Lost Histories

I sometimes fear that
people think that fascism arrives in fancy dress
worn by grotesques and monsters
as played out in endless re-runs of the Nazis.

Fascism arrives as your friend.
It will restore your honour,
make you feel proud,
protect your house,
give you a job,
clean up the neighbourhood,
remind you of how great you once were,
clear out the venal and the corrupt,
remove anything you feel is unlike you…

It doesn’t walk in saying,
“Our programme means militias, mass imprisonments, transportations, war and persecution.”
– Michael Rosen, “I Sometimes Fear…

I volunteer with a local heritage & arts group in Gourock: a wee forum where people who are interested in our Burgh of Barony’s past can discuss our history, culture, and future. This can range from the not-too-distant past of the 20th Century, all the way back to prehistoric times, and even the geological composition of the very rocks. Little stories abound, from the innovation of the original Red Herring, to the diabolical warlock Auld Dunrod, and the thing buried under St. Ninian’s football pitch featured on an episode of Arthur C. Clarke’s Mysterious World.

There are stories that aren’t quite so delightful: the death of Mary Lamont and others in the “witch-mania of Scotland”; the sectarian violence which cropped up again and again; the expulsion of Rev. Macrae by the Synod. One of the many hazards historians must navigate in the sea of history is that dark side of humanity: no town is without its sorrows, its hatreds, its evils. It can be very easy to repurpose shame or horror from your past into denial and outrage towards others.

I was struck by this facet of the events in Charlottesville: it’s illustrative in showing how easy it is for things to go wrong.

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How Misunderstanding Wrestling Explains The Mainstream Media

Dolph Ziggler, graduate of Kent State University with a major in political science & pre-law minor. Just before he tried out for the WWE, he was accepted to Sandra Day O’Connor College of Law.

I’ve been watching the wrestling with my two younger cousins since they were wee guys: just as I was entering my teens, they were starting to get into it. It was the early 2000s, just the tail end of the big wrestling boom of the turn of the century, the age of Stone Cold Steve Austin, the Rock, Triple H, the Hardy Boyz, the Undertaker. We enjoyed the pageantry, the grand guignol, the spectacle of this utterly preposterous theatre presenting itself as a competitive sport. Staying up to ridiculous hours to watch what amounted to modern gladiatorial combat-cum-telenova soon became a family tradition.

But it’s fake,” you cry. “It’s so clearly not real.” And I just sigh, and continue enjoying the bonding experience with my cousins.

But the continuing insistence of some quarters to use the “it’s fake, you know” cry as if it was some sort of stunning revelation more than 28 years after Vincent Kennedy McMahon testified to its true nature at the New Jersey State Senate reminds me of nothing so much as the mainstream media confusing its role of journalism with a self-appointed role as educator.

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Wasted Years

Be like the Hairy-Chested Yeti Crab of the Hydrothermal Vents

Be like the Hairy-Chested Yeti Crab of the Deep Hydrothermal Vents of Antarctica

2016 was the worst, so the meme goes. So many deaths, so much political upheaval, so many things that just went wrong. My 2016 was not unlike any of the other 32 years of my life so far: good things happened, bad things happened, some great, some terrible. But there’s always something I remember each year.

So, as with last year, I’ll look back on the top posts of this year – 16 this time, in order of publication, while linking to some of my personal favourite posts.

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