The loss of distant horizons – almost, but not quite, a literature review…

On my way to school pickup one smoggy, sweltering summer afternoon, I heard an older woman just ahead of me telling two small boys they’d have to go straight home that day. “It’s good to be outside,” she said, “but sometimes the air is not good air.”
– Beth Gardiner: Choked

As soon as I had gotten out of the heavy air of Rome and from the stink of the smoky chimneys thereof, which being stirred, poured forth whatever pestilential vapours and soot they had enclosed in them, I felt an alteration of my disposition.
– Lucius Annaeus Seneca the Younger

Some describe sixteenth-century Bolivia, where the Potosí silver mine was the largest in the world at the time, as the start of the Anthropocene – the geological era in which human activity began to have a significant impact on the natural world. The air would never be the same.
– Tim Smedley: Clearing the Air

The last act when life comes to a close is the letting out of the breath. And hence, its admission must have been the beginning.
– Aristotle: On Youth and Old Age, On Life and Death, On Breathing

Introduction
When I originally started researching the subject of air pollution, at the beginning of March 2019 – driven by personal health issues to produce something in-depth for my blog that would, hopefully, also heighten awareness of this worrying subject (especially in this rural Elysium that is Warwickshire’s Feldon: where defilement of any kind probably seems at its most improbable), I had aimed to put the resultant article to bed in time for World Environment Day on 5 June 2019 (whose theme, this year, was, fittingly, #BeatAirPollution).

Rape and pillage; rinse and repeat…

“Those stupid yokels in Tysoe won’t be up for another fight,” says Fat Greedy Bastard No.1 (FGB1) to FGB2. “We almost won, last time,” is the reply, between loosely-gritted teeth; “and I’ve already noticed that there are a lot fewer objections”. “Perhaps it’s because no-one can be bothered to fight anymore… – just as we planned. I certainly haven’t seen any of those notices we had, last time, pinned to trees, fences and lamp-posts; nor any of those huge village meetings.”

“It’s in the can, then, isn’t it?” gloats FGB1. “Instead of eighty houses in one place, splitting them over two fields seems to have done the trick.” “I think you’re right,” smirks FGB2. “Those on the Oxhill side won’t give a flying duck about those in Middleton Close; and vice versa. Divide and conquer. That’s what I always say. Divide and conquer.”

“I do think it’s wonderful that we’re allowed to simply walk in to – and walk all over – a field that cost thousands to defend, and just do it all again. Attrition – that’s my keyword. Grind the buggers down; and they’ll just roll over, and let you do whatever you want. Attrition. That’s the beauty of brass!”

So, where are the leaflets, hand-delivered by the “neighbourhood champions”? Are the People’s Front of Tysoe – or whatever they called themselves (The People’s Front of NoIdea?) – still so pissed-off at being found out (or having the Riot Act read out to them) by the Parish Council, that they’re cutting off their noses to spite their faces… (apart from the Great Tew: from whom I must beg forgiveness…)? Or are all we so happy/pissed-off (delete according to political nous) ourselves at #Brexit that we just haven’t noticed? Great timing, innit?! Chilcot, anyone?

The deadline has passed for the planning application that would literally flood Middleton Close were it to come to fruition – which, to a cynic such as myself, just looks like trying to build houses for thirty families who could then traipse their children up the hill to the nearest nursery, raising even more cash for its progenitor. But, we still have until next Wednesday to object to Gladman Mk.II.

All the previous reasons for not granting this permission, last time, actually apply to both applications; and, if you can be bothered, most of the points made in the following comprehensive document (about a 20 Mb download, I’m afraid) – which I produced, with the help of several others, thirty months ago – actually still also therefore apply to both. Copy and paste as much, or as little, of it, as you wish into the links above; and then barrage your local councillor – and of course, Chris ‘Teflon’ Saint, with as much vitriol as you want. (By the way, has anyone seen our MP, recently… – apart from in this week’s Herald, looking rather fetching in one of George Osborne’s high-vis jackets and matching hard hat…?)

That the planning laws are a whole herd of mega-donkeys, in allowing us to keep having to defend the same parcel of land from rapacious invaders again and again, is in no doubt. But, last time, we showed what we were made of; and I pray we can do it again… rather than slip in it.

I am far too disabled to go through what I went through last time – not sleeping for days on end – continually researching the law; producing leaflets; collating contact details; starting this blog, even… – but we would be just as stupid as the two FGBs above assume if we were not to fight back; and we would just get what we deserve. So that’s me done. Sorry.

Joseph Ashby, my much greater and more virtuous predecessor, must be rolling in his grave. Me, though, I’m off to have my head scanned. Literally.

The price of greatness is responsibility – an open letter to Tysoe Parish Council…

Government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the Earth.

– Abraham Lincoln

We seem to have forgotten what politics is. What politics is really for. It is not for self-aggrandizement – i.e. for the enlargement of egos – but for serving the requirements of the constituent population: whether this is at national, regional, district, or at parish level. Anyone elected to any governing body should therefore always remember why they were elected; how they were elected; and who they were elected by. To misquote another American president: Ask not what your village can do for you; ask what you can do for your village. Perhaps, whatever your religion – or lack of it – Christmas provides the perfect opportunity for such reflection.

This is therefore just a polite request – from one of your many constituents – that you work together; and work through any differences you may have (amongst yourselves; or with other parties who may believe they hold sway in the village – however delusional their reasons…) for the good of the village. If such responsibilities are not your principal measures – your principal guides – then perhaps you should rethink your relationship with those you serve; or the standing of those who would try to wield over you power that they should not have. I do not – however beautiful the landscape; however generous the majority of my fellow residents – wish to live in a village riven by the selfishness and solipsism of an élite few, who believe, through sheer arrogance (whose only fuel can ever be ignorance), that it is only their wishes and needs that should be fulfilled; that only their supposed ‘vision’ for the Tysoe we all love is correct.

Another request, therefore, is that – particularly with regards to the Neighbourhood Plan – the Parish Council returns to first principles: and asks those of us who live here whether such a plan is actually required; if so, what form it should take, what we think should be in it, and how we would like it to be put together. I would rather this, than have stricture imposed on us from above by those whose perspectives are skewed by either supposed expertise, wealth, or bigheadedness.

And, no, I don’t have the answers. I also don’t have the power; or feel I should have it. I am just one small voice; one small part of this place – who loves it beyond measure; knows, if push came to shove, that it would survive (as it has done for centuries) without the interference of heavy-handed governance; shaped by those forces – internal and external – that invisibly wax and wane in and around it.

What I do know, though, is that I do not want our local councillors to act like the worst combative proponents of the Westminster ‘bubble’. You may disagree with his (and my) socialism – which I must assume many of you would, considering the local demographic – but I doubt if anyone can disagree, deep down, with the politeness, conviction and sheer decency of the way Jeremy Corbyn conducts his type of politics. Such thoughtfulness befits us all. Especially those who have the power to mould other people’s lives. Especially at this time of year.

Against strife and contention…

At a loss for something local to do, and with a small wodge of time to while away, I wandered lazily into Tredington: lured by “the tallest spire in Warwickshire” (reminding me of my beloved Salisbury) and too-frequent unacted-upon glimpses from the road of a uniquely seductive clump of surrounding houses and grassy plots. (Next time, I must remember to take my DSLR.)

From the comments in the recently-published Parish Plan – including “Rural quality with interesting architectural historic mix…” and “Its beauty and history”, in response to the question “What do you like most about living round here?” – this would appear to be a thriving, involved community. In fact, as I meandered through the village, it felt like a place that was truly at ease with itself – with its mixture of building styles and periods; stone, brick, slate and thatch. Such a lack of uniformity is, I think – especially huddled together in such a small area – at the heart of its attractiveness.

In such an obviously rural – and therefore quite isolated – location, it’s strange to learn that I could once have caught a tram from here to Stratford-upon-Avon! Although a large part of me – especially whilst struggling to limp across the Shipston Road: as an extended cavalcade of tailgating cars, blatantly exceeding the speed limit, thoughtlessly ran through, slicing the village cruelly in half – then thought that such once-again-fashionable transport provision (as demonstrated by its recent adoption in Birmingham) would probably render the place both safer and a lot greener.

It was mizzling as I entered the churchyard; but, as I meandered around inside, transfixed by a centuries-old and ‑deep beauty, hesitant, developing patches of pale blue appeared through the many ancient, clear-paned leadlights. And yet I couldn’t be enticed back outside!

If you have a moment, walk to the top of the road (where the thatched cottage is visible) and look back towards the church. On a sunny day, with the thatched building to your left, an Elizabethan house on the right, and the spire of St Gregory’s rising high above the surrounding cottages, it’s as pretty a village sight as you will see anywhere in England.

This excerpt comes from a wonderful, insightful review of St Gregory’s by David Ross – and from the way it is written, I think it is easy to conclude that this sacred space affects many as it did me. (For those who want more – and immediate – information, there is also an immensely detailed and scholarly description of its architectural history on British History Online; plus, of course, guidebooks available to purchase in the church itself – including the history quoted below.) And so I lingered – luckily having the building to myself – for almost an hour: intrigued by its complex layers of development; its manifold – and yet ultimately harmonious – architectural palimpsests (with “deeply splayed” Saxon windows still evident high in the nave); its immersive beauty and immense humanity.

If one stands at the font and looks east, a whole history book is open before one – the Saxons and the Danes – the Normans – the fine English Gothic of the chancel – the screen a relic of Roman Catholic days and the pulpit of the time when England was in the midst of a bloody civil war. Also one sees, high above the nave, a well preserved coat of arms. At first sight this appears to be that of Queen Victoria, but on closer inspection it is found that the V.R. is super-imposed on G.R. This suggests that the coat of arms therefore dates back to some considerable time before Victoria’s reign.

– DML Davis: The Parish Church of St. Gregory

I have to say that my favourite object was the font (above) – “It is a magnificent relic” – in the west end: if only for the “Old staples, on [its] steps, said to be a guard against witches!” But that tower – “210 ft high” – and the “60 ft long” nave and “forty-five feet long” chancel, are certainly both worthy of admiration (if not amazement – just for their sheer scale); as are the remains of fifteenth-century woodwork (in the rood screen, reconstructed “bench ends and pew fronts”, and “probably” also the lectern). The fourteenth-century north door – which may originally have been hung in the “reset… limestone and grey lias” Norman south entryway; and with its “lead bullets… dating to the Civil War” – also forms a weighty welcome and farewell. This is a substantial edifice: with authority over all who bestride its threshold.

This then is the church of St. Gregory at Tredington. You have read how history has passed through it. It was built during the Danish invasion, it was enlarged and beautified in the medieval period and simultaneously was involved in the estrangement of the English monarch from the papacy; it was concerned with the Reformation under Henry VIII and was held in plurality by his Latin Secretary Petrus Vannes; it escaped during the Marian reaction but still carries a book of Elizabethan religious compromise; it saw and took part in the civil war and thence it has settled and become a less interested party. No longer is its advowson a source of conflict. No longer are its walls needed as protection. But it is by no means dead. It remains a memorial to men’s labour and generosity, and a witness to living faith.

– DML Davis: The Parish Church of St. Gregory

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me…

The Ballad of Windmill Hill
For Keith…

The man clambered to the windmill, blunt pencil in his hand;

Head empty as his notebook: as nothing yet was planned.

But he sat down on his jacket: spine cold against the stone

Where the bread had once been moulded; the seed had once been blown;

Where the stooped-back miller once had toiled for hour upon hour

To turn the labour of the harvest into finest golden flour;

And he soon began to scribble, as the wind began to call

From the houses far below him; from cottage, church and hall.

And this is what he registered – inspired by what he learned –

Never passing any judgment on what his neighbours clearly yearned.

All we want is something simple, that we all can understand:

Nothing complex or beyond us; notions rooted in the land;

A village with a future; where each to each is known;

A place which folk find welcoming; that is everybody’s own;

Where, gradually, in union, with corresponding power,

We spread this presence evenly, and remember well that our

Stay upon this well-tilled soil means little to time’s sprawl;

Though man is one of many visitors whose impact may be small

Next to heaven’s mighty globes and the voyages they’ve turned;

But that yet we must be wary of the furrows that we’ve churned.

What wisdom can we manifest; who amongst us will take stand

To garner our agreement; stop our wishes turn to sand?

How will we ever vanquish those who want to reign alone:

Whose voices shout much harsher, whose only word is sown

On fallow ground, whose every thought is selfish, sharp and sour;

With no empathy or sympathy: their lust set on the tower

Of ruling over everyone; of leering over all;

Of meeting our petitions with an egoistic bawl?

Are there those amongst us brave enough – whose regard we know is earned –

Who will help us stand together; guarantee such fools are spurned?

And then the breeze veered westerly; and light glowed on the hand

Of one, then two, then several more, until a mighty band

Of villagers of every class who all had always shown

Great steadfastness and loyalty to the place in which they’d grown

Stood strong and straight in unity – no longer would they cower:

This was the land they loved – each tree, each bird, each flower –

And they would hold forever, brought together by that call,

To ensure that all three Tysoes could never ever fall;

Would from here deal right and fairly with each resident concerned;

Would from here shine bright with passion that in every heart now burned.

Upon the hill, the man awoke; his blank pad on the grass;

Yet sure that all he’d seen and heard would shortly come to pass.

Time to stop and think…

If voting changed anything they’d abolish it

– Ken Livingstone

Introduction (and an explanation)

I started writing this in the early hours of Tuesday, 14 April: a few hours after the last Parish Council meeting: and, like a few villagers I know, was intending to sit down and review the latest draft – particularly the proposed ‘policies’ – of the Neighbourhood Plan in detail (for reasons that will become apparent).

But it quickly became obvious that, as it stands, it is too large a document for one person to assimilate; too high a monument for one person to climb – and a Sisyphean one at that: because, if it carries on in its current form – straying from its original purpose; growing like Topsy – it will burst at its seams with increasing numbers of increasingly irrelevant appendices and decrees. Any final vote on its acceptance by Tysoe, therefore, will also be rendered as meaningless as the document itself: as all (or at least the great majority) of the parishioners eligible to approve or reject it will similarly not have been able to readily absorb its contents (much like some of the current political manifestos).

This is not because we are all stupid; neither that we are unwilling, and do not care about our village’s future, or our fellow villagers. It is obvious from many of the events of the last eighteen months that we are lucky to live in a place peopled with fiercely intelligent souls who love where they live; and, given the opportunity, will defend it with great spirit and great thought.

What it does mean, though – as I have suspected for many months (and as evidenced by this blog) – is that the production and implementation of the Plan has lost all the trappings, the raiments, as well as the substance, of democracy. It is not for the people, or of the people. It is merely an exercise in solipsistic bureaucracy: and, therefore, is not worthy – in my opinion – to bear the title it has been given. As I wrote recently to my friend, Duke Senior, discussing the “further consultation” that was described in correspondence at the end of that Parish Council meeting:

It will be intriguing to see… if these meetings create more than a momentary sense of resistance, rather than a joined-up revolution. That is not to say that I don’t think they are useful: they are; and are, of course, what the Neighbourhood Plan steering-wheel-with-a-very-loose-nut group should have done in the first place…. I am starting to feel, though, that the village doesn’t – as a living, breathing, just-getting-on-with-it entity – see the need for its course to be planned or prepared for: they will respond to the prevailing winds as they have always done, tacking silently and apparently passively; slightly resisting the change, but eventually accepting it, without trying to mix too many ruffled water metaphors; and the whole thing is just seen to be an exercise in keeping certain… factions busy whilst doing so.

But it is not up to me to say whether or not we need, or should have, a Neighbourhood Plan (however public my opinions – which is all they are: I do not seek to direct the village, as would some…). It was proposed to the Parish Council; and they accepted it. The Plan’s future is solely in their hands. Therefore, accepting that, at the moment, it exists; and we, as villagers, have been ‘invited’ to provide feedback; what follows are my original (and resulting), somewhat fragmentary, thoughts: prompted by my attempted review; occasionally interspersed with a little bit of context, now that I have failed to accomplish what – even with my past criticisms – I set out to do in good faith, for the sake of our village….

¶

If one meets a powerful person – Rupert Murdoch, perhaps, or Joe Stalin or Hitler – one can ask five questions: what power do you have; where did you get it; in whose interests do you exercise it; to whom are you accountable; and, how can we get rid of you? Anyone who cannot answer the last of those questions does not live in a democratic system.

– Tony Benn

14 April 2015

We were told – several times, in fact – at last night’s Parish Council meeting, that, despite the consultation period for the second draft (even though we’re not now supposed to use such numbering) of the Neighbourhood Plan now being closed (or, at least, that’s what I think was said), some members (past or present?) of the steering group currently responsible for it were perturbed (and I’m generalizing a little, here: i.e. my report is not verbatim – for reasons that will have become clear in an earlier post) by the lack of critical feedback on the actual ‘policies’ delineated in the Plan (and which I, for one, still feel have originated out of nowhere: as I cannot find a clear public audit trail leading me back to villagers’ suggestions of, or agreement with, the highly-detailed rules proposed).

Although this described “lack” is not actually true, of course – as I for one have questioned the, to me, ridiculous dependency on ironstone; and the inexcusable ban on windpower, etc.; and the Plan’s own appendices also prove this – I am always happy to try my best (as I always do, of course) to keep fellow residents happy with what I am told are my “lucid words”; and to do what I have been asked (although I have been told that quite a few other villagers also feel that they are being “bullied” into accepting the Plan in its current-bun form: which I empathize with…). So here are a selection of the responses of the Bardic jury. (I do not want to fall into the trap of producing a document that is as over-long and -convoluted as the current Plan draft: thus hiding my opinions in plain sight… – so, like its authors (see below), I am, of course, being highly selective in my choices.)

¶

“In architecture, originality is a crime,” consoled his wife and collaborator, Margaret Macdonald. “Especially to those who can themselves only be copyists.”

– Oliver Wainwright: The Guardian

6 May 2015

But I fell at the first hurdle, of course. I opened up the current draft (and, yes, I actually had a large tumbler of whisky in my hand, to numb the forthcoming pain), and started reading; and soon realized two things: firstly, this was not actually a neighbourhood plan – it was an unstructured compilation of often irrelevant exercises that the authors had felt capable of producing – and, secondly, a lot of it was either unintelligible (and I hope I have proved with my “lucid words” that my command of English is reasonably decent: even though I studied engineering at university…), or relied on a series of obfuscating references, tied up in stacked, serial appendices and ofttimes unfathomable, unfollowable, algorithms and tables – a veritable Gordian knot of confusion.

Withdrawing my metaphorical sword from its sheath, whichever way I sliced the resulting mess (and I tried to do so several times – with decreasing reward – over the intervening weeks), I was left with two overwhelming feelings: insofar as much as this is a plan, it is extremely authoritarian (seemingly wanting us all to live in identical ironstone boxes); and it requires keener steel than mine to both cut through the confusion and excise the unnecessary pap.

Great planning does not mean either “most restrictive” or “most laissez-faire”. It means creating the conditions for growth and change while maintaining a vision of the common good. It balances competing interests. It includes a grasp of the cumulative effect of individual decisions…. It can protect long-term benefits against damage from short-term profit. It has the ability to spot problems before they become crises and find a way to address them. It can review alternative approaches to an issue, such as population growth, and promote the best ones. It has clarity and consistency, so everyone knows where they stand. It has the ability to review the results of its own decisions, and learn from them. It is informed by knowledge, not guesswork. It is the result of genuine and transparent public debate.

– Rowan Moore: The Observer

¶

We want it to meet the needs of the whole community now and into the future.

– Percy Sewell

Foregone conclusions

Of course, if I had wielded the Bardic blade with more success, the results still wouldn’t explain where the Plan’s policies – good, bad, indifferent; prescriptive, proscriptive; intelligible or vague – originated from; or why a document that should be idea- and people-led is being wagged by the originality-threatening tail of process, and deadlines continually stacked like rickety pallets up into the south Warwickshire skies, Jenga-like and ultimately fragile, and increasingly divorced from the village. Wouldn’t it be nice if the Neighbourhood Plan authors made Percy’s statement (when discussing the Village Hall – a much-loved facility they seem keen on demolishing…) their mantra?

¶

From the pain come the dream

From the dream come the vision

From the vision come the people

From the people come the power

From this power come the change

– Peter Gabriel

We the People

However, as I mentioned above, it seems that change – however small – is afoot, thankfully, to remedy all this: and that the as-yet-unnamed small groups (I don’t want to use the ‘focus’ word – as that’s not what they are about; in fact they are about the exact opposite – talking about whatever comes to mind, and as widely as possible about the village) are being put together, semi-informally, to chat about any and all aspects of our beloved home. The hope is, that, in freeing people’s minds – after removing the shackles of time and obedience; and unleashing them from procedures, methodologies, algorithms and those foregone conclusions – we can (and will) all discover or even stumble upon the broad seams and nuggets of ideas that we know are out there. (There are probably some buzzing around your head, right now.)

These groups – it is hoped (the first of which was held just after the last Parish Council meeting) – will also unlock the passion for the parish and inspirations for its future development (and I don’t just mean land-based…) that is currently noticeably absent (apart from the odd angry middle-aged man disobeying Parish Council protocol); or even actively being steamrolled – letting that vision at last gush forth unimpeded; and from which all else should spring. (And not the other way around: as is currently the case.)

As even the Government’s own guidance states:

Neighbourhood planning can inspire local people and businesses to consider other ways to improve their neighbourhood than through the development and use of land. They may identify specific action or policies to deliver these improvements. Wider community aspirations than those relating to development and use of land can be included in a neighbourhood plan….

But, as any marketer will tell you: you don’t start big and then work small – so (as I discussed with Duke Senior), why is it only now that these groups are being convened: nearly a year after the first drafts of the village questionnaire were being put together (and which included questions, therefore, that did not stem from the village – but, yet again, from a self-selected, select few; and which, as I have written before, obviously reflected their innate biases)?

¶

Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.

– Marie Curie

If we, as residents, do not take and feel ownership; if the Parish Council does not maintain control of the Plan’s development with thorough and rigorous oversight, and a representative love for the place they govern; and if the group that produces it does not listen – and keep striving to listen (even to uncomfortable truths); as well as learning to follow, rather than leading us by our noses – then the resulting document will be a wasted opportunity; a waste of time and effort; and a waste of the paper it is printed on.

In every deliberation, we must consider the impact on the seventh generation… even if it requires having skin as thick as the bark of a pine.

– The constitution of the Iroquois nations (paraphrased)

We do not need a shopping list of fields for developers to target. What we need is a Tysoe which develops – as much as it can: as much as any “precious stone set in the silver sea” – in a way that we all recognize and wish for; and which does not lead our children and grandchildren continually to curse us for bequeathing them a village that is sterile through repetitious housing developments; even more isolated than now, because we did not grasp the chance to become subsistent in non-fossil-fuel-based power and motivation; or that has crumbled into a hollow, unrecognizable ghost and an uncomfortable locale to inhabit… because all we cared about was now, was instant gratification, was ourselves.

What we need is a Tysoe which belongs to us all; and where every resident has an important say and a strong hand in how it grows; and where everyone is happy listening to those voices; grateful for their words; and shakes those hands in friendship – joining them together in building a future that everyone believes in.

The power of the people and the power of reason are one.

– Georg Büchner

An open letter to our new Parish Council…

Dear Councillors –

Since I moved to Tysoe, four years ago – after falling in love with the place at first sight – I have not attended as many Parish Council meetings as I would have liked. Broadly, there are four reasons for this:

1. Like many other villagers, I was unaware of the important rôle the Council plays in governing the village; in caring for it (with hearts, minds, and actions); and ensuring that, pragmatically, it continues to develop in a way that respects its past, whilst incorporating the most appropriate of modern instruments and technologies. It is also the last formal bastion we have in defending the erosion of true localism against both large corporations and the extremely remote forces of national and international government – in other words, it is the nearest thing we have, in our small corner of rural England, to realpolitik and direct involvement.
2. Having said that, much of what occurs during the meetings I have attended has not felt relevant to me – and it took an outsider, Keith Risk (publically raising the threat that Gladman Developments posed to the village, and calling both residents and Councillors to arms), to make me realize how wrong I had been: and that it is each resident’s duty to play their part in continually supporting the Parish Council, however small that part may be.
3. Information on the Council’s meetings was not always easy to come by; and the procedures are somewhat arcane.
4. I am badly disabled – meaning that I struggle to sit down, without great pain, for long periods of time. I also struggle to navigate the narrow and labyrinthine entrance to the Reading Rooms, with walking stick in hand. In parallel, I am extremely hard of hearing (even with the latest digital hearing aids): and, therefore, when I do attend, I often miss large chunks of the proceedings; and then fail to understand the context of the bits I do hear.

I would therefore like to address each of these points in turn: with the joint aims of increasing residents’ comprehension and appreciation of the Parish Council (PC); and, thereby, increasing residents’ participation in the Council’s monthly meetings.

¶

Realpolitik

Having read the Parish Plan (PP), I was impressed by its cogent understanding of the place where we live, and its vision for our future. However, it has become increasingly obvious that the PC had neither the resources to implement it fully (and answer the questions that many residents had posed), nor the discernment to appreciate the ‘lot’ of many of those residents. I do not know how it was produced: but I do know that in responding to those unanswered issues, and applying the same ethos to the forthcoming Neighbourhood Plan (NP), the PC would do much to reconnect with the majority of villagers. More importantly, they would demonstrate that, unlike larger governmental organizations, they really are ‘in touch’ with the needs of their constituents.

In some ways, the NP should have been the ideal vehicle for this: but it is becoming increasingly obvious that it is not fit for its original purpose; and is actually creating greater distance between the PC and the people it claims to represent. It will therefore need the new makeup of the PC (hopefully elected by a majority turnout) to make some brave and direction-changing decisions – for instance:

• publishing the Terms of Reference that govern the relationship between the PC and the NP steering group and authors;
• having these audited by a neutral third party to ensure that all points are being abided by – and, where this is found not to be the case – publically remedying each and every issue discovered;
• as there is already a growing feeling in the village that the NP is being imposed on them from a great height, and that the document as it stands is even less relevant to them than its predecessor (the PP), such remedies may include either taking what work has been done, and repurposing it – once residents have all agreed how this should be done – or even starting from scratch (as with Graham Collier and Keith Risk’s small group meetings, that commence tonight (Wednesday)).

There are, of course, many other ways of involving the parish’s constituents: but it appears to me that the NP is the current, most pressing representation of the failing relationship between governing and governed. Demonstrating that residents are being listened to on this single issue would go a long way to restoring faith in the PC, and encouraging day-to-day involvement.

Relevance

Such action would also “go a long way” in demonstrating how necessary, how important, residents are to the PC in not only supporting them ideologically, but in helping them fulfil objectives that were identical to residents’ own aims and hopes for the village and its surroundings – that villagers’ active participation is required in carrying out both the small (such as repairing benches and kerbs) and the big (raising funds, where government stipends are not enough).

The current relationship between the PC and its constituents strikes me as strained and weak: not only because of the obvious class differences, but because there is a mutual lack of understanding and values. Only if both sides see that this relationship is important, and are willing to put the hard work in to mend it, will trust be reestablished. Concrete opportunities must therefore be presented – and continually – for each side to listen to (not talk at) the other.

Communication and procedure

Again, this overlaps with the previous point. The new community website has gone some way to improving matters – but it can still be difficult (if not impossible) to navigate, and find the information you need. Were a database to be built of those ‘parishioners’ who would prefer the PC to be proactive in disseminating minutes, reports, dates of meetings, etc. by email, say (i.e. in the way those residents preferred; not in the way that things were currently done; or in the way that was easiest), then I would be surprised if villagers did not, as a consequence, take more steps to be involved, even if they were initially reactive.

The monthly meetings themselves do not allow for much resident participation. And holding them in such a small space feels like the PC is excluding more than a few ‘regulars’ from attending. It is closed in capacity as well as in spirit.

For instance, we are allowed to comment on individual planning applications – but not on issues that are relevant or timely to our own lives or predicaments. If the PC are discussing the states of grass verges and easements (to take a recent example), why cannot a resident who is currently fighting their way through the complexities of the planning system for such access, not be given, say, three minutes, to have their say? At the moment, such an interruption is quashed by the chair – albeit politely – and then tabled for the end of the meeting: by which time, both relevance and momentum (not to mention interest) have faded away; and most people are doing their damnedest to leave the building.

Although I accept that there may be a slight impact on timings, and lengths of meetings, the whole process needs democratizing: for the sakes of trust, and efficiency.

Access

There was a wonderful snippet in the Stratford-upon-Avon Herald of 9 April 2015:

Disabled facilities are available at Tysoe Village Hall – paid for with £10,000 from Warwickshire County Council’s Investment Board….

     The money was made available under the Community Access for Disabled People: Changing Places and Sensory Areas Fund, and enabled the installation of toilet facilities that are suitable for wheelchair users, together with two new double doorways between the main hall and the committee room.

     In addition to this, the hall is now also fitted with a hearing loop to improve its accessibility for those with hearing difficulties….

Thanks must therefore go to Percy Sewell, in his rôle as chairman of Tysoe Village Hall Committee, for achieving all this; and for the importance I know he places on accessibility. (I just hope the loop system works; and has been tested by those, like me, who actually wear hearing aids – as many installations, sadly, don’t.) I believe – from what I could hear(?!) at last Monday’s meeting – that the Parish Council also helped; and I would therefore ask why PC meetings aren’t equally accessible?

Perhaps Percy – in his rôle as chair (I believe – or at least as an important trustee) of Tysoe Utility Estate – would like to similarly equip the village’s Reading Rooms, or the Village Hall committee room – so that I can hear all that is going on? (Or, perhaps, so that more people feel able to attend, PC meetings are held in the main hall itself?)

I will only mention the Equality Act in passing, as a slight dig; but approximately one in seven people in this country have hearing problems; and in a parish which is slightly skewed to the older resident (like me), I can only imagine that the local proportion is even higher.

¶

I appreciate that the new Parish Council, in establishing itself with many new members, will have much to learn, much to do. But I truly believe that the points I raise above – if addressed – will go a long way to involving residents, by encouraging them to get involved: thus making the lives of our Parish Councillors so much easier, because of the increased support for, and involvement in, the work they do.

In essence, the problems I raise, and the solutions I proffer, are all about communication – which is always a two-way process. Messages may be proclaimed: but, unless they are received, understood and acted upon, they may as well have been written on paper, shredded, and thrown to the four winds. If we all truly care for Tysoe, then that is an important commonality we can build from. We must make the most of it, whilst we still can.

Taking a stand (in the place where you live…)

Stand in the place where you live

Now face North

Think about direction

Wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand in the place where you work

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

If you are confused, check with the sun

Carry a compass to help you along

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Your head is there to move you around

Stand in the place where you live

Now face North

Think about direction

Wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand in the place where you work

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Your head is there to move you around

If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling

Listen to reason, season is calling

Stand in the place where you live

Now face North

Think about direction

Wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand in the place where you work

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling

Listen to reason, reason is calling

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Your head is there to move you around

So Stand

Now face North

Think about direction, wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

Stand in the place where you live

Now face North

Think about direction

Wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand in the place where you work

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

Stand in the place where you are

Now face North

Stand in the place where you are

Now face West

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Stand in the place where you are

Your head is there to move you around, so stand

– R.E.M.: Stand

I was originally going to use this song to headline a completely different post: but, even though Michael Stipe claims he “wrote the most inane lyrics that [he] could possibly write”, I believe that such innate simplicity (and from a naturally-gifted poet) contains some back-to-basics lessons for those misguided souls who seem to believe that each subsequent, more complex, less transparent, draft of the Neighbourhood Plan (and, my goodness, we’re only on the second one – so all I am saying is give the village a chance to get their heads around things…!) is worthy of submission to the authorities.

One of the problems in such prematurity, to me, appears to be a misunderstanding – either deliberately; or because of a too-deep involvement in, or love of, the technicalities that seem to swamp the current version – of the document’s original aims and objectives. Instead of asking the residents – and of a place that, along with its housing, has “developed on a slow, small-scale, organic development basis” – what they want; the authors have, instead, turned the whole thing on its head, and said we can only have what they seem capable of producing. That is – and forgive me for lapsing into the management consultant speak which peppers the current draft of the Plan – they are driven by their competences; not the wants and needs of their target audience (and employers, let us not forget) – i.e. us.

For a document whose second sentence begins “Investment and change in the years ahead will only be worthwhile if they are what the community wants”, this would be laughable, were it not for the fact that, firstly, we are assigning the future management of our village to a tiny proportion of its population, without any real checks and balances; and, secondly, the further the Plan’s creators move away in words, numbers, figures, tables, maps and technicalities from that phrase, the further they (literally) move away from this (increasingly) obvious lip service.

This is why, although the word “vision” makes around forty appearances in the main document (although that includes contents and summaries), no actual vision really becomes, ahem, visible – and what hints there are of such come across as being contradicted by the summary document that (supposedly) sits alongside it. It’s almost as if you can hear the authors panicking, deep, somewhere, in a candlelit garret, late one night – obviously in response to Keith Risk’s extremely salient question “Where is the vision?” (tabled in the appendices) – but not actually understanding it – all suddenly scrabbling around, trying to insert as many mentions of the dreaded word: like an infinite number of caged monkeys trying to produce Hamlet’s famous soliloquy.

¶

The answer, of course, to Keith’s query, is “out there”; and, as I am sure I have said before, not in the answers to some bureaucratic questionnaire-led exercise. Only from talking to people… Actually, scrub that: Only from listening to people – and every single one of us – will you find it. (I apologize for repeating myself: but, sometimes, that’s what it takes.)

Stand in the place where you live

Now face North

Think about direction

Wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand in the place where you work

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

If you are confused, check with the sun

Carry a compass to help you along

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Your head is there to move you around

Stand in the place where you live

Now face North

Think about direction

Wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand in the place where you work

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Your head is there to move you around

If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling

Listen to reason, season is calling

So, a little bit of free advice – not that I feel I am being listened to by those who should be taking it… – lift your head up from your papers: and see what the village really needs: not what you can provide. Ask not what you can do for your village; ask what your village wants from you.

And a plea to the village. Monday evening’s Parish Council meeting will not only be the last one for some very longstanding and dutiful members; but my gut tells me that a currently extremely vague tabled request from a resident may actually be used to try again to get the current poor, rough draft submitted to the powers that be – riding roughshod over what the village and its residents truly stand for.

If this is what you want: fine. But I struggle to believe that those hundreds who turned out in the pouring rain in Kineton, last January, to fight off Gladman – or in the freezing cold in the Village Hall at Keith Risk’s behest – really want “the place where they live” run by closeted pen-pushers.

We need vision and selflessness to succeed as a village; we need soul; we need reason, thought, and thoughtful, listening people: people who care. But, most of all, we all need to be in this together.

NP-headed…

An empty head is not really empty; it is stuffed with rubbish.

– Eric Hoffer

Perhaps I am feeling peeved; perhaps it is the headache and spatial disorientation I am experiencing after reading well over a hundred pages of phrases such as “topography and water courses with historical settlement foci lying in the valley base”; “new residential development, including windfalls”; and “the NDOs will then be agreed with SDC”. But why are Keith Risk’s and Simon Forrester’s – admittedly cogent – emails produced in full in the latest version of the Neighbourhood Flan (it appears to be made up of many excellent individual ingredients: but, somehow, having been baked, now emerges from the oven tasting of nothing, and resembling soggy cardboard); but my blog post is reduced to six highly-condensed table entries and a footnote consisting solely of a link?

Considering, as well, that only thirteen other people (out of a parish of “about 1500 people”) appear to have commented on the first draft, then how (even though it has grow’d like Topsy) can this reflect “the thoughts and feelings of local people”? And were their – these select few – comments equally redacted? After wading through the plethora of links that pepper the document, who (meaning the final inspector) is going to type this long address (accurately) into their Web browser to see that my comments (as well as those provided in response to the original questionnaire) were actually a lot more nuanced than their subjective and summary executions would have you believe?

It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

– Shakespeare: Macbeth

I am also insulted by the two-page ‘Easy-read’ Summary and the childish Purple Stars of Aspiration (and will be trying to scrub the patronizing implications of these from my flesh for many weeks): but have not yet worked out if the relative microscopic size of the not-really-an-abstract-more-an-excuse is because the authors believe us all to be simpletons, incapable of understanding their mighty handiwork; they don’t want us to realize what a complex mess the NP actually is when we (try to) wade through it; or this is yet another of their pathetic attempts at “consultation”. And yet, I am told, again, that the group behind the Plan – as with the first version – believe this is ready for submission: even though it is peppered with notes and gaps (especially with regards to that consultation – or, should I say, almost complete lack of it).

To be honest, if it is supposed to represent the village and its residents, it should not need such a noddy guide. But the group seems incapable of anything but making the readily transparent utterly opaque. Therefore, a lot of the language is similarly prodigiously obscure. For instance what does this – selected at random – actually mean…?

The Tysoe NP is the de jure plan-making process referred to. The sites are ranked through a prioritisation process. This ranking is described in Appendix B6. The questionnaire (Appendix B3) conducted as part of building the evidence base for this plan contributed to the prioritisation process.

It is no wonder so few people have commented.

¶

I could say so much more. But – aside from, as previously stated, the fact that I think this document openly represents the biases of a small élite within the village; that it will probably soon be superseded, like its predecessors; and will have about as much power as a cardboard flan in a Force Nine gale – my blood pressure is already at boiling point. If anyone else in the village agrees, and doesn’t want the NP in its current form representing them, either: then they can say so on the Plan’s website; comment below; or email me and/or the Parish Council. (Remember: the final vote on the Plan only requires 50% of the turnout – not 50% of the village – to say yea….)

Talking of the Parish Council: perhaps the new one (to be elected on 7 May) will consider how its predecessor doled out its claimed “official approval” for the Plan’s development – and whether that should be modified or revoked. Is there a contract governing this relationship? If so, surely it should be in the public domain? And I, for one, therefore, would like to see it: as I feel very under-represented by a document that could, theoretically (however unlikely), govern the next thirty or forty years of my life.

PS Note to the Neighbourhood Plan creators – I would like both this post and my previous two (first and second) to be included in full, please, in the next draft. Thank you.

Wall of separation – true humility…(Part 2: “Parts of it are excellent”)

The Clouds that gather round the setting sun

Do take a sober colouring from an eye

That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality;

Another race hath been, and other palms are won.

     Thanks to the human heart by which we live,

     Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,

     To me the meanest flower that blows can give

     Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

– William Wordsworth: Ode; Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

For a short while, I lived very near to Terry Pratchett (“in the next village along,” as they say): but, never, as far as I know, passed close by him, or espied him in the cloisters or close of the cathedral we both loved (my photographs of which have illustrated some of this series of posts, as above). His writings, though – and his recent increasingly close relationship with Death: now, of course, brought to its inevitable (although far too early) conclusion (“AT LAST, SIR TERRY, WE MUST WALK TOGETHER”) – were always not just entertaining, but inspiring and educational, as well, for me. There was a deep, lightly-worn intelligence behind those gleaming glasses that would not be defeated by any cruelty this world could inflict on him. A man truly aware of his own strengths and weaknesses, I think: who returned Death’s gaze with a steady stare; and, thankfully, we are told, died what we are supposed to call an “easy” death (which is never such: even when it provides relief to the sufferer, those who are left behind inherit an everlasting pain…).

Recently – and which accounts for the gap in posts (and, believe me, I find it very hard, now, not to write; now that the authorial genie has escaped cheekily from its bottle of single malt…) – I too have had intimations of my own mortality (although nothing as serious as Sir Terry’s: just enough to remind me that I am human, and certainly no ‘supercrip’): and can therefore understand more readily why, for many people, such “intimations” provoke a desire for increased meaning in their short lives and the awful world they find themselves in; as well as prompting yearnings for what may lie beyond – why, in a nutshell, religions are born; how creation myths and figures in the night sky emerge… – are we really nothing more than “a flat disc balanced on the backs of four elephants which, in turn, stand on the back of a giant turtle”?

¶

I ended my last post – over a week ago – writing that “without religion the human race would be considerably worse off and there would be little hope for the future.” This is from a book provocatively entitled Is Religion Dangerous? by Keith Ward: who concludes, of course, that it isn’t – although, being a priest, you could say that he’s slightly biased. You will have to read the book yourself to see if you agree, though, that he does a pretty good job of being objective (more so, to my mind, than Richard Squawkins has ever been… – although see “bombastic pontifications”, below).

However, although religion is not where I find my solace (unless you include its buildings and music) – for me that lurks in good books; Wordworth’s “setting sun”; the kindness of strangers; the hesitant transformation of a mild winter into a wind-chilled spring; the serendipitous conversations that pull various parts of your life closer together in a fortunate net of hopes-made-tangible; the hesitant footsteps alongside the Avon as the swans, geese, ducks and coots prepare noisily for the next generation, despite the stinging rain, and the gormless lump of humanity that giggles at their antics standing far too close by (but offering no crumbs nor crusts of sustenance in consolation…) – I understand, and have no problem whatsoever with, those who do.

Surely, we say, glancing at the eclipse, life must have more significance than a mere blink of the universe’s eye (and a blink, at that, which may simply be to remove the discomfiting grit of which we are made). And ask: Do we have a rôle to play? Is there free will? Does anything we do actually matter? Does our vote make any real difference… – especially in an election where we keep being told that there won’t be an outright winner…?

(By the way, in their letter, the bishops warn against such despair: urging us all to vote in the General Election – “Unless we exercise the democratic rights that our ancestors struggled for, we will share responsibility for the failures of the political classes. It is the duty of every Christian adult to vote, even though it may have to be a vote for something less than a vision that inspires us.” A perfect summation, I think….)

In response to those questions, I challenge you to read, say, Rupert Brooke’s Dust and then tell me that any such life (again, too short) with the potential to create such wonderful poetry is unimportant; or listen to Vaughan Williams’, or Nielsen’s, or Beethoven’s fifth symphonies; or stand in the centre of the Rollright Stones at dawn; and tell me that any human life isn’t the most valuable creation possible…. As individuals, we can be great – even if only to our immediate family and friends (which is miracle enough) – but, together, especially, we have the ability, the power, to change the world we live in both for good and for bad. That is the value, the sacred gift, that we have been given. And we should use it wisely. (If only….) It also means, of course, that we, as individuals, should all be listened to by our “neighbours”….

¶

Whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

So allow me to digress – slightly – for a moment. (Just for a change.)

A couple of days ago, I was informed that the Planning Inspector had said “no” (huzzah!) to Gladman’s proposed development on Oxhill Road, and refused their subsequent appeal. (And yet, at the time of writing, I see no emails flying around the village; nor parades marching down Main Street.) Although this, in my Lenten tribulations, obviously raised my spirits a little, and made me realize that the battles the village had fought along the way had proved my supposition, above; I also know that, in fighting those battles, we, as villagers, had sadly demonstrated both of our “good and bad” sides: with infighting (or, more correctly, insurrection) caused by the overgrown egos and immature self-beliefs characteristic, depressingly, of many political activities.

[126] The advice of St Paul in his letter to the Philippians [above] may help to defend us against the temptations of apathy, cynicism and blame, and instead seek – because we are disciples of Jesus Christ who long for a more humane society – a better politics for a better nation.

It is not my place to solve such an issue (although I can listen to the bishops, and then provide ‘encouragement’ so to do…) – despite a continuing strong urge to bang certain thick, disruptive heads together – although I will say (as I have said many times before) that, as a village, we could (and should) have simply stood on our obvious merits, heads held high, and trusted those already responsible for such fights – i.e. the Parish Council (PC) – and supported, rather than hindered, them.

We did not need to raise voices, polish swords, dust off cudgels. Instead of caring for the village (the original motivation, some eighteen or so months ago, for residents’ gatherings and efforts; and the production, back then, of – possibly – the only bulletproof defence required) – as the members of the PC obviously do – there were those who it would not be unfair to accuse of caring more for the sounds of their own bombastic pontifications. Politicians manqué, if you will. Some of them may have had good intentions; but, it appears to me, these few have been led astray (although, of course, should have known better…) by those who think a big old house gives them droit du seigneur over the rest of us mere peasants (especially those whose modern hovels were obviously not built out of ironstone by medieval vassals).

I do not want ‘my’ village ruled or overseen by such people – as the church once was and did – I want it governed collegiately: where everyone is given the opportunity to feel, and be, involved (and not just by belatedly dropping a slip of paper through the door: with no obvious means of return…); and certainly not one where the parish magazine seems to exist just to be unjustifiably spiteful, nasty and vitriolic about people who the author disagrees with, or who he or she feels to be beneath them. (They must be looking through the wrong end of the telescope.)

Is this truly what we as a parish have become? How does this make us appear to those who walk and cycle through this glorious countryside? Visitors must think we have all just emerged from the back door of Cold Comfort Farm; or have not moved on since Akenfield was first published. They must be astonished that we are not all chewing on stalks of hay.

¶

Despite its many shortcomings, to me, the church – and, indeed, many religious organizations – have democracy better ‘sorted’: especially in their regular meetings (and not just to worship) at all levels. Take, for instance, my favourite: Quakerism (where atheists and agnostics are welcome). Nothing is done without the agreement, “at all levels”, of every member. And, although this can mean that drying emulsion looks exciting by comparison, it also means that they are the perfect model of self-government – and one, as a village, we would do well to emulate. Otherwise, we will remain unduly shaped by external forces; rather than – as the (I increasingly believe unnecessary) Neighbourhood Plan is supposed to do – designing and building our own future: and being united as we do so.

To (try and) keep the religious theme going, the connection intact: I suppose what I would hope for is a reversion to ‘first principles’: similar to the initial, pure rules of the Cistercian order of monks, rebelling against the increasingly greedy and corrupt Benedictine brotherhood from which they split in the late eleventh century; or the Dominican and Franciscan friars who followed them, repudiating all personal possessions… – that is (in an extremely roundabout fashion), returning to what the village as a whole thinks is ideal, important, worthy; not just a self-appointed few, ‘in it’ for the power.

Perhaps this is naïve? I certainly seem to have typed that word a lot, recently. But, having shown, in January, last year, just how united the village can be, under threat; I believe it can come together, in the same way, for positive purposes, again – given the opportunity. I have a dream… – and it is one where every resident of the village helps develop, and shares in, a joint vision of our future; and actively takes part in developing that vision, where and when they can. And is not stifled by either jealousness, ignorance, or arrogance.

¶

So what does that have to do with Who is my neighbour? you may ask. Well, just about everything.

[101] But who counts as “we”? It is impossible to ignore the question “who is my neighbour?” It is a question familiar to anyone who has ever picked up a New Testament….

[102] In the gospel, the question “who is my neighbour?” led Jesus to recount the parable of the Good Samaritan. Jesus makes two subtle points, first calling people to follow the example of the Samaritan, the foreigner who went to the aid of the wounded traveller; and secondly, answering the question by suggesting that neighbourliness may mean receiving care from a member of a despised social group. Neighbourliness, then, is not just about what we do for others. It is also about what we are willing to receive from those we fear, ignore or despise.

Do you know your neighbour? (And I don’t just mean your literal neighbour – as the bishops also intimate.) How well? Do you know how they feel about the village’s future; the importance and relevance of the Neighbourhood Plan to them; or are they simply too busy getting on with the increasing complexity and austerity that most of us (who don’t live in “a big old house”, for whatever reason) face in our daily lives? Do they love living here; have they lived here long; and/or do they begrudge the long daily commute to their place of employment? Do they worry about their children’s ability to stay in the village; the affordability of local housing; that we are so environmentally unfriendly in our high consumption of fossil fuels to heat our homes, and feed our cars, that their grandchildren’s lives will be blighted by our inaction; the fact that it is nigh impossible to find a bus that can get you to and from work, if you can’t afford a car in the first place; or get you to the Job Centre on time?

[123] This letter is about building a vision of a better kind of world, a better society and better politics. Underlying those ideas is the concept of virtue – what it means to be a good person, a good politician, a good neighbour or a good community. Virtues are nourished, not by atomised individualism, but in strong communities which relate honestly and respectfully to other groups and communities which make up this nation.

[124] Strong communities are schools of virtue – they are the places where we learn how to be good, how to live well and how to make relationships flourish. They build on the traditions through which each generation learns its national, local and family identity. Virtues are ways of living that can be learned, but which too many trends in recent decades have eroded.

Well, the bishops’ letter discusses most of these things (as you have seen) – and in a way that doesn’t try to score points; that does its best to be inclusive and thoughtful; that shows that it cares about each and every one of us – even if we don’t share their faith. Having read through most of the major political parties’ websites, as well, the Church of England stands out as unique in having a truly moral backbone; and, despite my atheism, I would rather vote for them than any political organization. Why? Because they so obviously care – and, as I said above, that “care” appeals to me because it is for all of their ‘flock’, equally, rather than simply one “hardworking” part of it; and it is not “for the sounds of their own bombastic pontifications”. They therefore lead by example: showing just what is absent from our tawdry, hostile, debasing politics (both nationally and locally); and why those in power must (or should) feel utterly embarrassed and belittled by the Church’s much-needed intervention. (Oh, how “those in power” must sympathize with Henry VIII. “Bring me a glass of water, Cromwell – I’m going to dissolve the monasteries.”)

It is just a shame, that like most front-page news, the letter has quickly vanished from the media: to be overtaken by more important matters, such as Ed’s two kitchens.

¶

But you don’t have to be religious to think like this. Surely, I am proof of that…? (By the way, the obverse also applies: sadly, not all religious people truly care….)

I therefore ask three things of you. Firstly, whatever your religion, sit down, over the long Easter weekend, with a cup of tea or coffee, and read what the bishops have to say, please. Secondly, think what part you play in the village – could that rôle be widened and made more effective: either by expanding what you do; or by getting others, with divergent views and backgrounds, to help? Then, whatever your conclusions, put those thoughts on endless ‘repeat’; and never assume that what you are doing is either right or enough. Finally, next time you see your neighbour, say “Hello”, and with a smile on your face…! Thank you.

Being right is not the same as being righteous…. (Righteousness is usually a quality seen in people who are a pain in the arse.)

– Deborah Orr: The Guardian

Wall of separation – inclusiveness…

So far, in my four Paschal ‘meditations’ on Who is my neighbour?, not only have I written on four different subjects, I have also viewed those subjects from four different perspectives, and structured my thoughts around them in four different ways. What I think has united them – apart from the source document, of course – is my non-cynical, inclusive attitude to religion, despite being an atheist. (I am not what John Gray would describe as “evangelical”: and therefore do not share “the conviction that human values must be based in science”; or “claim that liberal values can be scientifically validated and are therefore humanly universal.”)

I grew up surrounded by the complex beauty of Anglican churches and cathedrals; performing the spirit-soaring music inspired, over five-hundred years, by various forms of Christianity, nearly every day: and I am pretty sure that these determinative experiences inform such a disposition. I do not believe in any god (and haven’t done for a very long time): but this does not mean that I don’t believe in the good that such an entity can galvanize in others (although I also appreciate that any god’s name can be taken badly in vain – as can science… – leading to acts of awful violence that are intolerable to those who profess and practise their religions’ peaceful views and laws; as well as to those, like me, who are not devout or godly in any way…). I also have an inbuilt respect for those who worship: promulgated, I think, by my saturation in Protestant ideology from an early age – my maternal grandad was a Methodist lay preacher; my paternal grandad walked to his parish church every Sunday, whatever the weather; one of the first books I remember reading was David Kossoff’s retelling of the Bible Stories (simply wonderful; and wonderfully simple!); and I was part of a cathedral choir from the age of four (until my mid-twenties: when I became a rural Church of England choirmaster…). Saint Ignatius may have said “Give me a child until he is seven years old, and he is mine for life” (or something to that effect) – but, with me, he was wrong (well, sort of – as this paragraph demonstrates…)!

I also grew up in an area where other religions were prominent (my primary school is now a mosque); and was intrigued – as I am by most things (a curiosity which fuels my writing) – by the similarities and differences in belief, practices, rituals, even wardrobe. These were merely outward signs, though: and it takes a lot more than spending a silent hour in the company of Quakers (which can be a non-belief-based practice: and which therefore appeals to me greatly); or having fun at a Jewish wedding (again: a religion which can be more a way of life); or singing carols at an ardent Baptist Christmas celebration; or spending an afternoon on a bench in Edinburgh’s Princes Street Gardens discussing the various forms of Buddhism; to get to the heart of what particularities conglomerate to produce a specific flavour of ideology.

¶

But inclusiveness isn’t just about religion, or religious tolerance, or – in my case – a partiality for most kinds of religion: is it? Any sort of ‘differentness’ can provoke reactions of hate or ridicule: including colour and race; being (yuck) “differently abled” (this, therefore, pointing to a small, but definite, link, with the first post in this series); supporting the wrong football team; not liking football, in the first place, or not being sporty; being in, or from, the wrong ‘class’; or even something as mindless as not wearing the ‘right’ clothes. To be eccentric, or unconventional, or singular, in any way, makes you, to some, a victim to be despised; a target to be humiliated; a threat to be eradicated.

But aren’t we all “singular”; unique? Don’t we all have different abilities? The Church of England bishops, in their letter (paragraph 2) “believe that every human being is created in the image of God” – but I’m sure they’re only being metaphorical, really: especially as, in its short ‘Equality – us and them’ section, they mention “the individual’s ignorance of those who are different”. Perhaps you are more tolerant, the less ignorant you are? Of people’s values, I mean. Perhaps you are more tolerant, the more you understand or know…? Anyway, here is that quote in context:

[76] …Stirring up resentment against some identifiable “other” always dehumanises some social group or people. Ethnic minorities, immigrants, welfare claimants, bankers and oligarchs – all have been called up as threats to some fictitious “us”. They become the hated “other” without whose presence among us all would be well. It is a deep irony that the whole political class is often regarded as an alien “other” by many sectors of the population.

[77] At first sight, the rhetoric of “us” and “the other” may sound as if it is talking about communities and significant social groupings – the opposite of individualistic politics. In reality, it represents no actual class or community but appeals to the individual’s ignorance of those who are different….

And that touches on an important point: a strong (conceivably instinctual) need, or want, amongst some people – maybe the majority – to be part of – and to be seen as part of – a community or “significant social grouping”. It is an aspiration, I am afraid, that I simply do not understand: as much as I desire, always, to see through other people’s eyes; to be empathic; to walk in their shoes. And it seems – but for other reasons – that those “alien” others who rule us have the same problem with their electorate. (It wasn’t always thus: once upon a time, MPs were dug out of the ground along with the coal of the north of England, by tough, muscled miners, grafted from the same rock they excavated. These politicians not only therefore empathized with their constituents – having shared their lives, and often employment, with the coalfaced pitmen – but took the conditions they lived and worked in as the starting point for the instinctive causes and deeply-held convictions that drove them towards Parliament. They had wrongs to right: and nothing would stop them. But they never really left their homes behind; or forgot them – not for a moment. Some of them – like Jack Ashley – were also disabled.)

¶

The example set by “the whole political class” – from district to national – is not a good one, though, currently. It is certainly not an example I want to be led by. For instance, discussing the barracking that takes place, frequently – and usually of the very few female MPs – in the House of Commons, Zoe Williams writes, in The Guardian, that:

If debate is about the interrogation of ideas until the better one emerges through a process of illumination, this yelling and braying has the opposite intention: to throw the matter into darkness, to make the opponent slink off in shame. What they are supposed to be ashamed of is never clear: some unnamed combination of gender, class, intellect and belief means that they occupy a certain station, and that they got ideas above it.

     People who conceive of belonging as something exclusive (“I belong, so if you deviate from my beliefs it follows that you don’t”) are always more vocal than people who think of it rather as a collaborative concept (in which belonging is built by the nurturance of everyone who wants to belong). They are territorial in nature.

     This was manifested in another context in Newcastle at the weekend, when Pegida – the far-right group protesting against the “Islamisation” of Europe – had a 400-strong rally to press its strange case. A counter-protest, Newcastle Unites, mustered far more people: police estimated 2,000; its organisers said 3,000. Inclusivity is the more popular position by many multiples, and yet would never have mobilised except in answer to Pegida. Solidarity tends to comprehend the need for self-assertion only in answer to some external threat. This leaves it unable to prosecute its own agenda, only able to react to someone else’s. Often, therefore, the underlying truth is lost: that being racist, blaming Islam for Europe’s ills – and, for that matter, finding female MPs inherently ridiculous – are all minority positions. It is a trait of their proponents to be as loud as they possibly can, but that doesn’t make them any less niche.

For an organization whose every sitting commences with a prayer – “laying aside all private interests and prejudices” – this, to me, appears extremely irreligious; and must look so, also, to those with other faiths, and concepts of faith:

Lord, the God of righteousness and truth, grant to our Queen and her government, to Members of Parliament and all in positions of responsibility, the guidance of your Spirit. May they never lead the nation wrongly through love of power, desire to please, or unworthy ideals but laying aside all private interests and prejudices keep in mind their responsibility to seek to improve the condition of all mankind; so may your kingdom come and your name be hallowed. Amen.

It seems that the modern politician, therefore, has no concept of what the House of Bishops call “a Christian understanding of human social relationships”. They would do well to read Who is my neighbour? thoroughly, therefore; rather than excoriating it before even opening its pages.

And, while we’re discussing the letter’s contents, this seems the perfect place to list the relevant passages – all highlighted by the authors themselves. This is itemized under ‘Immigration’ in their guide; and comes from the introduction…

[1] We live in challenging but hopeful times. All political parties struggle to communicate a convincing vision. People feel detached from politics. Alongside a healthy openness to new ideas, worrying and unfamiliar trends are appearing in our national life. There is a growing appetite to exploit grievances, find scapegoats and create barriers between people and nations. The issues around the election call for a fresh moral vision of the kind of country we want to be.

…and this from the ‘Power, identities and minorities’ section of the letter:

[102] In the gospel, the question “who is my neighbour?” led Jesus to recount the parable of the Good Samaritan. Jesus makes two subtle points, first calling people to follow the example of the Samaritan, the foreigner who went to the aid of the wounded traveller; and secondly, answering the question by suggesting that neighbourliness may mean receiving care from a member of a despised social group. Neighbourliness, then, is not just about what we do for others. It is also about what we are willing to receive from those we fear, ignore or despise.

These paragraphs (listed under the ‘Integration’ part of the guide) complete that section:

[103] The politics of migration has, too often, been framed in crude terms of “us” and “them” with scant regard for the Christian traditions of neighbourliness and hospitality. The way we talk about migration, with ethnically identifiable communities being treated as “the problem” has, deliberately or inadvertently, created an ugly undercurrent of racism in every debate about immigration. Crude stereotyping is incompatible with a Christian understanding of human social relationships.

[104] But we also challenge the assumption that to question immigration at all must always be racist. Major trends in migration have brought about immense social changes in many parts of the country. Rapid change has often impacted most acutely on communities which are least equipped to handle it – partly because their experience has often been that change is to their detriment.

[105] It is unsurprising that communities which have faced deindustrialisation, the destruction of familiar streets and housing, whose pride in work and craftsmanship has been destroyed by the shift from manufacturing to services and for whom poverty has never been more than one step away should find the rapid shift to a multicultural society difficult to assimilate. Suspicion of people with other national and ethnic origins needs to be understood without being endorsed or excused. We need a dialogue about migration which ceases to use people as political cyphers and looks instead at who is being asked to bear the cost of rapid social change and what resources of community and neighbourliness they need to emerge stronger from change.

¶

A recent article in The Guardian – ‘The rise in net migration shows up the hollowness of government policy’ (quoted from, below) – bemoaned what one subsequent letter-writer described as “the lack of a coherent, long-term policy on immigration”:

More generally, one can analyse immigration from three perspectives. There is the social conservative view, which would regard all of it with suspicion. This is most clearly articulated at the moment by the Ukip core vote. Then there is the perspective of market efficiency. As employers and even consumers, we want access to an eager pool of low-wage labour. The cost of an NHS which had to rely on home-grown labour would terrify any politician. Those two considerations tend to pull in opposite directions. In any case, both need be tempered by generosity, humanity and imagination. The reasons that immigration has made Britain a better place, and continues to do so, are not just economic but political, cultural and social. Institutionally, the role of generosity, humanity and imagination has been represented by the development of human rights legislation. This has not been entirely satisfactory, in part because these are qualities that cannot be codified…. No society can avoid an immigration policy and we need one that is honest, coherent, workable and informed by something more than short-term calculations of electoral advantage based on fear.

But, until we learn to discuss immigration – politically (and certainly not in UKIP’s twisted-make-it-up-as-we-go-along-but-we’re-not-really-racist fashion) – in the mature, perceptive and quiet ways that the bishops demonstrate above – with a “generosity, humanity and imagination” very rarely shown by those in power – it will remain contentious. This single section, to me, encapsulates why Who is my neighbour? is so important, and contributes so much to the forthcoming election. Not only does the Church of England stand outside (albeit with its toes on the touchline of) the rough-and-tumble game that is modern politics, dominated by loutish rugger-buggers; but it brings with it a view that has depth and subtlety, derived from centuries of discussion and development; and, increasingly, a willingness to change: to be more contemporary itself, more relevant. The bishops’ views are long-term; sensible; and, as I said in my original post, provide “a coherent, sincere vision that no political party, to my mind, has come within a country mile of”.

I’m not saying the Church of England is perfect, by any means, though. The fact that the first woman bishop has only just been placed on her cathedra in the last few weeks – despite protestations during her consecration that such an act was “not in the Bible” – is absolutely appalling: especially when couched in terms of inclusiveness. What inspires me, though, is the Church’s professed willingness to change; and to think things through, openly. Compared to the bragging, combative – “my manifesto’s bigger than yours…!” – preschool-type ‘messy play’ that Prime Minister’s Questions has become, the House of Bishops (although similarly lacking in female representatives) come across as a paragon of calm intellect – presenting their authority in a manner that is extremely refreshing.

As they themselves write – discussing the ‘Threat from extremism and religiously-inspired conflict’ –

[9] …It is a mistake to imagine that all manifestations of religion are essentially similar or always benign. But the challenge to politicians is to understand how faith can shape communities, nations and individuals for the good. The answer to “furious religion” (that is, the religious impulse turned in on itself or used to justify oppression and conflict) is not to marginalise religion in general or see religious faith as some kind of problem. It is to acknowledge that religious commitment is extraordinarily widespread and that people of faith within all the historic traditions have much to offer to a vision of a good society and a peaceful world.

– demonstrating the inherent value of their own words. All we need, now, is someone to pay attention to them.

Postscript
I probably couldn’t write such things in some other countries. If you support freedom of speech – especially the ability to criticize the state, please sign this petition to help negotiate Raif Badawi’s freedom. Thank you.