So, it’s no secret to my friends (or those that used to count me as a friend) that I’m a Corbyn sceptic. I’m very disappointed that he has been re-elected as the leader of the labour party.
I am disappointed because I think he has no chance of winning the next election, as well as some real policy problems. I do think that a third way is a good way to deliver many positive changes in public service, and I don’t want to see re-nationalisation of public services, or the banning of the private sector from public service provision. I also want to remain a member of the European Union, and I support the right of Israel to exist as a sovereign state.
I see online that many people with whom I normally agree have decided that they cannot remain in the party – many of them citing the aggression and antisemitism that they have perceived in some of Corbyn’s supporters.
I’m not leaving – and I want to explore why in this post. I’m indulging in some self-analysis here, feel free to agree, disagree, ignore as you see fit.
The main reason I’m not leaving is that I left before – and spent seven years as a member of and doing some campaigning for the Liberal democrats. I joined the LDs because we moved to Newbury, and they were the second party. I left the Labour party because of the war in Iraq. I never really felt at home in the LD’s – especially given the rise of the Orange Bookers. I left just after the Rose Garden press conference, when it became clear that the LD leadership was naive in allowing the tories to spin the line that Labour had ‘failed to fix the roof’, and that the economic problems after 2010 were a result of Labour’s fiscal policy. It became clear to me that policy wise Labour was the place where I fitted best.
The second reason I’m not leaving is that I agree with Corbyn’s analysis of the way that Labour needs to change at a local level. It does need to be a local campaigning party. We need to be doing things to improve life at a local level, and to campaign for better and fairer public services – especially where we control councils. A good example of this is the closure of the Arthur Hill swimming pool in East Reading, which a Labour council is closing on the promise of building another pool nearby – at some point in the future. Labour members should be free to organise against closures like these (and many others) that have happened around the country.
Finally I’m not leaving because things will change – and this bubble will burst, eventually. Longer serving members of the party will need to be around to help the party recover when the hangover kicks in. This may be in 2019, or it may be following a series of defeats in 2020 or 2022. However, by then we will have either come to a working compromise with each other, or the arrivists will have drifted away, or who knows – we might be proved wrong and there will be a Labour government.
I’ll continue to deliver leaflets and go to meetings, and I’ll wait. If I’m wrong and momentum’s death grip on the party cannot be dislodged even until death itself, that will be the point to think about leaving.
Migraine has been something I’ve lived with for a long time. Though at university I didn’t realise that migraines were happening to me, and I just felt periodically like a panicking waste of space, now I recognise the pattern that they bring to the way I live.
There is a day of listlessness – and a loose, unfocused anxiety, now more and more often accompanied by nausea. This day is usually followed by an early night, and a deep sleep which is then interrupted in the early hours by a deep scraping grinding pain in the bones over my left eye. This pain drifts down my face and a tight weight sits on my chest.
The choice is then whether to take a triptans or not. If I take it at the right time the migraine can be caught, stopped at source. Too late, and the pain intensifies, becomes a narrow, sucking, draining hole into which the contents of my head are slowly drawn.
All the next day I will forget nouns, especially people’s names, and time seems to lose its connection to the world. Minutes might take hours or an hour can pass in a second, without any sense of sleep to explain its speed. It will be spent sitting on a codeine bubble, in which the silent-painful noise of the migraine buzzes, trapped. I drag myself to work on the bus, if I’m teaching, or sit and try to mark or read if I’m able to work from home. Now, sitting in the evening, a dull self-loathing born of a wasted couple of days slowly drips down the back of my throat.
My philosophical knowledge is inadequate to the task that I have set it – understanding my job as an educator. For instance, I’m currently reading Why ‘what works’ won’t work: Evidence-based practice and the democratic deficit in educational research by Gert Biesta (2007), and I need to understand the philosophical building blocks that he uses.
Biesta refers to something called ‘unwarranted leap’ from “is” to “ought”, which according to this video, has its genesis in Hume’s writing. I’m amazed and somehow delighted about the way that things often come back to or emanate from Hume. I feel that I really like Hume as a person – possibly because I first ran into him by reading Roy Porter’s ‘Flesh in the Age of Reason’, as he is one of my favourite historians. Porter makes Hume’s ideas and his character so ‘human’, so real that I can’t help liking him.
Anyway, a good introduction is this one from the BBC:
but a google search also led me to this:
(nb geeky teacher aside I found this video absolutely fascinating, not only because it uses Southpark to teach philosophy – which must be a great example of teaching only using the best that has been thought or said!!. It is also fascinating because of the utterly engaged and active learning that this lecturer is arousing in his students by delivering a lecture.)
It’s emotion that takes us from is to ought – a feeling that is aroused inside us by something that we describe so that we make of it a moral rule. However, such feelings are not universal – how we respond to the is will be different from the way others respond. As the questions in the video above make clear, this in turn can give rise to concerns of relativism. If ‘ought’ is only ever driven by an individual emotional reaction to ‘is’ then there can be no universal ‘ought’.
Where does this leave us? Are all rules entirely arbitrary? Do we live in a soup of competing moral universes?
I am awake. My chest is a quick running clock, an empty rattling train carriage. It’s 2.45 in the morning, and I’ve been awake for some time. The blue-white street lamp through the window shines mistily through the window. Everything but my chest is stopped, blue-white frozen, asleep waiting for Larkin’s rise of barking phones and barking dogs.
I have slipped out of time and can only thresh in my bed waiting for it to notice and take me back up. A headache pins me to my pillow, but my legs and feet want to move. If they could divorce my head and the rest of my body they would slide away, slither under doorframes and swim outside in the blue-white moonlight.
I love the potential oxymoron in this phrase. I imagine two gossips talking about another’s peccadillo, and being interrupted by a third declaring ‘oh, that’s rather a dull, standard, deviation’.
Statistically it’s a concept which it is easy to explain, but I find hard to understand. It’s a formula which attempts to describe how spread out the data is in a set of data, in other words, on average how distant is each data point from the average of the whole data set.
Or, in other words it attempts to answer the question “how spread out is the data?”
In the video above I can follow this fairly well until he does the difference between x and ‘x bar’. What he’s referring to here is a calculation which gives you the difference between each data point and the mean of the whole data point. You square these, I think, so that you end up with a positive number. This seems to be the case because the final step is to find the square root, so you’re sort of taking the square out again (sort of).
What does the number tell you? I think that it tells you very little on its own – the SD means little unless you know the mean of the data set, beyond the general rule that the closer the number is to zero the narrower the spread of results. If the mean is 50 and the SD is 10 this would suggest a wider spread than if the mean is 100 and the SD is 10.
At the dentist a couple of weeks ago, whilst he tugged and levered a stoutly resisting molar, I wondered what they see when looking inside a mouth. My dentist was sweating slightly, because pulling on the tooth had taken half an hour, and got us nowhere. He suggested we cut it into quarters and do one bit at a time.
He got some sort of dental hacksaw, and go to work, muttering in grey, too near for focus, about the ‘strange morphology’ of my tooth.
To take my mind away, I wondered whether he considered the historical record that mouths present – my mouth in particular. Was the decay a tell tale sign of the sweets and pepsi phase I went through in the late eighties? Are there any traces left of Ed, university champion roll-up smoker and drinker of gallons of tea (being no good at drinking alcohol)?
I wondered if the few white fillings purchased in flush times before children, now coffee stained, are testimonials of my fall in the world, or whether it was just age, time passing, creeping entropy that he saw described in my ivories.