Welcome to the 116^th edition of the Brit Blog Round-Up brought to you this week from that backwater famed for a diminutive statue of a urinating boy, chocolate and plays host to certain sprawling institutions, hence its delusions of grandeur in styling itself as the capital of Europe.

Basking in the warm glow of the results from my comfortable exile, I expected the nominations to concentrate on a post-mortem of the various elections recently held in the UK and I was not disappointed (and that – at this stage – betrays little about my political inclinations and affiliations beyond an antipathy towards a party that has fallen prey to the arrogance that seems to follow in the wake of a long stint in government).

Politics

We begin with Daniel Davies on The mythical rise of the BNP, who presents his theory of “local elections as a contrary indicator” of how well political parties are faring, thereby rejecting the orthodox hand-wringing that interprets the rise of the extreme right as a protest against the perceived failure of the mainstream’s policies to address voters’ unease. The language is polemical, in the Tory-baiting tradition (“for most of the last 30 years the average British unconscious fascist has assumed that his or her natural home was in the Conservative party”). What I find worrying about it is its use of the rhetoric of abnormality to discredit dissenters as deviants (execrable though I find the BNP) as well as its blithe dismissal of local politics. These concerns are picked up on in Dan Hardie’s judicious riposte The very real rise of the BNP, in which he retorts that “Davies’s arguments on the triviality of local government are wrong, for these reasons. Firstly, local government administration can affect your life once you go a bit further down the income ladder. It matters for those who are so poor that they can’t rent or buy in the private market [given the prohibitive cost of purchasing property in the UK at the moment this will be true of an increasingly large slice of the populace], and must rely on the dwindling stock of ‘council houses’”.

That local government does retain a modicum of power at least is demonstrated by Riversider in Save the Ribble, a David and Goliath environmental campaigner’s versus developers with pound signs in their eyes narrative of our times of locals opposing a council’s plans to build a barrage. Indeed, the second piece nominated from the blog showed that for all our fashionable ennui, casting our vote is not an exercise in futility and, for candidates, listening to the communities in question on “trivial” issues can win you seats. This could be scoffed at as empty opportunism, but the web’s power manifested in creating and sustaining coalitions of opinion means that any reneging on promises will be immediately punished as bloggers watch politicians with Argus eyes. Those little ballot slips can put paid to urban creep and green filed devastation.

Meanwhile Flying Rodent, in Live-Blogging the Election provides sardonic commentary on the sheer tedium and predictability of modern democracy in action (little wonder that the dead tree columns are replete with articles bemoaning the apathy and alienation of your average voter). The Rodent’s definitely-not-like-watching-paint-dry-territory version owes more to the plot of Every Which Way But Loose than anything that actually did grace the TV screens – including the monkey (well, orang-utan)! (For a more accurate account, I recommend Richard Leyton’s Scottish Elections: Live Blog, part of a series, which took a detailed and balanced look at the campaigns and candidates over the last couple of weeks).

Shiraz Socialist explains Why I’ll be voting Labour, albeit holding his nose at the prospect of supporting “Blair’s bunch of anti-working-class careerists, petty bureaucrats and right-wing voluntary sector managers”. Indeed.

It is May Day, the fragrant lilac is blossoming, the birds are twittering contentedly only to be drowned out by the strains of the Internationale at Southpawpunch with a call to break down all boundaries and abolish passports, a cause I can sympathise with in this age of pervasive surveillance technology, ID cards and biometric encroachments, a sentiment for which “Utopian” would appear to be a gross understatement. In this diatribe against nationalism (an allegedly capitalist vice), you can delight in such pearls as: “I’ve posted before about how some of the boundaries between nation states are already fraying. The majority of the Luxembourg workforce commutes from abroad, over its near invisible boundaries with Belgium, France and Germany”. It’s called the EU, which, love it or loathe what it has evolved into, enshrined freedom of movement as one of its core principles, the brainchild of a bunch of unscrupulous capitalists who sought to overcome enmity through trade. The tone throughout is musty and quaintly old-fashioned, but as someone who has devoted their academic career to examining the fate of a country forced into Soviet satellite status (Hungary), ominous phrases such as “Socialist Union” make my blood run cold. Wasn’t it Lenin who cynically advocated adoption of the rhetoric of autonomy and independence as a means of harnessing support for the Party? That’s another story, I suppose, but you will see traces of this attitude throughout. All forms of government involve a degree of oppression and a loss of liberty on the part of their subjects in exchange for the services they provide, but some forms of government are more oppressive than others and the track record of Communism speaks volumes in this respect. It is no coincidence that a citizen from Central Europe’s (just liberated after 40 years of Communist rule) anticipated reaction is one of deep scepticism: “If asked, when abroad, I say, ‘I’m British’ (and wonder whether it was the plus fours that gave me away) if someone should say, ‘where are you from?’. If, on that foreign beach, you answered that curious Czech with the line, ‘actually, whilst I have a British passport, I’m a citizen of the world’, the person from Prague would tend to think you’re a bit of a wanker”.

Whereas in their desire to promote internationalism, hard-line Marxists have always suffered from a lamentable aversion towards acknowledging the role of culture in cementing polities, the extreme Right has reified differences in extraction and background to the extent that all other possible sources of affinity between individuals from divergent ethnic groups are ruled out completely. The scholarly literature draws a distinction between civic and ethnic nationalism, which can be summed up as the gulf between the appeal of the SNP’s call for independent nationhood (which, true enough, can sometimes be tinged with a certain antipathy towards the “white settlers” invading our heather-clad mountains aboard their Chelsea tractors) and the BNP’s virulent brand of “we Brits are hard done by in our own country, send them packing” exclusionism. The two are clearly worlds apart and the conflation of all manifestations of patriotic feeling with rampant racism (thereby tarring civic and ethnic nationalists with the same brush) smacks of an intellectual dishonesty that is grist to the extremists’ mill. Interrogating the benefits and possible costs of immigration is reviled as dangerous claptrap, but sweeping the issue wholesale under the carpet (for fear of being branded a racist and consigned to pariah status) leaves tensions unaddressed. Engagement is not synonymous with sullying yourself. In my capacity as host I am bound to respect the tradition of strict impartiality in including all links submitted no matter how reprehensible I might find them personally (although the host role does not preclude commenting on the submissions). In this spirit I include youdontknowme’s Multiculturalism from Central News, reproducing an article by Alanorei, which makes the Daily Mail’s Melanie Philips’ fuminations look like a model of restraint and moderation.

The Daily (Maybe) focuses on the presidential campaign across the Channel with a guest post by John Mullen. The author apologises for its length, although I found the depth of its analysis refreshing – you cannot do justice to the intricacies of your argument in a soundbite! Mr Mullen rightly points to the “mix and match” tendency so symptomatic of latter-day politics, Sárközy (couldn’t resist the original spelling) and Royal being no exceptions, combining elements traditionally believed to belong to the Left and the Right in an effort to woo voters. Extensive and thoughtful coverage is given to the factions within the fragmented Radical Left, a good example of the virtues of Web writing and its advantages over the conventional media’s patronising assumption that readers’ eyes will automatically glaze over unless they squeeze the contest into a superficial “battle of the sexes”, or – worse – a “battle of the hairstyles” framework.

Andrew at Dodgeblogium waxes lyrical in Can you guess the subject matter? with a crafty piece of product placement as he lets his imagination soar in BA business class – all that extra legroom does appear to work wonders for the traveller’s creativity.

The final dispatch from the political battleground (and, I admit it, my favourite) is Silversprite’s Election day in the Outer Hebrides, the perfect antidote to the bickering and recriminations from an island with “a current permanent resident population of 128”. The images of the stunning scenery certainly put political strife into perspective, reminding us of the impermanence of all our passions.

Blogging against Disablism

Heidi of The Wood Vale Diaries challenges us to re-examine our attitudes with an eloquent account much of just how much of a difference in perceptions and the treatment by age cohorts (and by extension their parents) a year can make in How young is too young? She asks: “Is a four-year-old too young to understand that every child should be treated the same, despite their abilities? Is a three-year-old child too young to be taught to respect our differences and to appreciate the richness and diversity of humankind?”

Lady Bracknell delivers a scathing and brilliant indictment of the phenomenon of “benevolent discrimination”, a clarion call to journalists and broadcasters who no doubt believe that their “inspiring human interest” stories contribute to a positive portrayal of people with disabilities, whereas, to quote the redoubtable Lady herself, the real subtext is not quite so straightforward or so pretty: “As disabled people, we make good copy. We can be news-worthy because we’re objects of pity, or horror, or we can be news-worthy because we’ve ‘overcome our disabilities’ (sic) to do something which, in a non-disabled person, really wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. Like passing an exam. Or learning to drive. Or having a job. And Every Bloody Time a disabled person is represented in this way in a newspaper, or in a magazine, or on a television documentary, it helps to drive home the message that

pity is an appropriate response to disability

if you’re not disabled, you’re very lucky

disabled people can’t do the things the rest of us can do

all disabled people are chirpy and brave, and they do their very best, bless them

disabled people AREN’T normal” [emphasis in original].

Feminism

At Mind the Gap! Zenobia regales us with a brilliant dissection of discourses of femininity and how the power of employers to withhold access to financial resources (earning potential) shores up (indeed enforces) cultural constructs and expectations of what a woman should look like and how she should behave in The life of a potential ‘hotesse d’accueil’ in Paris. Femininity, she reminds us, has nothing to do with comfortable-shoes practicality or personal comfort, but expensive maintenance of an image, which may very well be a marketable commodity, but only on the (narrow) terms dictated by the man holding the purse strings. Outward conformity with the ideal of the presentable and well-groomed (inevitably involving nail varnish and slenderness) and the “feminine” virtues of subservience dressed up as “helpfulness”, pleasantness (the forced smile, the inability to answer back or be in a bad mood, in short Arlie Russell Hochschild’s The Managed Heart in action, a work which has lost nothing of its relevance or potency since it was first published in 1983). Zenobia forcefully brings home how femininity is valued (in all senses of the verb): “But secretarial and hostess jobs are also inherently sexist: you have to do a range of both menial and highly responsible tasks, some of which involve being a status symbol for your boss. And a huge part of the job is looking nice and smoothing over relations between bosses and clients, being reassuring and welcoming to clients and potential business partners: a kind of housewife in the workplace, which I guess is why it’s called a ‘hostess’, and why very few men choose to do the same job: a male graduate who was fluent in three languages would not be expected to bow, scrape, make coffee, and have prolific knowledge of Land Registry procedures, all for the minimum wage”.

If the Women’s Institute conjures up images in your mind of a bastion of middle-class respectability, a refuge for the bored housewife with too much time on her hands (her nanny and cleaning lady having divested her of her more onerous responsibilities in the home), an institution as staid, stolid and constricting as a creaking corset, good for little else except baking cakes and posing nude for calendars then you should take the trouble to visit Philip Booth’s In Praise of WI, which makes an admirable effort to dispel notions that the organisation is fusty and out of touch.

Culture

Ellee Seymour at ProActive PR reviews The Decadent Cabaret staged by Rowan Pelling (former editor of The Erotic Review and columnist in The Independent) in A disappointing night of decadence, pondering how the involvement of big names doesn’t necessarily guarantee satisfaction.

Michael Allen aka The Grumpy Old Bookman draws an interesting parallel between the success of a talented performance artist and the world of self-publishing.

Jonathan Calder at Liberal England takes us on a guided tour of All Saints Margaret Street, one of London’s hidden treasures, which gives us a salutary reminder of why we should never judge a book by its cover (or for that matter a church by its unprepossessing exterior).

Miscellaneous

Natalie at Philobiblon reports on a merger of three schools enough to make any parent shudder in Britain’s miserable youth…In a microcosm of contemporary Britain outside the school gates, pupils are to be subjected to a regime of unremitting supervision as no playground facilities are to be provided. The head teacher claims that they will not need to let off steam since their grey matter will be adequately stimulated. Relaxation is essential, however, especially following a period of intense intellectual activity (as soon as I’m done here, I’m off to play Tiberium Wars online).

Hamer Shawcross, at The British Bullshit Foundation, despairs for our future, with an amusing demonstration of how the same set of events can be described from diametrically opposed vantage points.

Jon of Jon’s Jail Journal treats us to the fruits of one of his creative writing assignments (his own recollection of the experience also well worth perusing).

Suz of Suzblog lets us in on a well-kept secret about whose scarf her Maj will be wearing as she watches the match from her Royal Box in the grandstand in Queen is a Gunners fan.

Are you scientifically literate? Go to Camden Kiwi and find out!

The Scottish Tourist Board might not be cracking open the champagne after the MTI’s sonar scan of Loch Ness, but as Katie of Inky Circus informs us, nature had another surprise in store to shake us know-it-all humans out of our complacent assumptions that there is little left for us to discover on Earth.

Last, but by no means least, the ideal piece of light relief to send you on your way with a smile on your face, the Overnight Editor exposes the unapologetic wantonness triggering hay fever in an exquisitely written piece with more than its fair share of excruciating puns.

Next week’s Round-Up will be brought to you by Ken at From the Dustbin of History.