Last Sunday, we held our third annual Sudbourne Road Street Party. As ever it was a personal, neighbourly and community affirmation of the simple power of human connection (http://www.shanepcarmichael.com/2010/07/the-big-lunch-2010-and-the-importance-of-social-capital).

Place and our association with it is a funny thing. The two places I tend to speak of most often are Belfast and Brixton. I’m always interested in how others respond to my stories of these two extraordinary places and how they (among others) shaped and continue to shape me.  The stereotype is of course of two troubled places; gritty, associated far too often (and always sadly) in the minds of others with division and decay (social, economic, political, economic). And yet, for those of us lucky enough to call either of these places home, that is just one story from among a multitude. And one which denies both them and us the glory of their true, complex, gritty, divided and yes, in parts decaying, selves. And in doing so the stereotype prevails, grows stronger, pushes out the possibility of another reality, an alternative narrative.

The danger, the limitations, the challenge of these “single stories” is articulated in this wonderful talk by Chimamanda Adichie: http://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html 

And last Sunday as I watched neighbours and friends come together in a simple celebration of shared place I was struck by the limitations and distorted reality of Brixton’s oft told “single story” and the possibility in the alternative story we – in a simple act of gathering to celebrate our physical communion in SW2 – were (and are) writing. As I watched friends and neighbours come and go I wondered at the multitude of stories that made last Sunday what it was and our street what it is and Brixton what it really is more often than it is not……and in doing so we too regain(ed) a kind of paradise.

Related articles

• The dangers of a single story- Chimamanda Adichie (elainepratley.wordpress.com)
• Chimamanda Adichie: The Danger of a Single Story (jenninmanagua.wordpress.com)
• London riots: before and after the destruction in Tottenham, Brixton and Enfield (telegraph.co.uk)
• The Who I Am Story and the Dangers of a Single Story (writingartlife.wordpress.com)
• Brixton recovers after night of disorder (cllrstevereed.wordpress.com)
• Brixton community slams ‘pathetic’ rioters (independent.co.uk)
• Robots Riot In Brixton – Eye-Popping Short Film Discusses Civil Rights With Machines (singularityhub.com)
• Belfast…in the lead up to the annual riots! – Belfast, United Kingdom (travelpod.com)
• My kind of town: Belfast (guardian.co.uk)

Apparently, Field said he said he was disturbed by research showing how accurate a prediction can be made as to where a child will be in their 20s, by looking at their ability at 22 months and just before five years. Narrowing divisions in children’s readiness for school at five was central to tackling divisions in later life, he said.

He is right to be disturbed. But he shouldn’t be surprised.

Certainly this has been known to the wonderful Sutton Trust Charity for some time and even an uninformed observer such as myself has been bemoaning the lack of interest in and commitment to progress interventions aimed at supporting the development of disadvantaged children in their most formative years. My three previous posts over the past year on the subject: here, here and here.

This has been a particular concern of mine in Northern Ireland where most of last year was spent arguing on post Primary education when the real prize is – as the Sutton Trust continually point out – closing the cognitive and associated aspirational gap among children way way before we start to concern ourselves with means of post primary selection.

Anyway, maybe Field is starting to listen and will follow through on the plans outlined in the article. If so that’s commendable but I also hope this is only the start.

In Northern Ireland I hope @conallmcd and NI Minister for Education, Caitríona Ruane take notice. Closer to home I hope that @cllrstevereed and @chukaumunna pick this up and recognise it is for this very reason that local residents are so concerned about plans for an extension of the Ofsted rated Outstanding Sudbourne Road Primary School (and nursery).

What I wrote in March of this year seems still to be relevant today. Shame. But saves me re-typing:

“Consistently on this blog I have maintained that while some form of streaming or selection is a must in any mature and inclusive education system, our real focus should be on primary education; on ensuring our administration of that education is innovative and inclusive enough to support pupils from socio-economically disadvantaged backgrounds and encouraging an ethos of and commitment to  ”concerted cultivation” of our young children among parents and local communities.  We are currently failing our young people during their most formative years”.

Related articles

• Children need parenting classes to break poverty cycle – Frank Field (guardian.co.uk)
• New study indicates children and parents want science assessment for 11-year-olds (eurekalert.org)
• Poverty report targets early years (mirror.co.uk)
• Frank Field: Children suffer when parents abandon ‘tough love’ (telegraph.co.uk)
• Child poverty: five-year-olds are the key to social mobility (telegraph.co.uk)

The Pope, God’s representative on earth according to those of the Catholic faith (to which I nominally belong), comes to London in just two days. You may have heard it mentioned on the TV or in a newspaper. Low key stuff in the main.

I don’t know why exactly, but his visit has really hit me hard as a measure of how far removed I have become from the faith that (as a cruel consequence of growing up in a society largely divided along arbitrarily religious lines) shaped such a large proportion of my life until I was 18 years old: my schooling, my sports, my friendships, my political leanings and a strange fetish for incense.

Today I continue my search for meaning and enlightenment. But I am certain that I will not find it in the confines of any traditional ‘western’ religious tradition. For some time even before my Indian adventures I’d already sensed I was slowly nestling somewhere in the wide expanse that lies betwixt the Humanist and Hindu. Though perhaps not that wide in the absence of prescription (spiritual or practical) in both. I hate not having some wriggle room…and I certainly don’t feel the need for institutional guidance on morality thank you.  I think perhaps I realised some time ago that John Lennon struck on something when he said: ‘I don’t like God much when I get him under a roof’.

I’d already drifted from any real sense of Catholicism by the time the recent bout of child abuse scandals broke. I was, like many, so deeply saddened, if not at all surprised.  I was saddened not just for the suffering so many had endured at the hands of those we were taught to trust in above all others as children, but saddened also because I know there are many many good people still within the Catholic Church whose efforts to reach others and share a faith that truly sustains those who believe (as I know it sustains many I hold close) have been made so much more difficult now;  tainted by the shame of not just insidious personal physical abuse of innocents, but by institutional complicity on a grand scale.

I do not suggest that the Pope is a paedophile. But I do believe it is clear he is complicit in failing to take the necessary actions that a man of God, the leader of a Christian faith, would be expected to take to address such desperate and systemic abuse. It is beyond appalling that today Channel 4 reported that almost 9 years on from their conviction for sexual abuse, more than half those Priests found guilty in a court of law in the UK are still practising clergymen. In that alone I believe he has failed his faith, his church, our society and indeed humanity itself.

I could not help but wonder if Chris Patten felt any sense of irony today with his appeal to Rev Norman Hamilton to shake hands with the Pope rather than behave in a fashion more suited to the religious schisms of “the 16th Century”. Leaving aside whether or not The Moderator (great ring name, no?) should in fact extend a hand of religious charity to the visiting Pontiff, I was more interested in Patten’s evocation of the 16th Century….

For those of us familiar with that quiet religious epoch will know that it was a time when religion was used on a grand scale as a cloak for the unapologetic pursuit of many of man’s worst vices by those within (and without) the church – power, wealth, satisfaction of the physical senses, subjugation of the masses and the repression of any dissenting voice.  Although strictly a work of collaborative fiction, I commend to you the extraordinary book “Q: Dance of Death” (written by a number of Italian students under the wonderful pen-name, “Luther Blissett”) which paints a largely accurate (based on contemporary historical accounts) picture of a century of religious excess, intolerance and abuse. A century when the sort of horror which has stained this century already for the Catholic Church was commonplace.

Patten chose his centuries badly. But in this or any other time, Pope Benedict – and the rest of the Church’s hierarchy - should have spoken out. They should have been unapologetic about rooting out this evil from within it’s midst. No stone should have been left unturned. An age of renewal (as the 16th Century is oft referred Mr Patten) for the Catholic Church; a purging, a prayer for forgiveness and for the restoration of it’s moral authority. Alas, alas…

I am minded of the words of Indian author, Arundhati Roy:

“The trouble is that once you’ve seen it, you can’t unsee it. And once you’ve seen it, keeping quiet, saying nothing, becomes as political an act as speaking out. There’s no innocence. Either way, you’re accountable”.

Accountability. Infallibility. Two age old concepts of this Papacy and perhaps the Catholic Church as a whole, that appear to be terribly and irrevocably broken (ice cream advertising excepted of course).

Related articles by Zemanta

• An interfaith take on the Pope’s visit (newstatesman.com)
• Pope Benedict XVI Goes to Britain: No Cheers? (time.com)
• Church condemns abuse as Pope heads to UK (channel4.com)
• The church that Pope Benedict will find in Britain | Stephen Bates (guardian.co.uk)
• Welcome to Britain, Pope Benedict! (humanistlife.org.uk)
• Sex and death lie at the poisoned heart of religion | Polly Toynbee (guardian.co.uk)
• Pregnant nun ad banned in U.K. (cnews.canoe.ca)
• Pregnant nun ice cream ad banned (bbc.co.uk)

One of the earliest memories I have is of being allowed to sit up with my Da one night in 1982 to watch Alex “The Hurricane” Higgins win his second and unbelievably his last World Snooker Title. I clearly recall my Da and I sitting on the edge of my bed rooted to the screen as the, even then, sleight figure of Higgins twitched and bewildered his way to glory.

Higgins was my hero on the green baize in the same way George Best was on the green turf. I’d spend hours playing their finest moments over and over, a running commentary in my mind for company. Studies suffered but the imagination (and for a while, my talents) prospered.

Both men came from a different religious tradition to my own. Both were products of the city, I of the rolling country around. Both were flamboyant and self assured, I was shy and uncertain. Both had an eye for a good time and a beautiful woman, I lived in hope.

I saw both play in the flesh strangely. Best in 1983, in a “pay to play” game for Tobermore United vs Ballymena United in the Irish Cup. They lost 8-1. Best was incongruous (tanned, shaggy haired, unmuddied) and anonymous throughout. It was exciting but it was never the same again for me. Higgins I saw in an exhibition series in Belfast when his decline had also already taken hold. The sparks were there but the fire had long gone out.

As someone once wrote: “Being a hero is about the shortest-lived profession on earth”.

While it is hard for us to watch our heroes unravel before our eyes, it must have been harder still for them. Both achieved so much, they each changed their sports and how we understood them to be played. Yet they must have known that they could have achieved so much more.

The long decline is something we must all come to terms with. But for some, there is much further to fall. To live out a life once the talent that defined it entirely has begun to fade must be a cruel thing. The subsequent frustrations of that decay and the ill health brought on by the addictions of high celebrity (and no doubt a particularly N Irish penchant for excessive indulgence) an added ignominy to be borne out in the public domain. This is not to excuse the worst of their behaviour – Higgins in particular left his hero status at the door when the cue was set down as far as I was concerned.

Yet still, it is a real sadness that yesterday Alex Higgins packed his cue for the green baize of the next life. The very real emotional and physical damage he had suffered of late had left him a mere shadow of the twinkle eyed genius who’d kept so many of us entertained for so long. It was hard to see that regression, to see a hero reduced by the confines of mere mortality. However, if accounts of his final days are to be believed then it may be a merciful conclusion.

Like Best, Alex Higgins was a NI working class hero. He upset a few, was reviled by some but loved and cherished by so many many more for what he did for his sport. For anyone who was alive to see Higgins in his pomp you will understand what I mean when I say that sport lost one of it’s true, unabated, unbowed and unabashed genius’ yesterday.

Higgins is once quoted as saying after one of his many career knock-backs: “I’m a realist. And me being a realist…I’ll be back”. Not this time Alex. But you’ll be missed. And never forgotten by many, not least by the young man who sat sleepy eyed with his father on the edge of his bed 28 years ago and knew he’d seen something very special; something untamed, something true, something fleeting, something flawed.

A bit like life itself.

Oíche mhaith, codladh sámh. Síochán leat.

Related articles by Zemanta

• O’Sullivan hails Higgins (skysports.com)
• Alex Higgins obituary (guardian.co.uk)
• Alex Higgins, snooker player, dies at 61 (guardian.co.uk)
• Snooker star Alex Higgins dies (independent.co.uk)
• Tributes paid to Alex Higgins (bbc.co.uk)