Being you is not a crime…

According to police guidance, a hate crime is any criminal offence which is perceived – by the victim or any other person – to be motivated by a hostility or prejudice based on a person’s race, religion, sexuality, disability or gender.

     Hate crimes are targeted and personal, and this makes them different to other offences. Victims are targeted simply because of who they are.

– Dr Loretta Trickett: Nottingham Post

It’s National Hate Crime Awareness Week – and I’ve been struggling, so far, to come up with something pithy to say on the subject. (And I’m still not certain that I’ve succeeded – although, hopefully, after reading this, a few more people will be aware….) Probably because, having been at the receiving end, myself, it’s hard to be dispassionate about an act that blights so many individuals’ lives. (From my perspective, if you’re disabled, you’ve probably got enough undeserved shit to be dealing with already, without others flinging more at you….)

Police recorded crime

In 2014/15, there were 52,528 hate crimes recorded by the police, an increase of 18 per cent compared with the 44,471 hate crimes recorded in 2013/14, of which:

• 42,930 (82%) were race hate crimes;

• 5,597 (11%) were sexual orientation hate crimes;

• 3,254 (6%) were religion hate crimes;

• 2,508 (5%) were disability hate crimes; and

• 605 (1%) were transgender hate crimes.

It is possible for one hate crime offence to have more than one motivating factor which is why the above numbers sum to more than 52,528 and 100 per cent.

– Home Office: Hate Crime, England and Wales, 2014/15

¶

Throughout the week, Warwickshire Police (who I personally found very clued-up, thorough, and immensely helpful) are also blogging on the subject – and their posts are a great introduction to what the offence constitutes; why “Being you is not a crime: Hate crime is”; and why – and how – you should therefore report any incident to the police (whether you believe it to be criminal or not).

There are many misconceptions about what is – and is not – a hate crime. There is also no such thing as a “minor” hate crime, and hate crime is an issue for all of us, which can only be tackled by us all working together.

     Hatred is a strong term that goes beyond simply causing offence or hostility. Hate crime is any criminal offence committed against a person or property that is motivated by an offender’s prejudice or hatred of someone because of their differences.

     There is a misconception that hate crime can only happen to people from minority groups. Whilst it is true that very sadly some members of society are disproportionately more likely to be a victim of a hate crime than others, absolutely anyone can be a victim of a hate crime. We all either have a religion, or do not have a religion (a crime committed against someone because they are atheist is still considered as a religious hate crime for example). So potentially we could all be a victim of a religious hate crime. We all have an ethnicity, so could all be victims of a racial hate crime. And so on.

– Adrian Symonds, West Mercia Police’s Equality and Diversity Advisor for Worcestershire and Herefordshire: There’s no such thing as a minor hate crime

¶

However, on my way into Stratford-upon-Avon, yesterday evening – whilst being threateningly tailgated on the A422 (defined as a “medium-high-risk road” by the Road Safety Foundation) at exactly the 50 mph speed limit – I realized that a lot of such “personal” crimes stem not just from differences between people (we are all unique, of course: something that scares the ignorant; and/or draws despising or patronizing pity from the arrogant), but perceived ‘failures’ to comply with the warped expectations and senseless criteria that govern (if that’s the right word) the lives of the many who would seek to instantly judge us. [By the way: I struggle to separate the two qualities(?!) of ignorance and arrogance – as it seems almost impossible to have the latter without the former.]

So… I should not be upset that the “fool” behind me is breaking the 0.2‑second rule with alacrity (whilst simultaneously failing to communicate his thuggishness with some sort of gittish sign language) – never mind the more sensible and commonly-accepted 2‑second version. Nor that he expects everyone to ‘drive’ like him (or simply get out of his way: which I eventually did, for safety’s sake…) – and waaay beyond the speed limit (a maximum, remember; not a target…). Nor that he obviously knows better than everyone else about the road conditions and concomitant speed suitability, and the handling prowess of his tatty transport. Nor that he then ran a red light at the roadworks at Goldicote (because he couldn’t possibly brake in time…).

In his world – and with his tiny little mind (oops: I nearly wrote another word there – sorry…) – the Highway Code doesn’t (and shouldn’t) apply to him, though. He is superior (as are the majority, of course) to everyone else: in both skill and bloodymindedness. Pity the poor deer that crosses the path of his unlit grey van at dusk – and in rutting season, too… – whose fault it will undoubtedly be (for existing) when they collide, bloodily….

I can’t for the life of me – already ruined by a similar speeding maniac (exactly ten years ago, tomorrow…) – explain, therefore, how I ended up just a couple of vehicles behind him, a few miles later, on Seven Meadows Road…. (Perhaps Aesop can help, here?)

¶

What a sad world we live in, though, where bullying others becomes the norm for some (so many) folk – obviously not helped by this sadistic Government’s leading-by-example… – because those “others” (and it is ‘otherness’ that is crucial, here…) don’t fulfil someone-else’s bizarre, skewed definition of what that “norm” should be….

From where I wobblingly stand, it is these buckoes, though, who are to be commiserated. Their singular lack of empathy must lead to such high contempt from so many (some). “What a wretched existence.”

People who live in large houses shouldn’t be thrown bones…

There is something strangely and immensely edifying in being implicated as a “moron” by a former adviser to arch war‑criminal and Thatcherite (I honestly don’t know which of these two traits is worse; or has caused most lasting human damage…) Anthony Charles Lynton “get a transplant” Blair – the man who tried to put both the hyphen and hatchet into socialism.

It must, I imagine, feel similar to being savaged by moist cotton-wool; or, perhaps, being on the receiving end of an Internet troll (a creature that only exists to be ridiculed pitied) – especially one who you know (simply from their existence) to be ignorant, irrelevant, and arrogant: i.e. not in possession of either the facts, or any sort of sympathy (let alone empathy) for those less fortunate (if you can describe someone as such who probably does not rank very high on the evolutionary scale, or have much nous).

Trolling of any sort, though (however sad its proponents) – like so many pathetic demands for attention – is, in reality, an offensive, although pointless, pastime: which ranks (both senses), in intention (if not effect), at exactly the same level of iniquity (as well, of course, of stupidity) as the disability hate crime I recently experienced (and which has been efficiently and thoughtfully dealt with, now, by the Police: who continue to offer their sterling support…). And it makes no difference who partakes in such infantile bullying: megalomaniac ex-PM, or the local pub bore. They should both be ignored equally.

It is, of course, their own counsel such poorly-endowed pillicocks should really be paying regard to… – although I am not convinced of the value of donating a heart to someone who appears not to currently have the use of one (or indeed any actual values…). And, although I am not religious, the caution to “Judge not, that ye be not judged” does seem quite apposite, here – knowing that many who taunt and attack, for example, supposedly “feckless, workshy scroungers”, will one day come to regret (if they are capable of such an emotion) their actions when they find themselves disabled and/or jobless: the leaky shoe now on their afflicted foot; and on the receiving end of spookily familiar physical and verbal vitriol. (How very sad.)

What this tirade is leading to (as you may have guessed – another helpful hint is in the above graphic) is a declaration that I shall be wielding my vote in Labour’s leadership contest – both with my fully-functioning heart and highly-intelligent head – in favour of Jeremy Corbyn: proudly, sincerely, and joyfully, wearing my red Labour: I prefer their early work T-shirt as I do so (perhaps over my purple Barney costume). Anything else would be “moronic”: a sop to the Tories and to “austerity lite” – i.e. contributing to negating the future of those not in the richest one percent: the sort of people who think nothing of paying $50,000 to take a life, for example.

Such pandering faithlessness would also, of course, prioritize the simplistic, solipsistic greed to win, to achieve power – at all costs? – over the genuine need to legislate based on belief, care, and duty. This avarice may be the short-termist modus operandi of present politics, present government (which is probably the paradigm that the excrementitious bugaboos who stalk the ’Net – and inhabit the right-wing media – so thoroughly delude themselves in emulating); but it is not my way; nor that of anyone who has both sense and sensibility (not to mention plain common decency…).

In other words, just because “you are 80 per cent cow” does not mean that you should be part of the unthinking herd jostling towards the same slaughterhouse of failed ideas (or an uninvited bull shitting in an intellectual china shop); nor should you fail to wake up to the fact that, as a species, it is “the social genome” – and not the selfish gene – that has made humans (so far, reasonably) successful.

We would be nothing without altruism and cooperation: and should therefore ignore the frequent narcissistic tales told by idiots – wherever they issue their crass, negative convictions – “full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing”; and seek – and choose – our principals accordingly: with minds (and souls) fully and positively engaged.

Horde of the Dings: a Highway Code for pedestrians…?

The usual rights and privileges of citizenship do not apply here… a great wall surrounds this place, and most of what goes on within the wall is unknown to those outside it. What follows is a message from over the wall.

– Hugh Gregory Gallagher: By Trust Betrayed: Patients, Physicians and the License to Kill in the Third Reich

Last year, I mugged up intensively on the Highway Code – there’s an app for it, as well, you know… – as part of taking an advanced driving course; and, although pedestrians do feature in it (although I doubt any have read it who have not also learned to drive), I sometimes – as a partially deaf human-being with a stick: who seems to find himself a moving obstacle (an impediment; a stumbling-block; a remora), as far as many apparently abled-bodied people are concerned (especially in busy places, such as supermarkets) – wish there were similar codified guidance (requiring a thorough, probing examination, before you’re allowed out in public without having to wear a bright-flashing light on your head – which is then reinstituted, when you’ve committed several offences, and gained too many points on your ‘walking licence’…) for those of an ambulatory nature.

Sorry: that was a very long sentence – packed with clauses and sub-clauses (and parentheses) – so feel free to go and put the kettle on (or fire up your De’Longhi coffee machine, if you’re that way inclined…) whilst you re-read it!

Are you sitting comfortably? Then let me begin.

One of the key recommendations in the pedestrian-related bit of the existing Highway Code states that you should “Always show due care and consideration for others…” – and it’s this that I wish to expand on.

“You say the ring is dangerous, far more dangerous than I guess. In what way?”

     “In many ways,” answered the wizard. “It is far more powerful than I ever dared to think at first, so powerful that in the end it would utterly overcome anyone of mortal race who possessed it. It would possess him.”

– JRR Tolkien: The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

Somehow, instead of having to wear magical jewellery on my hand, all I need to do to become invisible to other pedestrians is have my walking stick in my hand, and be doing my habitual impersonation of a slightly inebriated penguin. Suddenly, people – who, in all likelihood, have just reflexively given way to their peers – cannot see me, and (therefore?) do not move aside.

The sight of damage, of something gone wrong, induces an excited disturbance in such onlookers. Sometimes there is a turning away, a fear and a hostility, a sometimes spoken wish that such sights should be hidden from public view; there is a fear of catching the damage….

– Valerie Sinason: Mental Handicap and the Human Condition

In fact, I have to agree with my eighty-odd-year-old mum – who uses a crutch – and say that it’s difficult not to become convinced that people are deliberately blocking your path: as they avoid eye-contact at all costs, and just plough on in your direction. How a disabled person who walks painfully (and obviously, to others, painfully slowly…) is swiftly meant to manoeuvre out of the way – or ‘Disapparate’ (although the only “distinctive cracking or popping sound” is likely to be my spine or splintering walking stick) – is beyond me; but it seems to be part of the unwritten constitution of society (that I, as an enfeebled outlier, have not been instructed in): especially as embodied in the routine institutional prejudice doled out to those who are ‘different’ (whether through gender, race, class, or capacity).

After my recent disability hate crime run-in (‘limp-in’?) – which is now under official Police investigation: so I will (and can) not say much more – perhaps, you may think, I have become a tad paranoid. But I actually started drafting this post a year or so ago: and I have found little, in the intervening time, that does anything but confirm my suspicions.

I consider ‘Stratford-upon-Heaven’ my home town: but, when it is busy, and filled with people soaking up the sun (I will not blame the tourists: all are equally liable, it seems…), it is more akin to Stratford-upon-Hell; and a part of me starts to meretriciously envy those in mobility scooters who appear to see no harm (revenge, perhaps?) in scything their way up Bridge Street, with metaphorical blades attached, Boudica-style, to the hubs of their wheels. How I wish I were Moses, able to part the throng for an easy passage. But it is not to be.

But why is it so? Is it really “prejudice”; discrimination; a lack of tolerance? It would seem – sadly – that it is: that disability, invisibility, mobility, incivility and hostility all combine (egged on by the Government’s élitist ‘scrounger’ propaganda and deep-seated, well-fuelled hate) to form an obstacle course, in turn, for those who wend their way through life either on a divergent, less-taken path; or are themselves out of the ordinary, anomalous: ripe, tasty cheeses amid the insipid crumbling chalk of society.

But, then, even amongst what you might assume is the solidarity of the ‘differently abled’, there are stratas of distinction and dispute – and the following tale of abuse echoes my own frequent, repetitive experiences (not that I would claim to “look good” or “be under the age of 45” – not quite…):

I am shocked and disappointed that people have shouted at me for parking in a disabled bay when I have a valid badge, walk with a stick, stopping frequently because of pain, or I’m in my wheelchair. So why would people have something to say you may ask? Because I make the effort to look good! Yes, that’s correct, you can’t look half decent, be under the age of 45 and be disabled, apparently! It seems that without me even being out of the car people have made an assumption and feel they have the right to voice their opinion to me in whatever way they feel. Astonishing! Apparently I don’t really look (face wise) disabled!

– S Howell: Disabled Motoring UK (May 2015)

When you are not safe amongst your own kind, then the only lesson I feel I can learn from all this (I’m a very slow study (as well as walker)), and the less-than-pitiful regard that my infirmity provokes (rather than the sympathy – and empathy – I had gullibly, initially expected), is that everyone (else) feels themselves superior to – and more deserving than – those they should know themselves to be – in reality – merely equal to; that there are both real and perceived hierarchies in every aspect of our lives. As a cripple, I am the lowest of the low; and should know my place. I contribute nothing; but take everything. I deserve no better.

The targeting of disabled people has happened while society has looked the other way. Disability hate crime was the invisible crime that people looked straight through because they could not recognise it for what it was. Now it is coming into focus, and we can ignore it no longer.

     Because the crime is, at the same time, both ancient and modern, it has been difficult for us to accept that it exists. Disabled people have been maliciously stereotyped for centuries. This has meant that they have never been accepted as equal citizens even when such equality is enshrined in law. So when they are attacked, they are seen, on some level, as ‘fair game’ or as ‘asking for it’ – and many disabled people, tragically, even internalise those feelings.

     Despite all the best intentions of the disability rights movement, disabled citizens are mostly not seen as ordinary people wanting to live ordinary lives.

– Katharine Quarmby: Scapegoat: How We Are Failing Disabled People

¶

What is therefore required is not “a Highway Code for pedestrians” as I originally posited: but just plain, common or garden civility and mutual respect – that “due care and consideration for others…” – and everywhere… not just on our streets.

However (he said, cynically), altruism and empathy – especially in this arena – have been so browbeaten out of us, that Tamworths will sprout feathers before this happens. Life is nasty, brutish and short: and, it seems, so are many of those living it. More pity them. I am not willing to be subsumed by such passive, malevolent tosh, though: and so, tomorrow, walking wobbly, and leaning on a big stick, I will venture out into the world again: forearmed… and three-legged…. Wizard!

You cannot pass…. I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass.

Courage is fire, and bullying is smoke…

It doesn’t hurt me.

Do you want to feel how it feels?

Do you want to know that it doesn’t hurt me?

Do you want to hear about the deal that I’m making?

You, it’s you and me.

And if I only could,

I’d make a deal with God,

And I’d get him to swap our places,

Be running up that road,

Be running up that hill,

Be running up that building.

– Kate Bush: Running up that hill (a deal with God)

I do not know if you are this nasty to everyone. My suspicion, though, is that – like every bully I have ever encountered (and from whom, ironically, I have learned some indispensable life-lessons) – you saw me parked there, with my Blue Badge, in the Disabled parking space, and simply marked me out as defenceless: someone who would (or could) not fight back against your customary, coarse, crude cant; your recurrent torrent of stunted invective; your pathological fist in my face; your visceral urge to beat me to a pulp. Probably, my refusal to engage you, to engage with you – and my constant expression of dumbfounded bemusement (a defence mechanism of sorts – although I will admit that such spitefulness did take me by surprise: most folk, I have found, are deserving of their space on our tiny planet…) – only aggravated you more: as I was not willing to play along with your stinted, spiteful expectation of a script; nor reward your nonexistent insight, your self-evident innate insecurity.

I am glad, though, that I riled you – at the time – at least as much as you riled me; that, once the onlookers had dispersed, you felt compelled to return and resume your tyranny: because I had not given you the demeaning satisfaction that obviously motivates you. I am sad, though, for the disruption you caused to those other people’s lives: both that they had to witness your attack on me (although one was gracious, then, to offer compassionate support – something I cannot imagine you are capable of comprehending); and that you then took your pathetic impotence out on those who hindered your deranged exit from the scene. I can only hope that you did no more physical or psychological damage once out of sight.

¶

As it is unlikely that you will ever read this (or understand it), I can be pretty certain that you will never gloat over my solitary sleepless night, caused by the traumatic resurrection of submerged spectres; nor the pain that presently haunts the gnawed, raw hollow within. That would no doubt encourage you to endlessly repeat your tiny-minded rituals on those less able to cope. (Once I have published this, though, I will, as they say, sleep like a babe: confident of my moral victory.)

I know I should pity you for your tantrums. A grown man should have more control over his immaturity, his inner, infantile demons. But I do not feel sorry for you in any way. I sympathize with those who know you better (or more thoroughly, should I say) than I; who have to live with such a poor, domineering representative of the human race – that is, of course, should anyone be foolish enough to be in your solipsistic presence for more than a few moments – but all I actually wish for you is two things. The first such hope – from the deep dark side that most of us learned to curb in childhood – is that you would simply vanish from existence, instantly: causing no collateral damage to anyone or anything; nor impinging on their memories. The second is that, one day soon, you find yourself forced uncomfortably into the same sharp corner you tried – but failed – to terrorize me into. I am not convinced, though, that you have one neuron of empathy within you. You are obviously too accustomed to instantly wielding the only weapon in your arsenal – that of thuggish belligerence – to always try to get what you want (however petty); and in response to anything that thwarts the meanness of your paltry reality.

If you do read this, please know that I have reported you to the Police: that your behaviour has been classed as a ‘hate crime’ against the disabled. Whether or not they take my complaint seriously may depend, I accept, on a number of factors. However, please also know that composing my account for them helped me regain both my composure and the self-belief I had felt falling from between my shaking fingers like so many grains of burning sand. Even if they take action, I acknowledge, somewhat dejectedly, that your demeanour is unlikely to alter: that your behaviour stems from a narrowness of emotion and meagreness of imagination that will never be changed. What a wretched existence. You must be so very lonely.