behind at Gatwick, only to find that I had been appointed the (unofficial) “dabster” by relatives and friends to throw some light on recent events on these isles. That, I did not mind. What surprised me was what came out of my mouth. My feelings for my adopted land had strengthened to a level I did not know until then.

The poet (poetess? Can I still say that?) Agnes Krampe writes in her poem “Perhaps the Hardest Part of Emigration” that “The rhythm of the language was not pulsing/Deep in my body. Shapeless, without pattern/the words limped on the page, where I once could/Compose in dancing meter graceful rhyme.” The language she refers to is that of the new country. I can relate to that lack of rhythm, not from a linguistic perspective, but from a cultural one. I already spoke English fluently when I arrived in London but I did not “speak” the culture. Britain defied my expectations. Whereas I, too, could once “compose in dancing meter graceful rhyme” in Cuba, over here I felt somewhat stunted at the beginning.

Not anymore. When talking about Brexit, Theresa May’s rise or the squabbles in the Labour Party a few weeks ago in my hometown, there was often a note of optimism in my voice. I know that this might come as a surprise to some of you, my fellow bloggers and readers, given that my previous post was pretty depressing. Nevertheless, distance affords one the privilege of looking at one’s adopted home through a fresh pair of prescription glasses. Mind you, to confuse my optimism with idealism would be fatal. My optimism was reality-based. Still, there I was, explaining that the recent wave of anti-immigrant, racist attacks were carried out by a minority. That London, the city I have called "home" for almost twenty years, voted to stay in the European Union. That we have a Muslim mayor. That Labour's in-fighting should be seen in the context of two factions locking horns (not at the best of times, fair to say). That... That... That... 

I have a theory about this attitude. It is almost as if some of us, immigrants, become protective of our adopted land. We know its flaws and virtues, but woe betide anyone who dares to slander it, for they shall be subjected to a tongue-lashing delivered in heavily Cuban-accented English (or similar). I have often laid into Nigel Farage and his band of bigots and fascists. Yet, when questioned about his lethal influence on British politics, my answer was usually along the lines of: “That’s different opinions for you. Without them, democracy would probably die a little bit every day. It is a risk, but it is a risk I am willing to take any time.” Surprised? I was indeed.

The life of an immigrant upon arrival in their new land can seem sometimes like a flimsy piece of paper blown away by the wind. We are led, if you like: by work, domestic life, every day demands. Whether it is lucubration or diurnal graft, moments of Wildean idleness and contemplation are few and far between. Eventually, though, the first associations appear: we make up our own story as we go along, our experience becomes a background against which we analyse our presence in our adopted land, we even come up with our own soundtrack. One that might not match the type of music we usually like.

Some other times we find a wall in our path (of Trumpian proportions) which we have to surmount: break through or jump over it. Either way, there is a transformation in you and in the wall. But only you, as the thinking being can make sense of this encounter (collision?) and its aftermath.

I am Cuban, will always be, never want to stop being Cuban. I am also British. Not just as a mere passport-holder, but as a person for whom “the rhythm of the language” is pulsing now (for language, think “culture”). Someone who can also “Compose in dancing meter graceful rhyme.” Distance does that to you. That is why whenever I touch down in London, I say nowadays: “I’m back home from home”.



© 2016

Next Post: “Pieces of Me, Pieces of Havana”, to be published on Wednesday 21^st September at 6pm (GMT)

Saturday Evenings: Stay In, Sit Up and Switch On

I read one of your magazines this morning. Which one? I asked her. The one with Boris Johnson on the front. Ah, The New Statesman. What did you think? I think we should put politicians to the test before they are elected. Like a run-through or rehearsal? Yes, kind of.

My daughter and I were on our way to London’s West End. Like many families in the last few days we were trying to make sense of the outcome of the European referendum. I appreciated my daughter’s comment and her interest in an issue that will define her generation for years to come. I did explain to her, though, that society cannot work on trials and errors like science experiments. A society is made up of human beings and like it or not, we all have a stake in the way our country is governed. Better than having a dry-run whenever a politician comes up with a “brilliant” idea, we ought to ensure that the mechanisms through which that politician is elected work to their full capacity. Like hold said politician to account when they fail to produce the £350m-a-week they pledged for the NHS a few weeks before.

However, as we crossed Oxford Street en route to Tottenham Court Road, the popular Dominion Theatre on our right hand-side, I could not stop thinking about the theory put forward by my precocious fifteen-year-old. In my head I began to tweak her “experiment” a bit. Only that this time I was planning to use the arguments of the “other side”. Those who say they have no voice, that they cannot talk freely, that it is all “political correctness gone mad”. I wanted to see my adopted land through the eyes of those who hate what I represent. What if they took control of their country for a year? I sometimes feel like telling them, “Fine, go ahead, go as far as you possibly can. There will be no limits, no hurdles, and no objections. We will pave the way for you and your compadres. Go far, really far.

2016 is turning out to be an annus horribilis. I would like, then, to start 2017 with a wipe-the-slate-clean attitude. Please, any pessimistic views expressed in this post are completely intentional. Do hold the blog owner responsible for them.

First off, as of the 1^st January 2017 every single immigrant, non-British citizen, EU or non-EU, with or without a British passport will be given 24 hours to leave the country. Only for a year, mind. It is an experiment, remember? Have family here? Tough, me too. I’ll see you at the airport. What’s that you’re saying? You’ve lived here ten, fifteen years? Look me in the eyes, son, I have been for almost twenty and I packed my suitcase last night. Anyway, the experiment is only for a year, remember? We’ll be back in twelve months. Well, we will be back if they don’t build The Wall, if they don’t pull up The Drawbridge, if they don’t create an Unbreakable Barrier around the British Isles. We will be back, but only if…

And now that we’re all gone (by the 2^nd January, remember), the real work begins. For starters, get rid of all the other "undesirables": the community activists, the feminists (or Feminazis, as they are more commonly, and pejoratively, known nowadays), human rights campaigners, disability rights advocates, anti-homophobia groups, pro-ethnic-diversity supporters, etc. Banish them all to a little island on the Outer Hebrides. Those smug Scots will probably welcome them. It should be easy to achieve this because for a whole year Parliament will cease to function. Instead the world’s oldest democratic institution will outsource all executive decisions to private companies. At the end of the day it is not as if corporations are not already running the country, is it? With Parliament silenced, the path to a free-market-driven, full privatisation will be clear. First it will be the turn of the NHS. Break it all down into tiny, little pieces and put each to tender. Make sure that the company that wins the contract(s) (why stop at one? What happens if a company wins all the contracts) is not the more transparent one but the one with stronger links to members of the government (who happen to be, lest we forget, the CEOs and managing directors of the biggest corporations). In the modern world we need to wrest control from those pesky EU bureaucrats. That is why for the next year your local hospital's A&E will be run by one company, the ambulance service by another, the admin and operations department by a third one, staff recruitment, including doctors and nurses, by another company, catering by another one and so on and so forth. Best case scenario, all these departments will be run by the same business entity. Because, nothing says “long-term friendship” like a politician making sure his mate (they go back years, did you know?) is well served by the state. Oh, and the patients, I hear you ask? Well, they are the lucky ones (no, seriously, they will be). If they get left behind and forgotten in a hospital ward in pain, they can always blame the ambulance person, the doctor, the nurses (alas, no Filipino nurses. Remember, we, immigrants, are all gone now). After all, these companies may be private but it is the taxpayer coughing up for the service so the taxpayer still has the right to complain (To whom? Do not ask! Look, it's only a year!). Yes, I know that this patient is in agony and that no one has come to see them in two hours and that if they do die in the end everyone will start blaming everybody else, but, patience, please. After all, it is only a twelve-month-long experiment.

Education is the next biggie. Ensure that all schools go down the academy route, namely, privatisation by stealth. Did I say stealth? No, no need to be secret. Remember, it is an experiment. You can do whatever you like for a whole year, in the open, and if you are really pleased with the outcome, then, make it permanent. Put the contract to build new schools or refurbish existing ones out to tender, but, please, please, please, ensure that the contract goes to the company that has links with the chairman of the trust that runs the academy. It is only fair, isn’t it? After all, academies are investment and all investment has a built-in return component in it. Please, spare no opportunity to make money: brand-new uniforms, after-school activities, half-term and holiday programmes. Charge premium for everything. And when the education budget runs dry because there is no money left in the kitty, start charging parents for the lessons their children were receiving gratis before.

Regarding climate change, tear up all the agreements. There is no climate change. It is all a conspiracy. Drill, baby, drill! You only have twelve months. It is not as if our planet will suffer if you stop talking about global warming and concentrate instead on the car industry. Promise more roads, more motorways, better and bigger automobiles. Come on, dare to dream! There is no one around now to oppose you.

Where else can you make changes? Do not worry; there are myriad issues that need urgent attention. Human rights, scrap them. For these twelve months only Darwin’s theory, survival of the fittest, will rule. Same with women’s rights, race relations act, disability laws, gay rights. We do not need them. Women, especially, will learn their place. If you get raped when wearing a short skirt, it is your fault. If, on the other hand, you were wearing a neck-to-toe long dress and you still get raped, it is still your fault still for provoking lust in a man. As for abortion, do not even mention the word for a year. No abortion, under any circumstances. No exceptions. There were only exceptions before because you had to compromise with the PC brigade. Speaking of which…

No more political correctness. Now, with no immigrants and "undesirables" in the country one does not have to be careful anymore with what one says. Bring back the Jim Davidsons of this world. At last people will stop prefacing their sentences with “I’m not being racist, but…”. Now it will be fine to say “I am being racist and I am loving it and this is what I want to say and this is what I really, really mean”.

Imagine this lot or similar in charge for a year

Foreign policy will be as hawkish as possible. The word is “sell”. Sell weapons, as many as possible. Go around the globe, visit each arms fair, Flog as many weapons as you can. And start as many wars as possible. These weapons need to be tested and used. Do not worry about those annoying, hippie-looking pacifists. They can be neutralised easily now. Remember that you removed Parliament. The people running the country are a nameless, faceless corporation.

All this was on my mind recently following the conversation with my daughter. Imagine the United Kingdom like that for twelve months. Elderly people being sponsored to travel to a certain clinic in Switzerland. All expenses paid for by one of the ruling corporations. Euthanasia on the sly. After all it will still be a Christian country so morality will still be important. Black- and brown-skinned Britons being told to go home (what home? They were born here. It does not matter. Go home!). Children being brainwashed into believing that a dog-eat-dog world is the only option out there. Normal job contracts would cease to exist in their current form. Instead, there would be a zero-hour culture for everything. Voluntary work would be made compulsory to compensate for unemployment. Paul Dacre and Rupert Murdoch being asked to be in charge of the media department for that whole year with porn baron Richard Desmond their loyal deputy.

And then, on the 1^st January 2018, I would arrive in Gatwick or Heathrow airport, desperate to see my family and finding a different nation. A better or worse one? One that has finally taken control of its own destiny or one that is sinking slowly without anyone noticing it?

I will be checking your answers from now until mid-September when I will return. In the meantime, thank you for your cyber-friendship. I really appreciate it.



© 2016