Fisking Tapu Misa

Now that Garth "Vader" George has hopefully ridden into the retirement sunset of newspaper column writing, his place is being rapidly taken by Tapu Misa, a Polynesian mother and member of the New Zealand Broadcasting Standards Authority. Her latest column is in response to a Christopher Hitchens's book "God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything" (NY Times book review here).
She's as good as doddery George in avoiding the real issues at stake here (whether religion, any religion, can be any good for the world, society and everything) and rather attack that breed of

New Atheists" who, apparently distinguish themselves from their more polite forerunners in "their virulence, hostility and arrogance.

"New Atheists?" She obviously hasn't read her Voltaire (or Sade) recently.
A few other clangers of hers:

[The New Atheists] display the kind of absolute certainty they scorn in the most fanatical extremists. Atheists know best; atheists have reason on their side.

No, they don't know best, they just know, instead of having to believe in something that isn't proven or provable. And having reason on your side, I would think, is A Good Thing.

Yes, we all know that bad things have been done under religious pretexts. But why blame religion for its failed recruits?

Because, Tapu, religions never admit to failure. They can't without losing credibility. Many can't even stand the notion of apostasy: both Christianity and Islam preach, fulminate, legislate and sometimes have killed over this principle.

And why give so little credit to religion's good works; to the debt owed by Western society to the Judaeo-Christian tradition; to the fact that without Christianity we wouldn't have public hospitals and schools, human rights, the protection of children and women, the abolition of slavery, our charitable institutions, and the legal protections and freedoms we cherish so dearly?

The Judaeo-Christian tradition? A meaningless term because Christian medieval Europe was never happy with the Jew in its midst. It is what it is: tradition dissipated by social change, progress and knowledge.
Public hospitals and schools? They are here due to secular state policy, sharply and long resisted by religious bodies running religious hospitals and schools.
Human rights? They were an invention of the Enlightenment and the French Revolution - anti-clericalism in the 18th century was a far fiercer force in human emancipation than the meek media players in today's "culture wars".
Protection of women and children? They have always been treated by religions as second class citizens or downright property. Was she not awake during social history lessons?
Slavery? It took Christianity 1,807 years (well, one preacher managed to) to get it abolished in England - and much longer in the USA. Ms Misa should be grateful that the missionaries to her Polynesian homelands didn't arrive 100 years earlier to relieve her ancestors of their native culture. (I doubt somehow that they were secretly longing to be in harmony with Christ or whatever the Pope said about the Latin American natives)

It's also pretty poor form to claim there are 500 million Christians in Europe. New Zealand is as little a Christian nation as most of northern and western Europe is. In our census the category "no religion" is growing strongly, hardly an indicator in New Zealand that

Christianity in its various forms is the fastest-growing religion in the world.

And in the rest of Europe, if it isn't secularism that is killing off all those Orthodox Christian Russian Nazis, it's alcohol - or just plain ridicule in the case of those silly Poles upset by the Teletubbies. Perhaps Ms Misa could get a BSA ruling on the Teletubbies sexuality for her Polish colleagues. Her anti-secular credentials would stand her in good stead with them, obviously.

Bitty!

Via the NZ Herald:

A religious ruling by an Islamic scholar permitting women to breastfeed adults with whom they work has led to his suspension from Al-Azhar University in Cairo, the world's leading Sunni university.
Dr Izzat Attiya had last month issued a fatwa offering his bold suggestion as a way around the prohibition in Islamic religious law against a woman working in private premises with a man who is not her close relative. Breastfeeding, he argued, would create a familial relationship under Islamic law.

Are they sure this is not a scene from "Little Egypt"?

Turn the mirror on the Moscow police

If you need any further proof that something is severely rotten in the state of Russia today, what with all the political murders at home and abroad, the despicable situation in Chechnya, democracy-muzzling methods and now at the weekend the beating up of activists attending Moscow Pride 2007 by local fascists and Orthodox religious nutters, all aided and abetted by the local mayor and police. The footage was not pretty, especially Peter Thatchell's black eye.
There is a fun aspect though, one that was eloquently spotted by Brett Load at Lock & Load: if you mirror-flip the photographs of the Russian police force, called "OMOH" in Russian script, you can see what they can see in the mirror every morning before they strap on their armoury for a day's work beating up faggots:

Macau: Casino Republic

Our final destination on this trip was Macau, about 50 minutes by Turbojet ferry, which was eerily familiar to the Waiheke ferry, from Hong Kong airport.
It's the oldest European colonial outpost in the Far East but it is currently struggling to maintain a quaint Portuguese/Mediterranean feel because it is rapidly being transformed into a Las Vegas for mainland Chinese who want to indulge in gambling. There is a huge construction going on of the most garish buildings which will house eventually more casinos than its Nevada counterpart. A pity really, if you're not into that kind of entertainment - Googling gay Macau didn't yield any worthwhile results - but we managed to fill a day and a half with exploring what was left of the old sleepy backwater that resulted after Hong Kong took over as the main commercial hub on the Chinese south coast: a couple of nice Chinese gardens, a few church ruins, beautifully laid out cobblestone mosaic foothpaths and quaint streetname plaques made from glazed white and blue tiles. It rained solidly for the two days so we got thoroughly drenched for our efforts. But another highlight was the Macau Art Museum, housing charming watercolours, old and contemporary, evoking a sense of place and identity; Chinese ceramics and temporary exhibitions of local artists. The currently featured artist was Konstantin Bessmertny, a Russian who has made Macau his home, and his work is a wonderfully sardonic commentary on his new hometown, especially the now dominant industry of gambling. He calls his concept "Casino Republic", and how apt that was! Needless to say we were the only visitors to the exhibition. Obviously everybody else in the territory was too busy losing money.
So now we're waiting for our flight back to Auckland tonight at Hong Kong Airport, which must be one of my favourite airports: unrushed, beautiful, quiet, and a free internet connection at the local pub.
So see you all again in NZ soon

London: end of a holiday

The final part of our trip saw us resting up in London after a quite hectic short European tour. All that family stuff and historical detours took it out on us so it was time to relax on the last days before we fly back to New Zealand. There were some items still to be ticked off: the New Zealand war memorial in Hyde Park Corner, which looks better up close than from the vehicles on the roundabout, where you can get only an impressionist glimpse. The dozen steel girders sticking out of the ground look like massive arrows which were fired from Kensington Palace aimed at the Duke of Wellington statue and narrowly missed. But it's the detailing on the individual girders which tell quite a broad story of New Zealand, not just about war and commemoration as the British version does in Whitehall ("To The Glorious Dead")
Then off to the Imperial War Museum to check out the World War I coverage, mainly to compare it to the In Flanders Fields Museum in Ieper which we visited earlier, and my hunch was confirmed that the London version of events was far more jingoistic. It wasn't really surprising since the museum really glorifies all the wars Britain has been in in the past, the name of the venue giving a large clue, instead of being a museum about the concept of war through the ages, illuminating the atrocious nature of human conflict. And this despite having German world war artifacts too.

Belgium: dual citizenship legalized

Now for some excellent news from Belgium: from June 9 it will now be legally possible to hold dual citizenship as a Belgian national. This was long overdue, and common practice in many a country, including New Zealand.
I have been writing to the Belgian senator, Sabine de Bethune, who introduced a Bill in 2003 to regulate and abolish this longstanding discrimination against its own citizens. Under the old regulations when you accepted a foreign nationality you had to give up your Belgian passport. Something which a foreign national who becomes Belgian does not have to do with his original nationality.
So now I'm a happy chappy I will be able to regain my birthright, and still remain a New Zealander.

Scotland: whakapapa and Hurricanes rugby

The Scottish National Party this week won the Scottish parliamentary elections, promising a referendum on independence and Tony Blair finally said the first of his goodbyes to make way for Gordon Brown. Maybe things are starting to look up for Britain.
So we took the Flying Scotsman train to Edinburgh for a short tour of the Western Highlands, looking for some ancestry stuff for Ewen. It was good to get out of England, but in an unsurprising turn of events, the rail company threatened to put us on buses between Darlington and Newcastle because a goods train had derailed. Luckily the tracks had been cleared when we approached and we could continue to Edinburgh with some slight delay.
Scotland will need a bit more than chocolate box scenery for tourists to make it as an independent country in the world. Surely the oil and gas will be a great help in the next 100 years if the Sassenach companies can be persuaded to pay a decent return to the Scottish treasury, like they do in neighbouring Norway.
So up to the Morvern peninsula, off Oban, where we stayed at a tiny harbour village called Lochaline. Marvellous barren scenery, pine forest plantations and fjords you just can imagine Viking longships sail through. In the 19th century all the inhabitants were cleared off the land by landlords keen to get a higher economic return by running sheep than having crofter tenants. All very nasty stuff ensued: burning of houses, assisted emigration and so New Zealand got its entrepreneurial agricultural class in return, now giving the Brit farmers a large run for their money by selling better quality lamb to British customers.

Lochaline has a pub and a social club where we got talking to a very cute redhead who happened to be a Hurricanes rugby fan. He spurred us to come over to the Isle of Mull for a local rugby 7s tournament. Unfortunately we weren't able to due to the history tour we were on.
Again, as in Belgium, the locals were far less interested in the historical details than the occasional overseas visitor looking for his roots.
What we can recommend is the local restaurant called The White House, gourmet food at incredible prices but just simply sublime for a one-off indulgence.
A highlight of the peninsula is an abandoned early 19th century village that has only been unearthed early last century, called Inniemore.

England: infamy! infamy!

Flying back to England after an incredibly lovely sojourn in Denmark, and I wished the Danelaw was still in force. Then we would have been welcomed in England as we were in Denmark: a friendly nod and a warm welcome to the country. Instead we got the third degree by an uppity immigration officer at Gatwick. The interrogation went thus:

Me: Hello.
Immigration officer (IO): Your first visit to Britain, is it, Sir?
Me: I was here last week.

Last week we had cleared customs at Heathrow in a stopover to Denmark, he could see the stamp in my passport. Boy, do I hate incompetence in officials.
The Heathrow IO then was asking me all about Wisley, because she had talked to Ewen before about horticulture. Of course I didn't know anything about that - Wisley is some horticultural centre. Probably put the suspicion on me. Can I help it I'm not the gardener in the family? Why do these immigration people ask all these loaded questions?

IO: And before that?
Me: I was born in Belgium, have traveled to Britain many times before

About 60 times in the last 30 years, in fact, plus actually resided in Britain for three years. He no doubt had all that information at his stubby little fingertips.

IO: I see you were born in Gent. Do you have family here?
Me: No.
IO: Friends?
Me: Yes.
IO: How long are you staying for?
Me: 10 days.
IO: And then?
Me: Back home.
IO: To New Zealand?
Me: Yes.

By now I was seriously bored and getting irritated - I was looking around and just knew the mirror behind him was one-way, I have seen the "Airport" programme, these little tin pot Nazis seriously need a dose of Schengen. Don't these guys know terrorists don't come from New Zealand but from up North? And why do they feel offended if you really don't want to stay in their poxy, paranoid and hysterical country? Obviously, the UK has in more ways than one become the 51st state of the Union.
By then the neighbouring IO pointed out to him that I was traveling with Ewen and she had finished with him satisfactorily. I had the distinct impression he would have loved to continue the interrogation.
So now I was in a foul mood and seriously considering avoiding traveling to Britain in the future because I can't really be bothered with all that nonsense.
The next morning I had to exchange some currency and was up bright and early at 9am to go to the bank. London prides itself on being the financial capital of the world but that is delusional: I went to the bank and people were able to do their normal day to day banking but the teller told me I had to wait until 9:30am before the forex counter opened. The teller, looking very much like one of those formidable East European matrons that used to staff the Stasi and other communist border patrols, took a suspicious look at me and counted my notes five (five!) times, each marking with a fluoro pen, all while questioning me on my lack of an account with the bank. To quote Catherine Tate: What A Fucking Liberty.

Århus: coming in from the cold

Århus is Denmark's second city in population and a very pleasant merchant city it is. Nicely laid out with its pedestrianised city centre spanning most of the inner city, and also features a lovely bridge over the little river that flows through the town.
It was full of young people today as it was some kind of day off for them after they were "confirmed" in their (I presume Lutheran) church yesterday, Sunday. They were wearing the international teenager uniform with a predominance of black clothes and, rather girlishly, white belts on their black sagging pants. A rather ridiculous look, but it is a prerogative of youth to look as silly as possible in their fashions.
To escape the relentless twink on the streets we headed for lunch at an eaterie which specializes in ethnic fast foods such as pizzas and hamburgers. Charles was most upset when the waitress told him firmly NO! to a request for cutlery to eat his pizza with. Apparently it's a major promotional gimmick of the restaurant to oblige punters to eat pizza without knives and forks. Eating with your bare hands is a radical thought in Denmark!

Copenhagen: when in Denmark...

A truly magnificent weekend in Copenhagen with our friends and former Waiheke Islanders Charles and Brent, with the glorious Spring weather following us from the Low Countries via London to Denmark. The rapeseed fields are in full fluorescent yellow bloom with temperatures in a summery high 20s range and no rain since late March.
I have been to Denmark twice before, in the mid-1970s, and I was keen to be in Scandinavia again. Denmark seems to me a country extremely at ease with itself and its place in the world. People here are quite laid back, although our friends said they are sticklers for rules and don't hesitate to tell you so - or even report you to the authorities if you infract them. They know who they are: no national identity crisis in a globalising world here. Hence their stroppiness in adopting "foreign rule", be it European Union constitutional changes or the Euro.
We did a walking city tour to all the places to see, from Amalienborg Palace (the Tasmanian dog princess wasn't home) to the Little Mermaid, from Nyhavn to Christiania, a squatters paradise where former army barracks and ramparts have been transformed into a hippie haven, complete with drug problems and consumerism which has seen it being simultaneously transformed into a political eyesore and a tourist attraction.
Finally a short detour to Roskilde, the Danish ancient capital, where a magnificent collection of unearthed Viking ships and artifacts are on display. You can take a ride on a replica Viking longboat and you even have to pay for the privilege of manning the oars. No rape or pillage is included in the charge, unfortunately.

Antwerpen: a tale of many cities

One of the purposes of traveling to Europe this year was to attend my parents' golden wedding anniversary. They live in a wealthy suburbs of Antwerpen. As a political aside: its wealth ensured it was not amalgamated with the City of Antwerpen and thus limited the damage on property values that local city taxes could inflict. But let me not harp on about those trivial issues.
Fifty years of marriage sure is something to celebrate and mum and dad did this by inviting hardly anyone of their immediate families but instead opting for a very informal reception for friends and neighbours. A very pleasant time was had by all - dad even danced with a woman who was not my mother!
Ewen and I had no need to introduce ourselves to the scores of strangers that were there and we had never met because they had all seen the documentary that Belgian television had made three years ago about our life in New Zealand. They knew all about our queer life in NZ and it was very nice to hear they (most of them being over 65) loved it. Nothing but praise about the country and its scenery too. Being queer certainly does not raise any eyebrows in Belgium - being able to legally marry was achieved without any fuss a few years ago - and I know it pleased my parents too that all their friends were embracing their queer son.

I spent several days catching up with people from my past - many of whom have been in touch since the TV show - from school and college, from the local radio station and from my infamous punk past (picture left is at the entrance of the erstwhile Cinderella's Ball Room, the best punk/reggae club in Western Europe in the late 1970s and early 1980s). I'm always interested in what people have done with their lives after school and always surprised what the outcome was.