The UN’s Failure to Confront Despots is Breeding Monsters

Arms dealer to tyrants around the world, Russia’s new moniker of peace broker is incongruous. It’s like inviting a tax dodging Irish rock star (you know who you are) to the G8 summit to discuss ways of clamping down on, well, tax dodging rock stars. Turkeys, on the whole, don’t vote for Christmas.

As the UN Security Council meets this week, Russia will veto a resolution that would trigger punitive measures against the Assad regime. The “trigger” would be his failure to comply with the Geneva peace agreement. Basic human psychology dictates that all carrot and no stick is futile and, history tells us it’s a fatal strategy when dealing with ruthless despots. Have we learned nothing from Rwanda, Bosnia and Sudan?

The template for the Syria crisis is not new. The plot, script and supporting cast are the same. A brutal regime subjugates its own people for years. The oppressed, with nothing left to lose, engage in minor acts of rebellion (public demonstrations, graffiti on walls). The indignant dictator quashes any dissent with disproportionate force (mass murder and torture) and when the country descends into chaos, the international media tag it civil war (which implies moral equivalence). Cue public protestations of, “it’s none of our business”, let them fight it out amongst themselves”.

As the story unfolds, attempts to report it accurately are hampered (“foreign reporters” are banned). Mortality rates, news of torture, rape and civilians casualties are best guesses. The truth gets lost in the fog of government propaganda. Inevitably, eventually, someone gains access and evidence of the regimes’ crimes against humanity become impossible, even for the UN to ignore. In Bosnia it was Srebrenica.

At last the media spotlight will shine a light on the faces of the dead and disfigured children. The lens will penetrate the toxic haze and show the world the eyes behind which lie an abyss of broken hearts and minds. Then the world will look away.

Not immediately perhaps but slowly, surely, we will abandon the children of Syria just as we abandoned the children of Rwanda, Bosnia, Palestine and Sudan. Threats of sanctions, UN resolutions and chapter 7 mandates, all serve to reassure us the UN is on the case. The children will be safe at last. But after 10 years of tough talk, securing a chapter 7 mandate (despite Russia and China’s attempts at sabotage) and passing 16 resolutions (none of which have been implemented), children continue to be slaughtered and starved to death on a daily basis in Sudan.

As presidential candidate in 2007, Obama said, When you see a genocide in Rwanda, Bosnia or in Darfur [Sudan], that is a stain on all of us…We can’t say ‘never again’ and then allow it to happen again, and as a president of the United States I don’t intend to abandon people or turn a blind eye to slaughter.”

Having briefed David Cameron’s office ahead of a visit to Darfur in 2006, he returned protesting, “This is ethnic cleansing and we cannot remain silent in the face of this horror."

Yet, with the reins of power firmly in their grip,political expediency trumps the genocide of black Africans. Again.

So, when Obama warned that backing down on despots who slaughter their own people emboldens tyrants everywhere, he was right. It was arguably his and the UN’s failure to stand up to the genocidaire in Khartoum that created the monster in Damascus.

As the UN meets this week to decide the fate of Syria, world leaders must also be reminded of their obligations under the Genocide Convention (1948) to the beleaguered, depleting civilians of Sudan. Their lives are no less worthy of protection, are they?

"Our Deepest Fear is That We are Powerful Beyond Measure...."

I’m in the midst of preparing my presentation for an international Women’s Empowerment Summit in Crete at the end of the month (I know, it’s a tough job but someone’s got to do it). I dug this gem out of my treasure trove...

“Our deepest fear is that we are powerful
beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness
that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who
am I to be brilliant, talented and
fabulous. Actually, who are you not to be”?

(Nelson Mandela 1994, from a speech written for him by
Marianne Williamson).

Thanks to those of you who send kind messages, info & interesting papers etc via my website.

A Victory for “Lose the Lad Mags” Campaign & Women Everywhere!

And the award for most female friendly retailer goes to…..The Co-Op! On Wednesday the company announced it was banning lad mags from its shelves. Well done to the team at UK Feminista & Object. Anyone who hasn’t done so already, I urge you to sign their online petition to persuade Tesco & co to follow The Co-Ops lead.

Having said that, Camden School for Girls feminist society are the real trail blazers. Back in February they took on their local Tesco & won. They made a documentary featuring interviews from girls at the school talking about the effect the daily diet of “soft” porn images of women, displayed at eye level, had on their self esteem. They obviously made a compelling case. An inspirational example of targeted grass roots campaigning.

Now all we need to do is persuade Mr Murdoch that page 3 is sooo last century. In the meantime, I'll continue with my acts of civil disobedience. If you see copies of "Good Housekeeping" obscuring the lad rags in your local retailer, you probably live near me.

* Apologies for gap since last blog. I've been working on an intense project & warding off energy vampires...

50 Years Ago Martin Luther King Had a Dream

*This article was published in The Huffington Post on 28 August

Wednesday marks the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King’s seminal “I have a dream” speech. However pertinent then, it is obsolete in today’s post racialism Britain. His account of black people being shackled “by the chains of discrimination” is about as outdated as VHS.

Today, racism is a mythical concept incubated in the minds of liberal fundamentalists and the likes of Oprah (“you can’t afford that handbag”) Winfrey. An aside: It’s hardly the shop assistants’ fault if black people in Switzerland are poor.

When I came to live in this country I had the right mindset. That of fitting in. Before I even left my native Dublin I took elocution lessons and words like “feck” were banished from my vocabulary. It helped that I dyed my carrot red hair black and reduced my daily alcohol intake from 10 to 8.5 pints. You won’t find U2 or The Script on my ipod. I changed my name from Mary Gobnit O’Reilly to the more British sounding Tess (short for Tessandra) Finch-Lees. My assimilation was complete.

I do think that ethnic minorities could do more to fit in. In the same way that Isla Fisher converted to Judaism and Katie Homes to Scientology in an apparent bid to ingratiate their men, why can’t black and minority ethnics (BMEs) at least show willing?

It was recently reported that schools requiring supply teachers are asking for a “John Smith, if you know what I mean”? Surely, if you want a job, rather than dig your heals in, flaunting your unpronounceable foreign name, on principle, just change it to John Smith or Jane Jones for goodness sake. Pride comes before a fall and all that.

Fifty years ago signs such as, “No blacks, dogs or Irish” were commonplace. Nowadays, [well behaved] Irish and dogs are welcome in most British establishments. In post racialism Britain you would never see signs telling immigrants to go home. Any cryptograms, say written on vans patrolling through London, and the random targeting of dark skinned immigrants at railway stations, would be illegal. The racists behind it would be hauled before the courts. That’s what the Equality and Human Rights Commission is there for. Isn’t it?

As long as the PC brigade keep banging on about racism a climate of victimhood will prevail. They churn out statistics with the velocity and conviction with which Catholics produce offspring. The fact that there is only one black CEO in the ftse 100 (and he’s not British), that only 1 in 20 of the judiciary is BME and that there is only one non white editor of a national newspaper, is frankly, just one of those things.

A lot of what is termed “racist” in contemporary society is being whipped up by the racialism industry. Take the recent to do after it emerged the Tory MP Jacob Rees-Mogg spoke at the Traditional Britain Group dinner. An organisation that condemned Doreen Lawrence’s peerage as “a monstrous disgrace”. Like Enoch Powell, the TBG called for Ms Lawrence to return to her natural homeland. Easier said than done. Those chaps have obviously never tried to catch a tube to South London at rush hour.

I have it on good authority that Mr Rees-Hogg, like his Tory colleague, Calum Rupert Heaton-Gent (actual name), who also attended the dinner, were victims of a misunderstanding. Their Eton advisors thought TBG stood for Transvestite, Black and Gay, so they only agreed to attend in the hope of shoring up swing voters. Allegedly.

Even Tory MP, Adam Afriyie, has reportedly described himself as “post –racial”. “I don’t see myself as a black man”. Obviously not. How else could he rub shoulders with the likes of Patrick Mercer, who, as an army officer, said his black soldiers were routinely referred to as “n*****s”, and who lambasted “idle and useless” ethnic minority soldiers who “used racism to cover their misdemeanors”.

Fifty years on there’s a disproportionately higher representation of black people in prison, living in poverty, and dying in police custody in the UK. Whilst I concede this arguably falls short of Martin Luther King’s dream of justice and equality, frankly, as long as those of a darker hue are being picked on, it takes the heat off us Irish. And dogs.

Eric Pickles & the Bongo Bongo Brigade are Warm Up Acts in Count Down to General Election

If Eric Pickles is Minister for Community Cohesion, I’m the Taliban’s Minister for Women. With 15 months to go to the next election the politics of prejudice has only just begun. Having no doubt conducted a focus group in Basildon, Travellers were identified as the ethnic minority that would yield least votes and for whom there is no celebrity on speed dial if singled out for a good kicking.

Pickles is doing what Michael Howard did during the 2005 Tory election campaign, picking on Travellers in a bid to deflect the gullible public from scrutinising their policies. For example, if you dig beneath the surface, you’ll find that the term “austerity” is actually a euphemism for stealing from the poor to give to the rich. If they can pick up a few votes from UKIP while they’re at it, all the better.

Instead of maligning an entire community based on briefings from his Oxbridge intern, Eric Pickles, like his colleagues, needs to get out more.

Pickles’ defence for picking on Travellers is that they should be made to obey the law like everyone else. Not quite everyone. There are some exceptions, aren’t there Eric. Five years after the global financial crisis, which has driven countless ordinary people to destitution and, in some cases death, not one senior banker has faced criminal charges in this country.

At the same time as the most vulnerable people in society are facing cuts to jobs, wages and benefits, corporations like Starbucks, Google and Amazon are finding loopholes in the law enabling them to avoid paying full tax on profits made in this country. Utility companies are accused of price rigging and exploiting impoverished customers. The wealthy, it seems, are allowed to evade and circumvent the law with government impunity, while ordinary people pay the price for their recklessness and greed.

If different rules apply for the privileged, the principles of fairness and justice that underpin a democracy are severely undermined. These are the issues the Tories will face during the election campaign and no amount of dog whistling will throw us off the scent.

See an earlier blog re the Eviction of The Dale Farm Travellers to get an insight into the human beings behind the misinformed, misleading stereotype.

When the Words “Body Bag” Were Uttered, I Would’ve Agreed to Pose Naked in Playboy

This was published in The Huffington Post today. Link will be added to the press section shortly.

Over a week has passed since news broke of Caroline Criado-Perez’s Twitter abuse. Despite two arrests, the deluge of threats against defiant women has escalated rather than abated. Caroline’s nightmare exposed the underbelly of misogyny in this, our so called “post feminist”, society. Despite being bombarded with rape and death threats, Caroline, Stella Creasy, Mary Beard, Laurie Penny, India Knight and others refuse to be intimidated into submission.

When confronted with similar tactics, albeit in person, I wasn’t so courageous. I found exposing myself to physical threats fundamentally incompatible with pregnancy, the first of which ended in miscarriage after being pinned up against a wall by a man who uttered the words “body bag” (amongst others) in my ear. My crime? Co-organising a series of demonstrations exposing the genocide in Darfur.

Having watched a film about the assassination of Veronica Guerin, a fellow Irish journalist, for daring to take on a drug cartel in Dublin, I realised my limits. Her son was the same age as mine is now when she was gunned down. I knew then if I ever became a mother I wouldn’t be so brave. In fairness, I can’t be accused of being silent, but I tend to avoid situations that expose me to physical threats of violence. Unless you count the Christmas rush at Toys R Us…

I have also resisted every effort to succumb to social media. I do so because I know how potent and polluting threats are (plus I can’t be bothered to make enough friends for it not to be embarrassing..). Although I don’t subscribe to twitter, I believe women should have the right to participate without threat of rape or other violence. Twitter’s tame and tardy response indicates the need for tighter regulation of the industry.

The rise of blogging and yes, some social media, has challenged the malestream media’s portrayal of women, as slags, nags or hags. The dinosaurs won’t let go of their sexist copyright over women without a fight though. “Controversial” women prepared to belittle feminism are always guaranteed a place on the prime time sofa. Samantha (I’m a man’s woman) Brick and Katie (rent a gob) Hopkins are regulars. Whereas “controversial” feminists are conspicuous by their absence.

I learned the hard way that not conforming to a stereotype is career limiting. A few years ago I did a live TV news interview. It went down well and my name was apparently put at the top of the “expert interviewee list”. A few days later I met an editor of the programme at a news conference who indicated that comments I made about Tony Blair had enraged “No. 10”. My name duly disappeared off the list.

If only I’d played the game, by the boys’ rules, I could be standing next to one of those grey haired geezers on a Saturday night smiling inanely and laughing at their [bad] jokes. Shame, I’m amply qualified with an impressive décolletage.

The emergence of Lad rags has undoubtedly contributed to the desensitisation of men to the sexualisation and dehumanisation of women. Nuts notoriously ran a competition wherein men were asked to send in pictures of their girlfriend’s breasts, which were then published with their heads cut off. Heads being surplus to requirements on account of them housing the most threatening organ of the female body. Her brain.

The Edinburgh fringe is currently in full flow. Last year the comedian Nick Page left the in protest at the rape “jokes”. Jimmy (the tax dodger) Carr, AKA Jammy Dodger, has an allegedly raucous line in rape jokes. For example, “What do 9 out of 10 people enjoy? Gang rape” (boom boom). How about, “What is rape anyway, but surprise sex”. The student website Unilad was reported as having the following posting: “85% of rape cases go unreported. That seems fairly good odds”.

Despite being recognised as a weapon of war by the UN, jokes and threats involving rape can be made with impunity in this country. Twitter threats against outspoken women should be a rallying call to women around the world to speak up. So few are strong female voices in the public arena, that those who dare to be heard are considered fair game.

A Different View From the Foothills

When Chris Mullin was Labour’s Minister for Africa we had a passionate, if brief encounter. Admittedly Chris didn’t reciprocate my fervor but I clung to the hope that the fateful afternoon we spent together meant something to him.

It didn’t. I’ve just finished his Westminster diaries, “A View from the Foothills”, and I don’t even feature as a footnote at the bottom of the foothills for goodness sake. In fact, according to his diary, nothing happened on that day at all. Fortunately, I captured the moment in my diary, albeit that of a nobody.

Wednesday 9th February 2005

9.00a.m. I was forwarded an invitation from Chris Mullin's office (minister for Africa) to attend a parliamentary briefing on Sudan. Concerned about his failure to stem the genocidal campaign in Darfur, I frantically trawled the internet, seeking something I could like about this man. What I found unnerved me. A formidable campaigning journalist once, he was instrumental in the release of The Birmingham six. I wondered whether high office had distorted his moral compass.

1.20p.m. Emerging from Westminster station, the Evening Standard headline caught my eye: “PM to Apologise to Guildford Four”. It was eerily serendipitous. I’d been dealt a powerful hand. I had to play it wisely.

On entering parliament, I saw a camera crew and a crowd huddled around someone. It was Ian Paisley. To get in, I had to squeeze past him as he pontificated loquaciously. I resisted the temptation to slice my 5 inch heel into the ankle of the man who made the repression of Catholics his life’s endeavour. My head still reeling, I entered Westminster hall, only to find myself face to face with Gerry Conlon. There was a group of people with him, standing in the centre of the imposing hall. Mr. Conlon was talking on his mobile. The atmosphere was charged but I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad energy. Had Blair reneged? Had the irascible Paisley stolen their thunder? I hung around trying to glean what was happening. I wanted to reach out to Conlon and say…what? “Congratulations on finally having your name cleared after 30 years of wrongful incarceration and living purgatory”? Words escaped me, so I just hovered, and stared. I noticed them looking at me awkwardly then moving on.

I realized later how I must have appeared. Looking down on them, vexed at their raised, Irish voices. No doubt donning my default furrowed brow, dressed in power clothes and brief case, ceremonial armour for my dance with the devil. Being an Irish (ex) catholic myself I was racked with guilt. Not only had I failed to communicate my sorrow and anger at the injustice they endured, I had inadvertently driven them on and made them feel they had no right to be there.

1.55p.m. We were granted admittance to committee room 24. Great mahogany tables joined together in a large rectangle. There were rows of seats at the back also. On entering, I didn’t know if I should take a seat at the table or at the rear. Fellow gatherers procrastinated too. Not one to stand on ceremony, I took a seat at the table. Despite being a campaigning novice, I had no intention of fading into the background. I asked the guy who sat next to me who he represented, “the SLA”, he said, cautiously. I nodded politely while I processed what the initials stood for, then, turning to him for confirmation…. “So, you’re a rebel”? I said, trying to sound unfazed. He was indeed a rebel leader of the Sudanese Liberation Army. He was a soft spoken doctor who had taken a year off to see if he could do something to save his people from “extinction”. Black faces (most of whom were Sudanese refugees or asylum seekers) far outnumbered white and although they had more right to be there than anyone else, there was an incongruity with the officiousness of the surroundings. The men in dowdy woolen jumpers and makeshift “suits”, handouts from a charity shop. The women, more inclined to take up seats at the back, resigned to being voiceless, yet hoping desperately to be heard.

2.00p.m. Mr. Mullin graced us with his presence. The chairman announced we would have 45 minutes. The Sudanese looked on helplessly as Mullin erroneously portrayed their plight as “a civil war”, wherein all sides were equally culpable. In desperation, they searched the room for someone to speak up on their behalf. Someone to say that assertions of moral equivalence had been disproved and that the Sudanese government, with sophisticated weaponry, was found to be responsible for 97% of the violence. There were only two NGO representatives present, neither of whom did anything to hold Mullin to account.

The pomposity and sterile politeness of the proceedings mocked the gravity of the crime we were there to discuss. The pain was palpable. A white politician continued reading and signing documents throughout. I wondered why she bothered coming. The room was full of people who had been tortured and tormented in a way that I can only imagine, for the crime of being black Africans. Now, in this their space, they were so intimidated by the portentousness of the occasion that they cowered silently, lest they inadvertently break the unwritten rules, thus being banished from the gathering. So grateful to be granted a seat at the same table as the man with the power to save them. Mr. Mullin.

2.30p.m. The Sudanese ambassador arrived. He took a seat at the top table. Despite the Sudanese government being accused of genocide, Mullin greeted him as though he was Nelson Mandela. The ambassador proceeded to hijack the proceedings by squandering the last precious moments of time with a propaganda speech, designed to intimidate. Furious, I held my hand up to speak. When ignored I spoke anyway, despite my stomach being tied in knots of barbed wire. The ambassador spoke over me, playing the status/bully card. Keeping my gaze firmly on Mullin, I ignored the ambassador and kept talking.

I reminded Mullin what a momentous day it was. That Tony Blair would apologise to the Guildford Four and the Maguire Seven (though lamentably, not the Birmingham Six). I told attendees that Mr. Mullin had played no small part in rectifying the injustices visited upon these people. I said that Mullin’s courageous and relentless campaign for the release of the Birmingham Six had influenced the other two cases. Desperate not to waste this opportunity I leant forward, stretched my hands across the table and beseeched Mullin not to let his admirable record be mired by the blood of black Africans in Darfur. For a moment there was a glimmer of compassion in his eyes, but it was fleeting. He smiled, thanked us and left. Exactly 45 minutes after he arrived.

Sometime in May 2005: Chris Mullin was sacked. I wondered whether he regretted selling his soul only to be unceremoniously dumped anyway.

July 2013: Ten years on and an estimated 500,000 Darfuris have been slaughtered and approximately 3m forced off their land into refugee camps. A decade later and the political elite, together with the media, still turn a blind eye to the genocide in Darfur. What Mr. Mullin et al don’t get is that their legacy is judged by what they did, or neglected to do, while holding the reins of power, not by the selective, deluded and oft fictitious “diaries” produced after the event.

Porn on the High Street? It's Just a Bit of Harmless Fun!

This piece has been published in the Huffington Post. The article will be uploaded in the "Press" section of my website www.tessfinchlees.com in the next few days (or type the title into a search engine). It includes the picture I took of the "Loaded" T-shirt (has to be seen to be believed!). 

Hurrah for post feminism. For the uninitiated, this simply means that women now enjoy the luxury of choice. Whereas 1970’s feminists fought for equality, over time women have come to accept this for the misguided, militant ideology that it is. Choice is where it’s at.

So, when I stumbled upon a pornographic T-shirt on the high street of a sleepy Welsh town, whilst out with my 5 year old, I had a choice. Do I buy it to wear to the school fete (demonstrating my post feminist, “porn is empowering” enlightenment) or do I feign feminist righteousness for a laugh? I have previously stated the case for gender inequality so it’s not like I object to the wholesale degradation of women perse.

I left my oblivious 5 year old outside to play with the traffic (what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger) and decided to feign feminist outrage. As I opened the door, I expected to be greeted by an atavistic old geezer in open neck trousers with a gold medallion dangling from his thick set neck. Instead, I found 2 women sitting behind the counter. One was in her forties, the other in her teens. They both looked up from their magazines, Zoo and Good Housekeeping respectively.

When they asked if there was anything I was after I said. “A bit of respect would be nice”. Blank faces. “Have you any idea how offensive that T-shirt is?” “What T-shirt?” they asked in unison. “How many rape inciting T-Shirts have you got? The one with the naked woman with a honey pot between her splayed legs with the caption “GET IN!”. They were both speechless. I was on a roll, “I feel like I’ve just been violated”.

My impromptu anthropological experiment unearthed the realisation that neither of these women even noticed the T-shirt (which featured a cover from Loaded magazine). So prevalent are demeaning images of women, portraying them as inanimate sex objects that we’ve become immune to them. A victory for post feminism which recognises that the young woman with the (toxic) silicone boobs, made an informed choice about how she should be represented. It was her choice to be on the cover of a lad rag and, even if she didn’t choose to be draped on a hanger and hung from the crotch of a male dummy, she should be glad of the exposure, frankly.

She will also have chosen her outfit for the day (being naked). It was no doubt her choice to put a honey pot between her legs which then inspired her classy choice of caption “GET IN”. Think how empowering those choices were for this woman and then stop with the feminist outrage already.

Having time on my hands between PTA engagements and knitting orgasms, I called the Equality & Human Rights Commission (EHRC) to see what they made of porn window displays. Don’t be fooled by the name. It’s just a front to lure you into a false sense of there being an institution out there that gives a damn. In reality the government has cut back on Human Rights in order to subsidise the Commons Bar. Needs must. So, the EHRC has been outsourced to a call centre in Misery-on-Sea, where someone called Daphne dispenses “advice”.

Because Equality legislation is so extensive, the government has given Daphne a catch all phrase to cover all queries, “The legislation is vague so don’t bother making a fuss”. She tries to pawn me off but I persist. “It’s definitely covered by the Equality Act 2010. Goods and services I believe?” I’m put on hold while she calls her gran who agrees, it’s as vague as a post botox celebrity expression.

So immersed was I in my role that I protested my right as a woman not to be bombarded by demeaning, offensive, discriminatory imagery. My right as a parent for my child not to be exposed to pornographic images of women when out for a walk on the high street. Why should people, including men, be forced to avoid their high street in order to escape porn?

My parting words to Daphne were, “If your interpretation of the law is that it’s OK for porn to be displayed in high street shops then there’s something wrong with the Equality Act. If I accept your “advice” it means I accept that the mainstream pornification of women is normal and I refuse to accept that”.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not actually a feminist. Unless your name is Germaine Greer, feminism is career limiting. With a son to put through Eton (assuming he survives the traffic) I can’t afford to be principled.

www.tessfinchlees.com

No More Get Out of Jail Cards for The Met. The Lawrence Family Has Suffered Enough.

This is the full version of a piece published in The Independent on Sunday today.

In 2006 I was hiding out in the toilets of The British Museum. The charity 100 Black Men had invited me to speak at one of their events and although my talk was about the genocide in Darfur, I was out of my comfort zone. In a crowd of 300, mine was the only white face.

I retreated to the toilets to compose myself before speaking. Whilst gaining profound insights into how it must feel to always be the face that doesn’t fit, I heard voices outside my cubicle. An irate sounding young woman protested “What gives her the right to lecture us on Africa?” The voice of a soft spoken older woman replied “It took a lot of guts for her to come here. Let’s hear her out”. I flushed the loo and made my exit. Standing next to me at the washbasin was Doreen Lawrence.

We exchanged awkward smiles. Her eyes were laden with the palpable pain of a grieving mother. A mother whose son, Stephen, was murdered by a gang of racist thugs and whose family was denied justice for 20 years by a racist police service. This week the Lawrence family learned that the Metropolitan police had allegedly authorized an undercover operation in the mid nineties to smear their family and undermine their quest for justice.

In the wake of Stephen Lawrence’s murder, The Macpherson report found the police to be institutionally racist. There followed a series of awareness training throughout the Met. and progress was being made. Tragically, this started to unravel when the anti-racism initiatives were sabotaged by an ostensibly unlikely source. The then Commission for Racial Equality (CRE), which has since been amalgamated into the all encompassing, though equally inept, Equality and Human Rights Commission. A senior (white male) officer who had been working tirelessly to address issues raised in the Macpherson report, conveyed to me his dismay when Trevor Phillips, then chair of the CRE, told the Met board “It’s time to forget about institutional racism”. It went downhill from there.

Six years ago, the Metropolitan police realized it couldn’t deliver its primary objective, to “make London safer” unless it could attract a workforce that reflected one of the world’s most multicultural cities. With almost 40% of London’s population comprising of Black and Minority Ethnics (BME), a predominately white male police service couldn’t connect with the diverse community it purported to serve. It’s this disconnect and mistrust that led to the Broadwater Farm riots in 1985 (and the Tottenham riots in 2011).

On that premise, the Met instigated positive action for BME candidates (as opposed to positive discrimination) at recruitment level. The initiative failed because candidates were lured into a hostile environment. The black faces were expected to fit in with the established culture, one that continued to favour white men for promotion. The Met continues to hemorrhage black officers.

During that period I advised a Met commander that the initiative failed because it was at the wrong level. The culture disseminates from the top so that should be the focal point for change. Although the officer agreed, he didn’t put the proposal to the board.

Whilst I support Doreen Lawrence’s call for a public inquiry, the Channel 4 Dispatches programme that exposed the Met’s alleged attempt to smear her family, also uncovered a callous contempt for women. One of whom was targeted by an undercover officer for no apparent reason. She described her experience as being “raped by the state”. The Met is unsustainable without the confidence and respect of its community, 50% of which is female.

This crisis requires a complete cultural overhaul so that those that make the decisions are representative of the people over whom they wield so much power. The dearth of women and BME senior officers is no excuse for an all white board with one woman. With an elite group of just 8 the Met leadership could open itself up to “civilian” stakeholders, bringing a diversity of perspective and accountability.

This could be achieved by recruiting senior women and BMEs from non police staff within the Met, as well as tapping into the plethora of talent in the civil service (where women and minorities are better represented). The Ministry of Justice and The Department of Communities and Local Government, would be good places to start. There are no more get out of jail cards for the police. The public has run out of patience.

Global Financial Crisis Caused by Greedy, Incompetent Men. Who Knew?

This article published today can be found on The Huffington post website

http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/../../tess-finchlees/banking-commission-financial-crisis_b_3477193.html


I once berated The Economist for its vapid political coverage complaining, If I wanted a magazine to airbrush the cracks I would buy Grazia. So when I found myself sitting beside a BP executive on a long haul flight, inane banter was never an option. Lowering my book (Stupid White Men by Michael Moore) I asked what he believed in. Without pausing he said “The free market” with an implied “doh”.

After vigorously disputing the myth that there’s anything free about the market, I asked whether he experienced ethical tensions between his role as father (information I gleaned earlier) and executive, such as explaining the BP Texas explosion in 2005. Although he said he was devastated about the loss of 15 lives, he was adamant that fatherhood had no place in the boardroom. “They don’t pay me s**t loads of money to be a father”. “No, they pay you s**t loads of money not to be”.

The Banking Commission recognised the role of avaricious bonuses, impunity and men in the global banking catastrophe. Its recommendations, published yesterday, are essential but I doubt George Osborne has the back bone to implement them. He has steadfastly resisted any caps on bankers’ bonuses and his tough talk on tax avoidance and havens is risible. Osborne will be remembered as the chancellor who robbed from the poor to give to the rich.

In his book, http://www.joelbakan.com/favicon.ico, Joel Bakan compares corporations to psychopaths, for whom people are purely a means to making profit. They employ sophisticated control mechanisms, such as excessive pay, to indoctrinate employees into compliance. In order to achieve their goal, conscience and wombs must be left at the door. History is littered with examples of how corporations put profits before people, with calamitous consequences.

 The kind of talent Cameron fears losing when the EU bonus cap is implemented. Take Bob (the gem) Diamond, the man who [allegedly] turned Barclays into a casino, put gamblers anonymous in charge (metaphorically speaking) and gave them taxpayers’ money to play with. Recognising the long hours, often involving obligatory forays into lap dancing joints, the resultant expenses (Bollinger doesn’t come cheap), and the huge risks associated with gambling [other people’s] money, said talent is awarded bonuses that could buy several knighthoods and a racehorse (called Fat Cat in The Hat, for example).

At the height of the recession Diamond famously said “The time for remorse is over”. His apparent aversion to remorse was arguably his undoing. While his talent was being escorted out the back door, another star was entering the building. The recent appointment of Hector Sants, the ex CEO of the Financial Services Authority, who has been described as, “being asleep at the wheel at the time of the regulator’s most titanic failings”, to head of compliance, proves that failure (depending on gender) need not down grade your talent rating.

The Banking Commission also recognized that excluding women from positions of power is harmful to the economy. But this isn’t breaking news. In the wake of Enron, The Higgs report found that the old boys club was detrimental to the health of UK plc. Had anyone listened to the warnings then, the global financial crisis could have been averted. There’s a profusion of talented women (as opposed to the alpha females) out there with plenty of practice cleaning up after other people’s mess. They can’t do any worse.

In his book “Snakes in Suits: When Psychopaths Go to Work”, Dr. Robert Hare highlights the disproportionately higher percentage of people with psychopathic tendencies in positions of power. I’m not suggesting everyone in power (and definitely NOT those mentioned in this article) is a psychopath, but I am perturbed by the proclivity with which we reward dysfunctional behaviours.

Probably half of society’s psychopaths are incarcerated (the poor) while the other 1% (the rich) are more likely than people without psychopathic traits, to occupy powerful positions. Both groups are a danger to others (as opposed to themselves), the difference being that one is heavily medicated, the other is the lunatic in charge of the asylum.

George Osborne’s persistent failure to tackle the architects of the global financial crisis is morally reprehensible and staggeringly incompetent. Asking bankers to behave ethically is akin to asking Hannibal Lecter’s permission to be sectioned. How mad is that?

Women Should Embrace Inequality, Not Fight It.

This article was published in todays Independent.

If I never hear the word “suffragette” again, it’ll be too soon. Last weeks media fest was tiresome. Fortunately, this week it’s business as usual with women fading into their rightful place. The background.

A couple of years ago I cringed as I watched my toddler grab a toy from a similar aged girl in playgroup. Supernanny would advocate that I intercept my son, “encourage” him to return said toy and teach him the virtues of sharing. I wrestled with this one and on balance I decided that, whilst sharing is a valuable life skill, it’s gender specific.

After all, when that girl (with princess emblazoned across her chest) grows up, there won’t be a knight in shining armour to fight her battles for her. If my son snatches a coveted promotion from under her nose while she’s on maternity leave, she’ll have to find the time and energy to snatch it back, all by herself. If she persists she’ll be labelled a trouble maker and will face a tribunal, whereupon an all male panel will preside as judge and jury. Because there’s no class action in the UK, she’ll have to re-mortgage her house to pay for the court case (assuming she can get a lawyer to represent her), the strain of which will have caused her marriage to collapse, resulting in a nervous breakdown and the baby being taken into care.

A responsible parent would teach their daughters not to resist the inevitable. Why not give them less pocket money than their sons? I realize now that, if you’re a parent, equal pay only matters if you have a daughter. As things stand, the odds are stacked in favour of my son. He only needs to achieve average grades to get paid up to double that of a more qualified female graduate. If he marries one and has children it will be her (she’ll be less paid) who stops working. Fulfilling society’s expectation of him as breadwinner, he’ll be free to network, work long hours and get noticed (she’ll be working ‘round the clock for no pay and no-one will notice). His route to world domination need not be derailed by fatherhood.

So why should I take on someone else’s battle? What with sourcing Mini Boden outfits and block booking Monkey Music, it’s all I can do to lift a glass of Chardonnay before unwinding in front of Loose Women. With few exceptions, women who make it to the top are unlikely to have done so by challenging the status quo. Parliament, business and the media, is awash with women willing to demonstrate their masculine credentials. Rebecca Brooke didn’t get where she is today (unemployed and in the dock) by tackling sexism (see p.3) in the Sun. Until there are sufficient numbers of women in top jobs to make a difference, my boy’s future is safe.

The vacuum created by the absence of a feminist movement in the last 4 decades has enabled the proliferation of the sexualisation of girls. Everywhere we look there are images of women with splayed legs and surgically enhanced boobs. A cursory glance at M&S share price is enough to warrant a full page spread of a woman in her knickers.

Its little wonder 60% of teenage girls aspire to be “glamour” models, like Jordan. The woman who thinks Silicone Valley is the place to go for breast implants. Soft porn models are ubiquitous. Women who dare to make a bid for power, using their minds instead of their bodies, such as Mary Beard, however, are either invisible or pilloried by the press. Another victory for the boys.

Despite the fact that it is men’s reckless incompetence at the highest level that has brought the global economy to its knees, still we don’t question their merit. In 2008, a male journalist made a compelling case as to why men were to blame for the recession. No-one has heard from him since. Rumour has it he’s in witness protection and writes verses for Hallmark.

The bottom line is, when my son takes his rightful place (s) at the top table (s) of power, be it as media mogul, corporate giant or political behemoth, even if he did fail (through no fault of his own, obviously), his contract will contain so many get out of jail cards he’ll be laughing all the way to the bank, where he’ll take out enough money to buy a peerage and live happily ever after on the Costa del Tax Haven.

As long as our daughters aspire to be princesses rather than politicians, and the closest thing we have to feminist literature is Heat Magazine, men will continue to ride roughshod over women. If I had a daughter I’d be throwing myself in front of the Queen’s Corgis, but I don’t, so I’m off to the hairdressers instead.

The Murder of Lee Rigby in Woolwich Holds a Mirror up to Society

My heart goes out to the family of Lee Rigby who was brutally murdered last Wednesday. For a brief moment, before this story was hijacked by Islamaphobic rhetoric, the media spotlight shone on the “Angels of mercy”. Armed only with compassion and the ability to listen, these women managed to stem a murderous rampage, preventing further carnage during the excruciating 20 minutes it took the police to appear.

The traditional masculine model of leadership which emphasises, confrontation rather than conciliation, and telling rather than listening, accounts for much of the mess we find ourselves in. If Tony Bliar had listened to the British public over Iraq, the world, I believe, would be a safer place. Instead, testosterone charged men played (and continue to play) toy soldiers with our lives and it is ordinary women and men left to pick up the pieces once the havoc is unleashed.

In the wake of 9/11 and later 7/11, I was disturbed by the media’s propensity to conflate Islam with terrorism. I was running a training course shortly after 7/11 when a participant arrived late. He had been jumped on by a gang of “skin heads” who shouted Islamaphobic obscenities while beating the crap out of him, ending with “Go home Paki”? He was a cockney atheist but he was flaunting a deep tan at the time, which, under the circumstances (media whipping up hatred of any one “foreign looking”), was foolhardy. Tanning booths in Dale Winton’s neighbourhood were on the brink of bankruptcy for a fortnight.

I wrote about the disturbing discourse in the media as it unfolded and started working with news editors behind the scenes. Rendered almost catatonic with anxiety at the potential fallout from the media’s response to the alleged Forest Gate plot, I wrote the following letter to a reputable newspaper;

“Your handling of the alleged plot was gratuitously sensationalist, misinformed, grossly irresponsible and, like most of the other mainstream media, completely out of sync with the public's take on events.

Blair and Bush have lost the plot, pursuing their deluded "war on terror" that effectively equates to an indefensible war on Muslims. They act in defiance of public outrage and as a consequence they are systematically destabilising the world and putting our lives in danger. At a time like this, the public expect the media to be asking questions about: the timing of the alleged plot [deflecting the government’s procrastination over Lebanon] and Blair/Bush's tendency to play the politics of fear card to win back support when faced with the back lash of a morally corrupt foreign policy, before naming and shaming innocent (until proven guilty) civilians and stoking an already volatile climate of Islamaphobia.

Your main story lacked basic journalistic integrity, such as widespread dispensing with the use of the word "alleged", presenting the story as fact, naming the suspects and dissecting their lives, the disproportionately large image of the model sister. Do you seriously believe your readers would be more impressed by salacious scare mongering and pictures of a pretty model than by the desire to see our government's actions scrutinised?

Sensational coverage, which amounts to trial by media of British Muslims, leads to a direct increase in faith hate crimes on the street. Everything from torching of mosques, beatings and rape, to murder. All I ask is that you are cognisant of the above and that you ask more discerning questions before blindly acting as the establishment's propaganda machine”.

Shortly afterwards the two men arrested were completely cleared, though their lives were irreparably marred. Seven years on, the malestream media remains overwhelmingly homogeneous with the same Islamaphobic overtones, inciting yet more hate crimes against Muslims. In the absence of any real connection with various communities, the police, politicians and the media resort to hackneyed, dangerous stereotypes.

Foreign policy that sanctions torture abroad will always come back to bite. There is no greater recruiting sergeant for terrorism than torturing innocent civilians. We know from history that if we oppress and deny people their right to self determination, abuse them and deprive them recourse to justice, they will fight back. Whilst the killing of Lee Rigby was barbarous and his killers must be held to account, spare a thought for all the thousands of innocent civilians in Iraq, Palestine and Afghanistan, for example, who have seen loved ones slain but will never receive justice. Last week The High Court ruled that the task force responsible for investigating hundreds of allegations of abuse and murder of Iraqis by British troops was failing to meet the UK’s obligations under Article 2 of the European Convention on Human Rights to investigate “suspicious deaths involving the state”.

An ex soldier told me that he felt he was brainwashed by the army to do things he never thought possible to another human being. He said “they fill your head full of horror stories, lies, about what they [Iraqis] do to their children so that you see them as animals and treat them accordingly”. This man suffers Post Traumatic Stress and struggles with what he did on a daily basis. He and others like him have been let down by the war mongerers and their successors. It was reported in the news today that incapacity benefit is being unceremoniously withdrawn from many disabled veterans.

Austerity measures (a euphemism for stealing from the poor to give to the rich) seemed to escape media scrutiny in all this. Even before the recession, minority ethnic young men, such as the alleged Woolwich attackers, were more likely to be excluded from school and be over represented in prison, social and psychiatric services, and twice as likely to be unemployed as their white counterparts. A recent report showed that, although this has been known for decades, nothing has been done to stem the crisis.

It’s an affront to a long suffering British public that the political elite defend bankers’ right to obscene bonuses (funded in part by shutting down youth centres and taking away incapacity benefit from the disabled soldiers) on the grounds that they take enormous risk. The fact that the risks are with other people’s money and the consequences are negligible to them is ignored. When you compare the risk those women who stepped into the breach in Woolwich took, it holds a mirror up to society. The image I see is twisted and ugly. They risked their lives for the greater good. In contrast, the reckless risk taking of the bankers has had crippling societal, as opposed to personal, consequences. They have left a trail of broken hearts and minds in their wake.

A generation of young people are faced with the prospect of long term unemployment, alienation and anger. Inequality and injustice on this scale is a recipe for social unrest. Terrorists are filling a position made vacant in the minds of some of our most disaffected young men by a society that will bail out miscreants in suits but starve our youth of investment, care and any hope for the future. If you have nothing, there’s nothing left to lose.

Child Sex Gangs Flourish in a Society That Sexualises Girls

In the wake of the Oxford child slavery scandal there has been lots of soul searching. We owe it to the victims to do more than that. We need to address the institutional and societal rot that allowed vulnerable children to be sexually exploited for eight years before anyone heard their cries for help.

Cathy was a child and a prostitute. From the age of four her parents had sex parties where adults would abuse each others children. On the few occasions that Cathy found the courage to tell trusted adults, no-one believed her. Her parents were both white doctors and “respectable” people don’t behave like that. She was living on the streets at 12, a drug addict at 13 and by the time I met her, at 14, she was “owned” by a pimp in central London. I spent Christmas with her in casualty. She had been raped with a broken bottle and was severely traumatised.

With a background in child psychology I got a temporary job in a children’s home in Westminster. I was Cathy’s key worker. Whenever she failed to come back at night I would call the police. I was frequently accused of wasting their time. One officer berated that he could be stopping a real crime, like a burglary, instead of taking down details of a “delinquent girl”. They knew about the grooming, and the history of abuse, yet they didn’t see that as a crime. It was as if the abuse of a girl, especially one in a children’s home, was inevitable and acceptable even.

Last year, Ryan Coleman-Farrow, former Met detective Constable was jailed for sabotaging numerous rape cases. Given the constant failings of the police to take rape and violence against girls and women seriously, I would argue the case for a McPherson type enquiry (http://news.bbc.co.uk/news/vote2001/hi/english/main_issues/sections/facts/newsid_1190000/1190971.stm) into institutional misogyny. In the same way that it was found that an overwhelmingly white police service contributed to institutional racism, it’s clear that the male dominated macho police culture is failing women and girls.

It’s not like this is new. The police have got form ignoring vulnerable girls in Rochdale, Derby and Telford, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. The Soham murderer, Ian Huntley, had nine allegations of sexual assault made against him, including underage sex with girls. Had the police listened to any of these girls the murders of Holly and Jessica could have been prevented. One of the Rochdale victims told the BBC that after reporting her abuse to social services and police, they effectively told her parents she was a prostitute and that her sexual exploitation was a “lifestyle choice”. She was 15.

A few years ago judge Julian Hall accused a 10 year old rape victim of “dressing provocatively” and “looking 16”, implying she was asking for it. He previously allowed a paedophile to walk free after sexually assaulting a 7 year old suggesting he buy her a bike “to cheer her up”. Early this year judge Niclas Parry, whilst sentencing a man for rape, scolded his teenage victim for “letting herself down” because she had been drinking that evening. Blaming the victim it seems is preferable to confronting societal attitudes to women, masculinity, abuse and power.

The police, social services and the judiciary involved in dealing with abused girls operate within a culture where the sexualisation of females is so pervasive, we take it for granted. Yet, it propagates unconscious stereotypes and influences policy and decisions. Be it playboy duvets, “porn star” shorts, lap dancing kits, padded bras for prepubescent girls and TV soaps depicting underage sex as normal. One of the Oxford victims said she thought what was happening to her must be normal. Portraying women and girls as sex objects perpetuates degradation. Objectification is dehumanising. That’s the point. It’s much easier to abuse a non person reduced to mere body parts. Tits and ass usually. Increasingly women, and girls, are perceived as commodities. To be bought and sold. It’s within this cultural context that vulnerable girls were sold as sex slaves in Oxford.

There is a known link between sexual imagery and violence towards women. The emergence of the Lad mags has contributed to the desensitisation of men to the dehumanisation of women. Nuts ran a competition wherein “girlfriends” were asked to send in pictures of their breasts, which were then published with their heads cut off. The student website Unilad was reported as having the following posting: “85% of rape cases go unreported. That seems fairly good odds”. No doubt paedophiles and sexual predators throughout Britain will be thinking the same. The message is clear. Sexual assault against women and children is acceptable in our society. Do your worst, we don’t really care.

What about social services? Most of the staff at the home that I worked in were not qualified. Yet, we trust them with one of society’s most precious resources, our children. The social worker I dealt with, like so many, was overworked and under resourced. Burnout rate is high and the first thing to go is compassion. Thus, contact with “clients” is infrequent and brief so as to minimise empathy. Yet, without empathy, what use can any of us be to vulnerable children? Children’s services have always been under resourced but if the sex gang scandals teach us anything, it is that we need to invest in our children and, as a bare minimum, keep them safe. We need people who have the time to listen and to care. In the words of Nelson Mandela, “There can be no keener revelation of society’s soul than the way in which it treats its children”.

Mary McCarthy, R.I.P

“The lengths some people will go to, to flog a book”. Those were my parting words to Mary McCarthy, the accomplished author, mother and teacher, who was buried on Tuesday. When Mary was in the early stages of writing her last book, "After the Rain", she said it was difficult motivating herself to write a novel that might never get published. “Let’s face it Tess, there’s never going to be a bidding war over a book about terminal cancer”.

In the throes of grief at the loss of a parent to cancer myself at the time, I was indignant. Self help books pontificating about how to “navigate” your way through the stages of grief, without harming yourself or others, weren’t working for me. Admittedly, I had been stuck in the anger stage for longer than was strictly healthy. My wrath manifested itself primarily, though not exclusively, in pram rage. The local A&E was inundated with Bugaboo related injuries (severed limbs and such like) until I finally moved onto the next stage which, in my case, involved revisiting denial. Injuries continued to rise exponentially in my neighbourhood, the difference being I was unaware that it was me inflicting them. I yearned for someone, like Emer in "After the Rain", to hold my hand through the ravages of loss. I wanted to be cajoled by fiction not confronted by facts.

That Mary would finish her book was never in doubt. She was driven by truth, not market forces. Its publication, coinciding with her diagnosis of terminal cancer was a cruel twist of fate. One of Mary’s gifts as a writer was her ability to take the reader with her. Her style is unpretentious, her language accessible. Like Mary herself, there’s nothing show offy about her writing. It’s always about the story, rather than the storyteller. When I read Mary’s books, I can hear her voice. Her humility, honesty and warmth. A woman comfortable in her own skin, with nothing to prove to anyone.

Before becoming a successful author, Mary McCarthy was my English teacher. For five years of my life, her laconic, anarchic, dark humour illuminated my days. The drudgery of going to a convent school, where conformity and deference were the order of the day, was made tolerable by Miss McCarthy’s English class. Although I was never a star pupil (I used to think syntax was something to be purchased in the toiletries section of Superquinn), Mary McCarthy made me believe I could do something special with words (the fact that I haven’t as yet is no reflection on Mary).

I remember being terrified one day, waiting for essays to be returned. I found the title Mary set uninspiring so, out of sheer boredom, I turned it into an acronym and based my essay on the words created from that instead. I hoped the fact that it was funny might save me from the rolled eyes treatment but resigned myself to being failed. I broke the rules, I knew the score. When she made me stand up and read my essay out to the class, my knees were shaking. Afterwards she furrowed her brows and berated, "Your grammar is shocking, the spelling's shoddy. Otherwise, it's absolutely brilliant!" Those words formed an indelible shield behind which I gradually grew as a writer. No-one had ever told me I was brilliant at anything before. It was a defining, life changing moment for a girl from the "wrong" side of The Liffey.

I bumped into Mary in one of Dublin’s oldest watering holes, Doheny & Nesbitts about 10 years after leaving school. She looked straight at me (well as straight as you can when you’re half cut) and said my name, followed by the adjective she filed next to it: “Cheeky!” When we met again eight years ago, we hit it off and stayed in touch ever since. It’s during that time I realised how many lives Mary had touched. Thousands of her ex pupils have sought her out over the years. She talked about them as if they were her children. She was immensely proud of us all. Mary McCarthy was a gifted teacher. She instilled confidence and inspired rebelliousness in thought and spirit. In the words of her idol, George Harrison, “Everything you think is possible, if you believe”. R.I.P Mary, that is, Remember In Pride, the legacy you left behind.

Sweatshops Exist Because We Allow Them to

The collapse of the Dhaka building last week, killing at over 1,000 people, was a catastrophe waiting to happen. Public fury was directed at Primark, and rightly so, but few of our high street brands can claim the moral high ground. In fact, none of us can.

How many of us know where the products we use on a daily basis come from, or whether they’re ethically produced? Do we know if the corporation that produces them is a member of the Ethical Trading Initiative (ETI), which, in theory, provides protection for overseas workers? (I say, “in theory”, because Primark is an ETI member, which counted for nothing in Dhaka). This highlights the need, not just for the policies, but to ensure they’re being implemented and monitored.

The existence of sweatshops and the proclivity of corporations to put profits before the interests of people and the planet is not new. Last month, the retailer Zara was accused of using sweatshops to produce their garments in Argentina. An investigation by The Argentinian Heath and Safety Association allegedly found evidence of child exploitation and holding children against their will.

A few years ago Top Shop was accused of producing garments made in sweat shops and of failing to protect vulnerable overseas employees. Yet, Sir Philip Green continues to resist calls to sign up to the ETI (unless he’s done so without my knowledge, in which case I would of course proffer a full apology). There’s also that nasty business of Sir Green’s alleged tax avoidance shenanigans. The more said about that the better, but that’s a whole other posting.

Despite PepsiCo producing, what has been described as misogynistic and, “arguably the most racist commercial in history” this week, profits are unlikely to take much of a hit. Ad agencies commonly employ foetuses (mostly male) in order to stay “on trend” and be down with the yoof. Yet, this ad is a throw back to the 50’s. An era wherein glorifying violence against women and employing cringeworthy racist stereotyping was deemed a competitive sport. That’s the problem with people who aren’t even born yet making ad campaigns. They inhabit an impenetrable bubble and think Mad Men is aspirational.

Ford’s recent ad in India, depicting scantily clad women gagged and tied in the boot of a car, is another example of male foetal disconnect with a world where women actually exist. Sometimes even fully clothed and driving a car, but not a Ford obviously. If Ford wanted women to buy their cars, they’d hardly portray them in such a demeaning, abusive manner now would they?

The pharmaceuticals giant GlaxoSmithKline (producers of Lucozade, Ribena, Macleans and, according to the BBC’s Panorama, dodgy trial data), has been accused of using black orphans in New York as guinea pigs for testing Aids drugs. The aforementioned Panorama Programme also raised concerns about the drug Seroxat (used in the treatment of depression in children) being linked to aggression, suicide and dependency. GSK was allegedly aware of some of these dangers for a number of years but withheld crucial information from the public domain, only publishing trials that showed positive outcomes.

Workers in third world countries, where their rights are non existent and regulation negligible, are easy targets for unscrupulous multinationals. British American Tobacco and others are being sued in Nigeria over allegations that they targeted underage minors to increase smoking rates in the country. It’s alleged the companies sponsored pop concerts, sporting events and even gave away free cigarettes to entice minors into the habit. Smoking is said to be responsible for more deaths worldwide than HIV/Aids. With depleting sales in The West, children in third world countries make easy prey for global predators.

Another serial offender is Nestle, a company that courts bad publicity in the way Pete Doherty approaches personal hygiene – with reckless abandon. Unlike Doherty, Nestle has proven quite impervious to even the most scathing of criticism. It’s accused of persistently flouting international regulations by marketing baby formula in countries, such as Africa where, due to poor sanitation, bottle feeding is unsafe due to water quality. Nestle is also part of a cohort of chocolate producers who source much of their cocoa from the unregulated market of West Africa. Last year it was reported that an independent investigation by The Fair Labour Association found Nestle in breach of numerous child labour regulations.

Yet, we continue to line the pockets of morally bankrupt companies. It’s our insatiable, unquestioning hunger, be it for chocolate or being seen sporting the “right” brands, that fuels exploitation. In order to break the pervasive cycle of abuse we cannot remain oblivious, and/or indifferent, to the hidden human cost of our brands. If we want the blight of modern day slavery to stop, we have to pay a price.

Fairtrade products can provide an ethical alternative but they too have come in for legitimate criticism. For not doing more for the poorest of the poor, for example. Small farmers who don’t have the numbers required to form a co-operative (a condition of Fairtrade accreditation) lose out. It’s also alleged that only 5% of revenue made from Fairtrade products in the West comes back to the farmers. A fair question then is, why pay over the odds for a Fairtrade product when so little makes its way back to the producers?

Fairtrade is a noble principle but we must hold the brand accountable for its practice, in the same way we would the corporations. Whether it’s Make Poverty History (accused of sourcing wrist bands from sweatshops) or Fairtrade, we can’t be complacent. As long as we fill our baskets with tainted wares, corporations have no reason to change the way they operate.

Boris Johnson, Midsomer Murders and Big Pants

In the run up to Boris Johnson’s first bid for London Mayor in 2007, I got a call. A menacing male voice told me to stay away from the town centre (part of Johnson’s Oxfordshire constituency) the next day, or else. At first I thought it was Brian True-May, (then producer of Midsomer Murders who was later sacked amid claims of alleged racism) who often cordoned off large swathes of the town when filming in the area. It struck me as wholly inefficient to make house to house phone calls when the town’s newsletter would have sufficed. Everyone reads that. How else would we keep abreast of the WI’s forthcoming events.

For anyone who’s interested, the next one is a "Make do & Mend" talk by lady Clamidia Bottomley de Nuit, who graduated from the prestigious, Blessed Heart of Lost Souls and Causes, Girls School (only up the road) in 1942, before going on to court and later marry Lord Bottomley de Nuit of Bognor, who, some years later was convicted for fraudulent misconduct, but claimed it was part of his job description (he was a banker). This proved to be an unwise defence as it landed him in the slammer, where he will remain at her majesty’s leisure or until he pops his clogs, which is thought to be imminent (he’s 101), thus assuaging his burden on the taxpayer. At the age of 90, the now bankrupt Mrs Bottomley, is having to revert to skills acquired during the war, i.e. making do and mending. A lot. Having invested her last £100 in a 5 minute consultation with a life coach, she decided to turn her USP into an income generator, which takes us back to the next WI talk. See Newsletter for details. I digress.

Back to my mystery caller. My suspicions were further alerted when the man [with the menacing voice] indicated that he knew where I lived, but not in a good way. At that point I thought I was actually in an episode of Midsomer Murders, and was about to become yet another unsuspecting victim in a flammable crimplene nightie.

As the chat/salvo of intimidation continued, it became apparent that a piece I wrote for The Independent, as well as local Press, had caused a bit of a stir. A local Tory councillor refused to remove golliwogs from his upholstery shop window in the town centre, despite receiving numerous complaints from locals who found the display offensive. In fairness, there was a BOGOF at the time: buy a golliwog and get your sofa reupholstered free, but they still didn’t shift. So, there they languished in the window, sticking 2 (metaphorical) fingers up at anyone foreign/foreign looking, lest they harbour any notions of being welcome in this town. He did eventually concede to pressure. Either that, or Brian True-May had a lot of sofas reupholstered that week.

The mystery caller didn’t say which, if any, organisation he represented and wouldn’t be pressed to divulge his name. I was pregnant at the time and, although my radius was limited to the availability of public toilets (bladder control was a challenge), I was determined to go into town as an act of defiance. If only to stock up on big pants. However, having had a miscarriage a year earlier, after receiving a death threat (in person) at a human rights demonstration I had organised, I knew I couldn’t go. My first duty was to protect my unborn child. Who knew pregnancy could be so career limiting…

Although there is no evidence to suggest Boris Johnson had any knowledge of the threatening call, nor am I suggesting any connection, the fact that he had a conversation (with Darius Guppy), about roughing up a journalist renders him unfit, in my view, for public office. Eddie Mair did a sterling job exposing Johnson for “the nasty piece of work” that I also think he is. But why has the media protected him for so long?

Deference has no place in good journalism (unless you’re interviewing Tony Benn, Nelson Mandela or Paloma Faith). Integrity and pursuit of truth should be at the heart of what we do. It involves forensic research and the ability, and willingness, to ask the tough questions. People in power should never be given a free ride. They should always be sitting on the edge of their seats. Buttocks shifting from one to the other, knowing a journalist worth their salt will hold them to account. It wasn’t just the Financial Services Authority that was asleep at the wheel in the lead up to the greatest economic crash of our time, it was also the media. If Leveson bequeaths any legacy, it should be that anyone with a penchant for sycophancy is better suited to a career in sales, or as PA to Simon Cowell. Journalists should not have to contend with death threats, but at least you know you’re doing your job right when they outweigh dinner invitations to Chequers.

I'm sure Andrew Mitchell has some redeeming features but they're not obvious

What astonishes me about Andrew Mitchell, is not whether he said what he allegedly said, but that he has managed to fly under the radar until now. My first impressions of Mitchell, when he was Shadow International Development Secretary, were not good. He kept me waiting for ten minutes then when I was admitted to his inner chamber he proceeded to sign documents, gesturing with his hand impatiently for me to speak. Apart from his incredible rudeness, I was struck by how grey he looked. His hair, his pin striped suit, his pallor. All that was missing was the bowler hat. When I didn’t speak, he finally looked up and acknowledged me, albeit to say he could sign documents and listen at the same time. I mustered up my best Ann Widdecombe voice (difficult with an Irish accent) and said I had cancelled two client appointments and trekked half way across London for a ten minute audience with him. In return, I insisted on his undivided attention.

I did get his attention and went on to work constructively with him to raise the profile of the Darfur genocide. There were occasions early on when I had to remind him of his place, that is, as a public servant. There was an initial scrutiny of my credentials, the membership numbers for the organisation I represented, a general, “What’s in this for me”. I told him that his job description required him to hold the government to account on Darfur, irrespective of whether it put him in line for a Nobel peace prize, though I did flag that as a distinct possibility.

It was precisely because there was something in it for him, I believe, that Mitchell engaged with me. I offered to write an article on his behalf, as long as he promised not to water it down. I wanted to raise the profile of Darfur, he wanted to raise his own. It was a quid pro quo. I sent a piece to him for his approval. He returned a sanitized version, with anodyne language and dodgy grammar. I said something along the lines of “It’s a genocide. You either come out, all guns blazing, or move to the Department for Rural Affairs, where fence hogging is actively encouraged”.

Shortly afterwards, the campaign for Darfur took on a huge momentum. There were marches in cities around the world, with celebrities such as Thandie Newton fronting the campaign. The media was seduced. I got a call from a TV news editor wanting one of the celebs to do a live interview. They were unavailable on the grounds that they didn’t actually know enough about the subject beyond the initial sound bite. I said I could get Andrew Mitchell at short notice but no-one was interested.

Andrew Mitchell personifies all that is wrong, in my view, with the Tory party and politics generally. Career, rather than conviction politicians, whose primary goal it seems, is self aggrandizement. Power is deemed a birth right, a commodity to be bought by the highest bidder, rather than earned. The real scandal is that a man so apparently bereft of interpersonal skills, passion (tantrums don't count) and talent could make it into the cabinet, never mind getting promoted to chief whip.

He’s not alone. I fear that David Cameron’s entire government is founded, not on meritocracy, but mediocrity. It’s an elite club, criteria for membership involves being the right gender, class and colour. Homogeneity on this scale leads to group think, which in turn leads to poor problem solving and bad decisions. As long as this government is dominated by the bowler hat brigade, it is destined to be plagued by indecision and paralyzed by lack of vision.

Discrimination is at the Heart of Dale farm Evictions (October 2011)

I got an email this week from a builder blaming travellers for a late quote. The BT lines in his village were down, “Probably gypsies stealing the copper (ha ha!)”. When I saw him I asked if he knew any travellers. He didn’t. I asked if he’d ever met one, he hadn’t, but he was angry about the Dale Farm “squatters”. His reaction is not untypical. Most of us are struggling to know how to relate to a community for whom we have no frame of reference. In the absence of any real knowledge of travellers there’s a tendency to descend into stereotypes.

What’s particularly disturbing is the belief that it’s socially acceptable to overtly demean travellers. Vitriolic reader’s rants betray an underbelly of prejudice that is deemed appropriate to voice. In response to an article expressing fears that the eviction (scheduled for today) could have serious health implications for some travellers a reader opined, “If it was fatal it would solve the problem. Might save some money too”. Another proposed to “send them all back to Ireland”. Such unadulterated hatred would not be tolerated if targeted at any other ethnic group in Britain.

I was confronted with my own prejudices when I embarked on my career as a do-gooder at the age of 15. The nuns recruited me as a volunteer to teach literacy to some travelling children after school. They lived in a campsite on the north side of Dublin. Josephine was the same age as me and I was assigned to teach her on a one to one. She had a face more animated than a Disney cartoon. I wasn’t told beforehand but learned later that she had “broken” my predecessors. She refused to sit still for five minutes (sister Concepta diagnosed it as attention deficit disorder) and took pleasure goading me about my green uniform. Such was the abuse that travellers suffered (and still do) at the hands of settled people, that her life was necessarily insular. The taunting and bullying made mainstream schooling impossible for travelling children.

It was only when I relinquished the notion that Josephine was the only one with something to learn that we became friends. She taught me to approach people with an open mind. That because most of us live our life a certain way, doesn’t make that the only, or indeed the right way. When Josephine first invited me for tea I was terrified. I couldn’t tell my parents. Announcing my imminent elopement with Ian Paisley would have been more preferable than, “I’m just off to a traveller’s campsite. I’ll be back in time for mass”. My head was full of stories about “thieving drunken tinkers”. What I found couldn’t have been further from the myth. Josephine lived in a caravan with her parents and four siblings. Although her grandmother was staying at the time, she moved between her children’s families. They took turns looking after her and in return she imparted knowledge and love of her travelling heritage through story telling. When I arrived she had just started a story about her childhood. It lasted thirty minutes and all five children were gripped for the duration, as was I.

It occurred to me that it wasn’t these children’s attention spans that were lacking but the humanity of a society that made no attempt to understand them. A few years ago, whilst working with the police on stereotyping, I challenged an officer who referred to travellers as “pikeys”. He defended his prejudice as being acceptable on the grounds that they are “all thieving”. Fortunately, one of his colleagues pointed out that there was no evidence to support his claim. In fact the opposite was true. Our ability to dehumanise those that are different to us is one of the uglier aspects of human nature.

Almost every article I’ve read refers to Dale Farm as an illegal settlement. What is rarely explained is that the travellers legally bought the land, which was nothing more than a scrap yard at the time. They argue that it was only after they bought it that the council altered the status to greenbelt as justification for refusing subsequent planning permission. This would account for why some of the earlier settlers did get planning permission. If land had already been designated greenbelt at the time, as Basildon Council maintains, why did they sell it to travellers? What did they think they were going to do with it. Play croquet?

Having refused the travellers planning permission, the pragmatic solution would have been for the council to find a culturally appropriate alternative. One that does not involve separating the families. This is not peripheral but central to the travelling community’s continued existence. A fact that was recognised by the UN when it said the eviction should be halted until such an alternative was found. Dispersing and dismantling the travelling community is like severing limbs and arteries. One part cannot function without the whole. But Basildon Council has refused to budge, despite allegations that it intends to allow developers to build on greenbelt land elsewhere. Demanding that travellers (the clue is in the name) live in council housing is to deny their culture and their dignity. It’s asking them to become one of “us” and that’s unacceptable.

I’m not quite sure what David Cameron means by “the big society” (answers on a postcard please) but if it’s about getting involved in the community and shifting dependence away from the state then there’s a living example of it in Dale Farm. The travelling community don’t look to the state to provide child care or to care for their elderly. They don’t (currently) place a burden on council housing. No-one in Josephine’s family claimed benefits and they would rather wear rags than accept charity. They didn’t want anything from anyone, except to be accepted for who they were.

Apart from the moral case, evicting travellers from their homes makes no business sense. The cost of the proposed eviction alone is estimated at £18 million. When the costs of re housing each of these families are considered, the bill to the taxpayer will be astronomical. For the travellers this fight is more about survival than land. It’s a test case. If they go the travellers believe the 3,600 other “illegal” sites across the country will also be wiped out and with them their race. So when they say they’ll fight to the death today, they probably mean it. The politics of pragmatism may yet prevail over that of prejudice but time is running out for the good people of Dale Farm.