Tonight I drove home listening to Radio 2, which is unusual for me. And it was a live session, or at least I presume live- anyway, the artist was called Jade Gallagher. She sounded amazing, so amazing that I pulled over to listen properly, and wrote down her name, because I couldn't let it go.
I listened to her singing a song called "Katy Says" which is apparently about wanting more out of life. But the song I've found since coming home, on iTunes, is "Haunting Me". Can't find the lyrics online, so here we go...I'll write out the bulk of them.
I've known loneliness
Turn my spirit cold
I've known emptyness
Good times I've swallowed
I swear I lost
Lost my soul
When you're through haunting me
Won't you please let me know
When you're through haunting me
Won't you please let me go
I've known good times and bad
In my mind is a letter
Where these memories are contained
They feed my hunger
They stop it too
When you're through haunting me
Won't you please let me know
When you're through haunting me
Won't you please let me go
It's been so long
It might almost be beyond reach
Maybe a vision
From in my mind
To pass the time away
Just to see you
And warm my blood again
When you're through haunting me
Won't you please let me know
When you're through haunting me
Won't you please let me go
Won't you please let me go?
http://www.myspace.com/musicjadegallagher is her Myspace. I'd advise you to listen to the aforementioned Katy Says and Haunting Me.
Let it wash over you.
Sunday 23 March 2008
Sunday 16 March 2008
Strange Fruit
Whilst actually doing work and reading about the lynching of black people in the southern states of the USA around the start of the 20th century, I came across this song. Or rather, I'd had it for ages, but just never listened to it properly. How had I missed the lyrics, and the haunting melody?!
Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter cry.
I have the Nina Simone version, but Billie Holiday sang it originally. The 'strange fruit' are obviously the bodies of tortured and hung black men, and the juxtaposition between this horrific imagery and that of a hot, noble, pastoral south is so...so...I don't know. Very emotive, anyway.
I knew about the existence of lynchmobs; I knew this sort of thing happened. But I didn't know the details, I didn't know the true extent. It shames me, actually, to realise how little I know about this world.
Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter cry.
I have the Nina Simone version, but Billie Holiday sang it originally. The 'strange fruit' are obviously the bodies of tortured and hung black men, and the juxtaposition between this horrific imagery and that of a hot, noble, pastoral south is so...so...I don't know. Very emotive, anyway.
I knew about the existence of lynchmobs; I knew this sort of thing happened. But I didn't know the details, I didn't know the true extent. It shames me, actually, to realise how little I know about this world.
The privatisation and commercialisation of human rights
Those of you who know me will know my stance on private healthcare and education.
On a forum I frequent (again, those of you who know me will know which one), there was a discussion on private healthcare vs the NHS. The basic premise for the discussion was these two questions:
Here are my musings:
The thing I always wonder (this is a genuine question, I honestly don't know the answer and if someone does, I'd love to know!) is...if there was no private option...if all the hospital space in the country was NHS, all the surgeons, doctors, nurses, physiotherapists, radiographers, etc etc etc only did NHS work, would there be such an issue with bed shortages, waiting lists, staff shortages etc?
I'm not sure going private is snobbery, as many have said, but it is certainly disgustingly unfair that it's possible for some people to buy their health while others can't. I had 7 years of NHS orthodontic treatment and an operation that would have cost £50,000 not including the two weeks of aftercare on the NHS too, despite my parents offering to re-mortgage the house and pay for it for me. The main reason for making the decision to stay with the NHS for the latter was that it would have been in the same hospital, with the same surgeon...just sooner. At the time I made the decision I wasn't in that much pain...it ended up that by the time I went into hospital (11 months after my GP first referred me to a specialist) I was in a lot of pain, so maybe I should have gone private. But I'm still proud that I chose to go with the NHS...maybe that's reverse snobbery!
Someone also said that they thought it was interesting that the majority of the people saying they disagreed with private healthcare were young, and that they felt their standpoint on the issue had altered with age and experience. Fair play, I'm young, and probably naive, and maybe my feelings will change in time, if I have children etc. But I don't actually think that the crux of the matter is whether or not you would go private if you had the money. Say you have an illness that only gives you 3 weeks to live, untreated. The treatment is available and will cure you and, complications aside, you will live. You have enough money to pay for it. The NHS waiting list is 5 weeks. The private waiting list is a week. I don't know of many people who would choose death, if they could choose life instead.
But as I said, I do not think that this is the important question. The question is, should you be able to have this option? Should you be able to buy your health when others can't?
The answer, in my mind at least, is ridiculously simple. No. They say you can't put a price on life, but clearly you can, and you can price people out of a basic human right, a service that we are privileged enough to have in the UK, and, to reach the dramatic end point, you can price someone out of life itself.
On a forum I frequent (again, those of you who know me will know which one), there was a discussion on private healthcare vs the NHS. The basic premise for the discussion was these two questions:
- Is private healthcare providing a quality service to those who can afford it and simultaneously taking the strain off the NHS, or is it another example of the growing rich/poor divide?
- If you have/had the money to go private, would you?
Here are my musings:
The thing I always wonder (this is a genuine question, I honestly don't know the answer and if someone does, I'd love to know!) is...if there was no private option...if all the hospital space in the country was NHS, all the surgeons, doctors, nurses, physiotherapists, radiographers, etc etc etc only did NHS work, would there be such an issue with bed shortages, waiting lists, staff shortages etc?
I'm not sure going private is snobbery, as many have said, but it is certainly disgustingly unfair that it's possible for some people to buy their health while others can't. I had 7 years of NHS orthodontic treatment and an operation that would have cost £50,000 not including the two weeks of aftercare on the NHS too, despite my parents offering to re-mortgage the house and pay for it for me. The main reason for making the decision to stay with the NHS for the latter was that it would have been in the same hospital, with the same surgeon...just sooner. At the time I made the decision I wasn't in that much pain...it ended up that by the time I went into hospital (11 months after my GP first referred me to a specialist) I was in a lot of pain, so maybe I should have gone private. But I'm still proud that I chose to go with the NHS...maybe that's reverse snobbery!
Someone also said that they thought it was interesting that the majority of the people saying they disagreed with private healthcare were young, and that they felt their standpoint on the issue had altered with age and experience. Fair play, I'm young, and probably naive, and maybe my feelings will change in time, if I have children etc. But I don't actually think that the crux of the matter is whether or not you would go private if you had the money. Say you have an illness that only gives you 3 weeks to live, untreated. The treatment is available and will cure you and, complications aside, you will live. You have enough money to pay for it. The NHS waiting list is 5 weeks. The private waiting list is a week. I don't know of many people who would choose death, if they could choose life instead.
But as I said, I do not think that this is the important question. The question is, should you be able to have this option? Should you be able to buy your health when others can't?
The answer, in my mind at least, is ridiculously simple. No. They say you can't put a price on life, but clearly you can, and you can price people out of a basic human right, a service that we are privileged enough to have in the UK, and, to reach the dramatic end point, you can price someone out of life itself.
New-ness
Ah, a nice clean new blog. I wrote one in 2006 for a term because it was part of my Computing for Anthropologists module, but then once it was over, I sort of drifted from it and stopped updating it, and now it has vanished into the ether because I haven't updated it in so long. So here it is, a new one.
I do like new-ness. The term 'turning over a new leaf' is such a luxurious one in my mind; it conjures up images of fresh green leaves bejewelled with droplets from a recent storm...saturated with moisture and life and possibility. Anything could happen to that leaf; it could be eaten by a caterpillar, picked and made into a skeleton by a small child (other people did that, right?), remain on the tree until Autumn and phase through a plethora of rich vibrant colours, from yellow to orange to red and finally to a deep brown when it will be plucked by the wind and drawn away into a tangle of air and sky and other leaves, and will come to rest somewhere...anywhere.
Perhaps I'm getting drawn in too deep to the metaphor. But anyway...new-ness. This blog could be anything. I could be anything. Turning over a new leaf doesn't have to start at the beginning of a calendar year, or at the end of a relationship, or after a traumatic event...it can be whenever. You just sit down (or stand up) and say "Here. Here is where it will all change." And it can. It might not, of course, but it can. And that belief that I can decide things will change, and they have the potential to change, fills me with lightness and possibility and hope and...new-ness.
I like new-ness.
I do like new-ness. The term 'turning over a new leaf' is such a luxurious one in my mind; it conjures up images of fresh green leaves bejewelled with droplets from a recent storm...saturated with moisture and life and possibility. Anything could happen to that leaf; it could be eaten by a caterpillar, picked and made into a skeleton by a small child (other people did that, right?), remain on the tree until Autumn and phase through a plethora of rich vibrant colours, from yellow to orange to red and finally to a deep brown when it will be plucked by the wind and drawn away into a tangle of air and sky and other leaves, and will come to rest somewhere...anywhere.
Perhaps I'm getting drawn in too deep to the metaphor. But anyway...new-ness. This blog could be anything. I could be anything. Turning over a new leaf doesn't have to start at the beginning of a calendar year, or at the end of a relationship, or after a traumatic event...it can be whenever. You just sit down (or stand up) and say "Here. Here is where it will all change." And it can. It might not, of course, but it can. And that belief that I can decide things will change, and they have the potential to change, fills me with lightness and possibility and hope and...new-ness.
I like new-ness.
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