Greg Philo has a

The total personal wealth in the UK is £9,000bn, a sum that dwarfs the national debt. It is mostly concentrated at the top, so the richest 10% own £4,000bn, with an average per household of £4m. The bottom half of our society own just 9%. The wealthiest hold the bulk of their money in property or pensions, and some in financial assets and objects such antiques and paintings.A one-off tax of just 20% on the wealth of this group would pay the national debt and dramatically reduce the deficit, since interest payments on the debt are a large part of government spending. So that is what should be done. This tax of 20%, graduated so the very richest paid the most, would raise £800bn. A major positive for this scheme is that the tax would not have to be immediately paid. The richest 10% have only to assume liability for their small part of the debt. They can pay a low rate of interest on it and if they wish make it a charge on their property when they die. It would be akin to a student loan for the rich.

The tax would be extremely popular. We commissioned a YouGov poll of over 2,000 people to test attitudes. There was very strong support, with 74% of the population approving 44% strongly approving. Only 10% did not approve, and agreement was spread right through social groups, with those of the highest income being slightly more supportive than the lower. The strongest support came from those over the age of 55, with 77% in favour 47% strongly. This is an extraordinary result given that there has been no public discussion of this proposal and that the very negative consequences of the alternatives are only just beginning to emerge.

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Contrails in the sky above St Paul’s Cathedral

Seventy years ago Britain was fighting for her survival against Nazi Germany. The consequence of defeat at the hands of the criminal regime running that country would have been appalling; thanks to the Royal Air Force  victory in the battle over Britain it never had to be faced. Instead, the possibility of an eventual Nazi defeat remained open .

After the fall of France Hitler’s army and navy needed air superiority if they were to embark on an invasion of the British isles with any chance of success. To do that the Luftwaffe would have to eliminate their ‘most dangerous enemy’ -the RAF. So the summer of 1940 saw a ferocious airbattle of the south of England as the Germans struggled to crush the RAF and terrorise the British people  into capitulation. Failing that, they would invade. Thanks to the pilots and ground crew of the RAF, radar (“RDF”) and the leadership of men like Dowding (head of fighter command) and Keith Park (commander, 11 group which took the brunt of the attack) that never happened. The outnumbered RAF inflicted unsupportable losses on the Luftwaffe bombers and fighters. The Germans then  turned to the bombing of the cities, at first by day and then by night. They did enormous damage, but they didn’t break the people’s spirit. Britain hung on, undefeated.

My family lived in Southampton, and as (bad) luck would have it the  Supermarine Spitfire works were at the end of the garden. While Southampton, and especially the docks, were getting regular attacks, the place where the Spitfires were made was a special target of the daylight raids. My father remembered seeing formations of Luftwaffe bombers and fighters (he remembered the characteristic ‘weaving’ flight path of the latter) coming up Southampton water and being engaged by RAF fighters. He and his mates seem to have been standing outside the shelter -bravado perhaps, in the earlier days of the battle.

My mother recalled being in the shelter during raids, and in particular she remembered the enormous racket the AA gun positioned just outside the house, was making. What they didn’t know was that a specialist precision bombing group was targeting that very spot -the Woolston Supermarine Spitfire works. They were supposed to be ‘precise’ but nothing much in 1940 bombing was that accurate, so they were lucky to survive unscathed She and her young daughter – my eldest sister – were later evacuated out of harm’s way, and my father went back to preparing for the invasion of Europe – which didn’t come until 1944. But without victory in 1940 it wouldn’t have come at all.

Below are  a series of maps showing the stages of the battle, and some photographs dating from those desperate weeks in the summer of 1940.

The maps are reproduced from the excellent Battle of Britain Tactics web page, part of a site devoted to aviation. The best books on the battle that I’ve read are The Most Dangerous Enemy (Stephen Bungay) and The Battle of Britain (Richard Overy). Both well written and authoritative. If you found this of interest you might like to look at my post on D-Day and the Battle of Normandy.

(Keep scrolling down past any gaps in the picture sequence)

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Here’s a link to the lecture:

Living in the End times: Zizek @ the LSE

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Let them not forget us, the weak souls among the asphodels Seferis — ‘Mythistorema’

For J.G. Farrell

Even now there are places where a thought might grow —

Peruvian mines, worked out and abandoned

To a slow clock of condensation,

An echo trapped forever, and a flutter

Of wildflowers in the lift-shaft,

Indian compounds where the wind dances

And a door bangs with diminished confidence,

Lime crevices behind rippling rainbarrels,

Dog corners for bone burials;

And a disused shed in Co. Wexford,

Deep in the grounds of a burnt-out hotel,

Among the bathtubs and the washbasins

A thousand mushrooms crowd to a keyhole.

This is the one star in their firmament

Or frames a star within a star.

What should they do there but desire?

So many days beyond the rhododendrons

With the world waltzing in its bowl of cloud,

They have learnt patience and silence

Listening to the rooks querulous in the high wood.

They have been waiting for us in a foetor

Of vegetable sweat since civil war days,

Since the gravel-crunching, interminable departure

of the expropriated mycologist.

He never came back, and light since then

Is a keyhole rusting gently after rain.

Spiders have spun, flies dusted to mildew

And once a day, perhaps, they have heard something —

A trickle of masonry, a shout from the blue

Or a lorry changing gear at the end of the lane.

There have been deaths, the pale flesh flaking

Into the earth that nourished it;

And nightmares, born of these and the grim

Dominion of stale air and rank moisture.

Those nearest the door growing strong —

‘Elbow room! Elbow room!’

The rest, dim in a twilight of crumbling

Utensils and broken flower-pots, groaning

For their deliverance, have been so long

Expectant that there is left only the posture.

A half century, without visitors, in the dark —

Poor preparation for the cracking lock

And creak of hinges. Magi, moonmen,

Powdery prisoners of the old regime,

Web-throated, stalked like triffids, racked by drought

And insomnia, only the ghost of a scream

At the flashbulb firing squad we wake them with

Shows there is life yet in their feverish forms.

Grown beyond nature now, soft food for worms,

They lift frail heads in gravity and good faith.

They are begging us, you see, in their wordless way,

To do something, to speak on their behalf

Or at least not to close the door again.

Lost people of Treblinka and Pompeii!

‘Save us, save us,’ they seem to say,

‘Let the god not abandon us

Who have come so far in darkness and in pain.

We too had our lives to live.

You with your light meter and relaxed itinerary,

Let not our naive labours have been in vain!

Derek Mahon

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The government and the press say we are in the grip of a debt crisis caused by the ‘bloated’ public sector. Here, Red Pepper debunks the myths used to push cuts to jobs and public services

MYTH: Government debt is the highest it’s ever been

The UK’s government debt is at around 70 per cent of GDP (the total amount of goods and services produced in one year). That is certainly high, but it is far from unprecedented.

Government debt never fell below 100 per cent of GDP between 1920 and 1960. It is only in the past decade or so that it has become normal to think of government debt being stable at around 40 per cent of GDP.

It is worth noting that government debt reached 250 per cent of GDP around the end of the second world war, as the result of a ‘once in a generation’ economic and political crisis. It is certainly arguable that we are now living through a similarly momentous crisis.

MYTH: The UK’s debt crisis is one of the worst in the world

Just as the current level of government debt is not unprecedented historically, neither is it substantially higher than that of other countries.

IMF data (IMF World Economic Outlook Database, April 2010) shows the UK has the lowest government debt as a proportion of GDP among the G7 countries (the US, Canada, Germany, Britain, Japan, Italy and France).

Much has been made by Cameron and Osborne of Gordon Brown’s ‘imprudent borrowing record’. They say that before the spending to stabilise the financial system, public debt was high.

But again, IMF comparisons of the level of public debt prior to 2007 showed the UK in a much better position than many comparable countries, such as France, Canada, the US and even Germany, the home of fiscal rectitude.

MYTH: Government debt is ‘unsustainable’

The sustainability of government debt is not just dictated by its size, but by its make up. We have already seen that government debt is at a comparable level to other similarly sized economies. Where the UK is in a much stronger position, however, is in the nature of its debt.

While countries such as Greece tend to owe money to external financiers, the vast majority of UK debt – about 70 to 80 per cent – is held within the country.

And the UK’s debt is not so short term. Countries such as Greece, Ireland and Portugal have average debt maturity rates of between six to eight years, but UK government debt stands out among international comparisons as being much longer term at well over 12 years on average.

This means that the UK has to ask the financial markets to refinance its debts much less frequently, making it less vulnerable to short-term speculative pressures and much more able to continue to finance its debts on a sustainable basis.

MYTH: The government shouldn’t get into debt, just as your own household shouldn’t

This overlooks the fact that, for the past 30 years, governments have positively encouraged households to get into debt.

In fact, it can be prudent for households to take on debt – particularly if they are borrowing to pay for something (a house or educational qualification) that might reasonably be expected to improve the household’s income and well being in the long run.

In just the same way it is often sensible for governments to take on debt to pay for investments (such as housing or transport infrastructure) that will make the economy work better and so pay for themselves over the longer term.

But the public economy is also different from the household economy. What might make sense for a household could, for the government, deepen a recession. When times are hard households tend to tighten their belts – reducing their spending and borrowing. But if everyone does this at the same time, the effect is counterproductive: total demand for goods and services falls, which makes it harder for businesses and individuals to generate an income, and everyone ends up worse off.

This is exactly what is happening now, which is why it is essential for the government to compensate for households’ reluctance to spend and invest.

MYTH: Public spending got ‘out of control’ under Labour

It is true that the Labour government gradually raised public spending in the early part of the decade, but it was from what were historically very low levels.

Levels of public spending are now about the same as they were in the early 1990s, at the time of the last economic crisis. This is because spending always rises during a recession as a result of welfare spending on unemployment.

In fact, levels of public spending as a proportion of GDP were much lower for most of the 2000s than they were than at any point since the 1960s.

Where Labour did spend more in the years after 2000, it was necessary to repair the visible effects of long-term under-investment. Who can forget schools and hospitals with buckets in the corner to catch the leaks, or grim city centre landscapes with crowds of homeless people sleeping rough?

Labour’s increased spending also addressed workforce shortages in schools and the NHS, where more staff were needed to raise educational standards and care for an ageing population.

Rather than cutting such spending, the crisis could be an opportunity to build the infrastructure of a more energy-efficient, green economy. That would prepare us for the longer-term structural barriers to growth presented by climate change and the depletion of natural resources.

MYTH: The UK has a big public sector compared to other countries

Public spending in the UK is lower as a proportion of the economy than in the likes of France, Italy, Austria and Belgium, as well as the Scandinavian countries (OECD World Factbook 2010).

And spending on core areas such as health and education remains comparable or low in relation to other OECD (broadly speaking, ‘rich’) countries.

For example, the UK spent just 8.4 per cent of its GDP on health in 2007, roughly half that spent in the United States (once the large private sector is taken into account) and well behind Germany, France and most other west European nations.

On education, the UK again spends less per pupil than most comparable OECD countries.

The UK is not profligate in public spending and does not have an oversized public sector compared to similar countries.

MYTH: Spending on the public sector is ‘crowding out’ private sector growth

It is argued that public spending comes at the expense of overall growth, because potential investment is being re-directed into taxation to fund an ‘unproductive’ public sector. But in fact investment in public infrastructure and services is essential to private sector productivity, and so is no less critical to future growth than private sector investment.

Furthermore, the UK is not a highly taxed economy. The OECD’s comparative figures on taxation as a proportion of overall economic output show the UK way down the list, only just above the average.

It is sometimes suggested that taxes hit the private sector in such a way as to discourage job growth. Again, though, the data shows the UK to have very low levels of taxation per job: far lower than the OECD average.

The second way in which the public sector might be said to be crowding out private sector growth is by taking workers it needs, but this would only really be the case where the labour market was operating close to full employment.

With the unemployment rate at about 8 per cent, this is clearly not the case. and in many areas of public provision – from child protection, to education and training, to care for the elderly – there is a pressing need for more, not fewer, public service workers.

Finally, some argue that public investment ‘crowds out’ private investment, because government borrowing pushes up interest rates and inflation. But there is no evidence that this is currently a problem – real interest rates are low, and the economy is still operating well below its potential output, which means there is lots of room for non-inflationary public sector expansion.

In fact, in current circumstances, public spending is more likely to stimulate private sector investment by maintaining levels of demand and preventing a deeper collapse of economic activity.

MYTH: Public sector workers are overpaid

It is true that very recently average wages in the public sector have moved marginally above those in the private sector. This is mainly because privatisation has pushed many low-paid jobs out to the private sector.

The trend is not that public sector wages have risen sharply, but that private sector wages have fallen – a characteristic of the economic crisis. If we take a longer view, since the 1990s average public sector pay has not seen significantly more growth than the public sector.

And when private sector wages are split up to consider different sector and occupational patterns, a rather different picture emerges. Wage rates differ widely, with the average pulled down by very low wage sectors such as distribution, retail and hospitality.

What the data shows, therefore, is not that public sector workers are overpaid, but that some private sector workers are severely underpaid.

MYTH: The financial crisis was caused by a lack of money in circulation

This one is true to some extent, but it requires careful explanation. The system of finance capitalism pursued in the UK and US since the 1970s has continuously recycled economic surpluses away from the poor toward the rich. In both countries, the share of economic output taken up by wages (as opposed to profit) has fallen, and inequality has risen. The very affluent have got wealthier, at the expense of the rest of the population. In 2007/08 the richest tenth of the population had more than 30 per cent of total income (‘Income Inequalities’, poverty.org.uk).

In the post-war period, part of the role of the state was to redistribute economic surpluses to the wider population so that they could keep spending on goods and services. This was seen as so important precisely because large inequalities had been identified as one cause of the 1929 stock market crash and the subsequent depression.

For a while, the problem that rising inequality presented for growth was overcome by the use of credit and the super-exploitation of workers in the developing world, which allowed consumers to keep buying cheap products. This is one of the factors that fed the debt crisis.

So, yes, there is not enough money in circulation – but this is precisely because it has been captured by the super-rich.

MYTH: Cutting public spending will help us avoid economic disaster

A range of economists, from Larry Elliott of the Guardian to Nobel prize winning professors like Paul Krugman and Joseph Stiglitz, are warning that making cuts now raises the very real possibility of undermining the fragile economic recovery.

As every first year economics student knows, there are four main components of economic growth: (1) exports; (2) investment; (3) household spending; and (4) government spending.

Over the past two years, governments around the world have stepped in to bridge the gap in the first three by providing debt-financed public sector stimulus packages. There is precious little evidence that the private sector or households are ready or able to step up their activity to fill the gap, or that exports will increase in a world where our major trading partners are also reining in spending.

As such, any austerity programme may prematurely remove the foundations of the recovery and lead to a return to recession – a ‘double dip’. This would be disastrous, not just for growth, but in turn for tax receipts and the capacity of the state to reduce the deficit and government debt.

How will that help to stabilise the world economy? How will it deal with the frequent, persistent and cumulative financial crises that are endemic to it, or overcome the pressing resource and environmental constraints that are so clear for all to see?

The economic crisis was a golden opportunity to move toward a more economically, socially and environmentally sustainable national and international economic system. For a while all countries were so concerned about the whole system that there was at least a chance to overcome narrow self-interest and look toward a more co-operative and sustainable future.

We are about to squander a once-in-a-generation opportunity for progressive change – unless, that is, we organise and campaign for an alternative.

MYTH: There is no alternative to cuts

The beginnings of an alternative have already been discussed. For example, Unison’s alternative budget (‘We can afford a fairer society’, Unison Alternative Budget 2010) suggests that almost £4.7 billion could be raised each year from introducing a 50 per cent tax rate on incomes over £100,000.

About £5 billion could be raised every year from a tax on vacant housing; £25 billion a year could be raised by closing tax loopholes; and the IPPR think-tank has estimated that a ‘Robin Hood tax’ on financial transactions could raise another £20 billion a year (T Dolphin, Financial Sector Taxes, IPPR 2010).

All these taxation measures would be ‘progressive’ in the sense that they would divert wealth from the rich to the poor, in contrast to measures such as the government’s VAT increase, which hits the poor hardest.

In addition, some of these ideas might have behavioural advantages: they could work against destabilising speculative financial flows, or lead to fewer empty houses.

Similarly, we could look at spending that really should be cut. For example, while estimates of the true costs of replacing the Trident nuclear weapon system vary widely, they tend always to come in above £80 billion over 25 years.

Getting rid of the cost of the war in Afghanistan, massive consultancy fees on private finance deals and contractors’ profits in privatised public services would also make a difference.

We could also decide to manage the deficit and public spending in a long-term manner, targeting social issues such as inequality, under-investment in education and child poverty, and strongly regulating international financiers, banks, hedge funds and the like.

All of these are political choices.

We don’t have to live in a world where unemployment co-exists with a long-hours culture in which workers are so stressed that mental health problems are on the rise.

We don’t have to live in a world where bankers gamble millions across the world in elaborate financial casinos at the same time as 1.4 billion people live on less than $1.25 a day.

We don’t have to live in a world where there is no limit to how much of our collective economic output goes to the rich, yet others do not have enough to eat.

It is worth remembering that after the last crisis of this scale and significance, and with public debt something like three and a half times the size it is today, we established the NHS, created the welfare state, put in place comprehensive education and built a vast number of public housing estates.

History tells us that there is more than one way out of an economic crisis.

Download our pdf version of this article to distribute far and wide …

Footnote

Thanks to Dr Alex Nunn of Leeds Metropolitan University and the Transpennine Working Group of the Conference of

Reproduced with permission from the excellent Red Pepper: Countering the cuts myths – Red Pepper.

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“Happiness of the collector, the happiness of the solitary: to be tête-à-tête with things.” — Walter Benjamin, “Pariser Passagen”

A photograph is something salvaged and proof of something lost. As the camera’s shutter opens and closes with a sound like a mechanical kiss, the present moment becomes, forever, the past. Photographs can slice time finer than the human eye, revealing the moment when a galloping horse takes all four feet off the ground, or when the broken surface of milk forms a ring of points like a chessman’s crown. We reach for our cameras when we see what we know won’t last, a sunset or a baby’s smile or a woman balanced in the air over a puddle.

Why photograph inanimate objects, which neither move nor change? Set aside for the moment explorations of abstract form (Paul Strand’s flower pots, Edward Weston’s peppers) and glamorous advertisements for material luxuries (Edward Steichen’s cigarette lighters, Irving Penn’s melted brie). Many of the earliest photographs were still life of necessity: only statues, books, and urns could hold still long enough to leave their images on salted paper. But with the still lifes of Roger Fenton, sharpness of detail and richness of texture introduce a new note: the dusty skin of a grape puckers around the stem, a flower petal curls and darkens at the edge. Photographic still life, like painted still life, is about our sensual experience of everyday objects, and the inevitability of decay. Penn famously photographed cigarette butts and trash collected from the gutter, rotting fruit and vegetables, discarded clothes, and other examples of dead nature.

The nineteenth-century art critic Théophile Thoré objected to the French term for still life, nature morte, proclaiming, “Everything is alive and moves, everything breathes in and exhales, everything is in a constant state of metamorphosis… There is no dead nature!” The Czech photographer Josef Sudek tersely echoed this thought when he said that to the photographer’s eye, “a seemingly dead object comes to life through light or by its surroundings.”

Sudek, who lost his right arm in the First World War but nevertheless carried a panoramic box camera and tripod around Prague and the surrounding countryside, began to focus on still life after German troops occupied Prague in 1939. He started shooting through the window of his studio, turning it into a scrim: fogged with condensation, feathered with frost, or streaked with trails of raindrops. He placed objects on the windowsill, turning it into “a theater of ordinary objects,” in the words of Anna Farova. The window is a reminder of the boundary between interior and outdoors, between the nearness of quiet, known things—an apple on a plate, a rose in a glass of water—and the blur of the world beyond.

A wooden step-ladder in his studio was another stage for still life; on each step he would arrange onions, sea-shells, a brown egg on a white saucer, lemons, crumpled paper, and glasses part-full of water or wine. Visiting friends would sketch the changing display, and Sudek began to construct and photograph lyrical still lifes in series he called “memories” and “labyrinths.” As action photographers freeze things in motion, he roused broken dolls and glass marbles to dreamy life, made crumpled scraps of cellophane look stilled in mid-flight.

Sudek’s still lifes combine solid, durable objects with the most ephemeral phenomena, light and shadow, moisture and reflections. In pictures like his Glass Labyrinths, he blurred the distinctions between light, glass, and water: all are translucent, all are veiled as though by breath, all leave permanent traces in the gelatin-silver print. Despite their softness and absence of strong contrasts, Sudek’s contact prints illuminate the tiny bubbles clinging to the sides of a glass of water, the flaking cracks in old paint, the separate filaments of feathers. Still life is an art of intimacy and nearness; it addresses the world within our reach, the things we touch, hold, smell, and taste. It brings us “tête-à-tête with things.” We know how the rim of a glass feels on our lips, the weight of an egg cradled in our hands, the sound of dry onion skin crackling as it’s peeled. But still life is defined by the lack of human presence; it shows us our rooms when we are not in them, complete without us.

Sudek captures what Cézanne called “the melancholy of an old apple,” light picking out fine wrinkles in the withering skin, a dried leaf standing black and brittle on the stem. (Cézanne preferred fruits to flowers, explaining, “They like to have their portraits painted.” The English gardener and amateur photographer Charles Jones spent a lifetime making solemn portraits of vegetables and fruits: peapods slit open to show their pearly seeds, cabbages unfurling their leaves like the ruffled petticoats of can-can dancers, onions gleaming like gold-leafed church domes.)

In his later years Sudek became a hoarder, incapable of throwing things away. Eventually the wooden shack he used as a studio became so crammed with papers, books, correspondence, shopping lists, phonograph records, match-boxes, crockery, and detritus that there was hardly room to sleep. The comfort of things is that they last; they don’t change from day to day. In his series Air Mail Memories, Sudek photographed letters he had received from friends, tangible links to the absent. He commemorated mementos. He took pictures of his cluttered studio; as though hoarding empty picture-frames and tin cans and reams of paper and dried flowers were not enough, he had to document the hoard as well.

Anything that is collected loses its functional value: coins no longer pay for goods, postage stamps no longer travel on letters, flint arrowheads no longer wound. Memories, which everyone collects, are expired moments, pieces of time used up. “It is the deepest enchantment of the collector,” Walter Benjamin wrote in The Arcades Project, “to enclose the particular item within a magic circle, where, as a last shudder runs through it (the shudder of being acquired), it turns to stone.” Taking a photograph is like pinning a butterfly; light is trapped within a box and pressed flat. To be held, life must be stilled.

André Kertész also photographed objects on a windowsill. After his wife Elizabeth’s death in 1977, he began placing objects that reminded him of her or of their life together in front of the window of his New York apartment and shooting color Polaroids of them. The series was eventually collected in a book called From My Window. Through this same window in previous decades, Kertész had taken black-and-white pictures of Washington Square Park and surrounding rooftops with a telephoto lens. Now the city became a soft, distant backdrop for his miniature theater of memory. Buildings are distorted through the glass bust of a woman: a smooth, fluid, featureless shape like a pooling teardrop.

Kertész had seen this bust in a store, and something about the posture of the neck and shoulders reminded him of Elizabeth. He bought it and began to photograph it again and again, both as a stand-in for his adored wife and a symbol of her absence. Kertész had a “nearly obsessive attachment to small objects,” his friend Carol Brower Wilhelm recalled. She shared it with him: “We collected mementos nearly everywhere we went. Both our lives were cluttered with objects and details while we yearned for an unshakable order which we ourselves betrayed and continually made impossible.” On the windowsill Kertész photographed these companionable objects: models of snails and ducks, a glass bluebird, a wire figurine of a man reading, a crystal heart (another link to his wife, whom he called “little heart”). The pictures brave accusations of sentimentality, even of kitsch. But we are all guilty of storing emotions in objects; the urge to build shrines and cherish relics is universal. And even common objects like dishes and combs and ashtrays, which we see and touch and handle every day, absorb our experiences and become repositories of nostalgia. “Nostalgia” combines the Greek words for homecoming and pain. Kertész left his native Hungary as a young man, found his artistic home in Paris, but spent the latter half of his life in New York, where his initial feelings of alienation, loss and disorientation never fully wore off.

Susan Sontag wrote that photographs “actively promote nostalgia.” To miss something it must be absent yet present; not just remembered but an active, intrusively vivid memory, a present absence. Photographs are not, in the phrase Irving Penn used to title one of his books, “moments preserved,” they are reminders of moments lost. Even still life, which should convey duration—the life span of fruit or flowers, the permanence of solid objects—becomes a fugitive instant, a ghost of light.

Kertész took Polaroids not for the color (he claimed to be partly color-blind) but for the instant results and autonomy they granted him. Within moments he was able to turn what he saw—a fleeting sunbeam or shadow, a suddenly striking composition—into a physical image, a solid object. He became so consumed by taking these pictures that he would work for hours, forgetting to eat. At first he found the Polaroid camera frustrating, unpredictable and difficult to control. “With this ridicule thing I tried expressing myself,” he said in his idiosyncratic, multi-lingual style.

Cameras had always been an intimate and personal part of his life; his pictures were not only works of art but a diary, the most natural form of self-expression for a man who felt inarticulate. He photographed Elizabeth on her deathbed and in her casket, and placed a photograph of the two of them in their crypt. He even photographed his photographs, cropping and re-framing them. Throughout his life he made many self-portraits, and he often let his own shadow fall in his pictures, deliberately violating the invisibility and illusion of objectivity that most photographers pursue.

Kertész was deeply offended when an American magazine editor said his pictures “talked too much,” because they expressed his sensibility rather than documenting his surroundings. He gave speaking parts to a toy ship, a tulip, a glass knick-knack; he saw his own feelings reflected in a cloud or a chair covered with snow. Even without knowing that Kertész was a grieving widower when he took these Polaroids, one can find something wistful and elegiac in the richly colored pictures. It might be the slant of the sunlight, suggesting the waning of late afternoon; or the window that places the viewer inside, alone in a room; or the fact that souvenirs (literally, “memories”) are treasured by those who dwell on, or in, the past. But Kertész’s pictures don’t evoke loneliness—the pain of feeling incomplete—so much as the total absorption of being alone with anything you love.

Kertész eventually bought a second, identical glass bust and posed the two in a pool of sun, leaning their heads together in a mute tête-à-tête. It’s no surprise that glass—in windowpanes, wine glasses, marbles, sculptures, shards—is the star of both Sudek’s and Kertész’s still lifes: it gathers, refracts, and solidifies light, the real subject of every photograph. The camera lens is another glass window, which lets us see into the past but shuts us out.

Imogen Sara Smith: Threepenny Review

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Research published today by the British Medical Journal shows

Lead researcher, Professor Danny Dorling, said the findings were a “stark reminder” of the challenge facing the nation.

“Health and wealth are directly linked and, unless we tackle the income gap, we could well see life expectancy actually starting to fall for the first time in the poorest areas.”

And so the evidence continues to mount. The government and all political parties cannot continue to tolerate this situation which is, essentially, an abuse of human rights measured in years of life lost. It is occurring in the midst of plenty and it is happening under our noses. The gap between rich and poor must be narrowed.

For more information on this report listen to Danny Dorling interviewed  on the Radio 4 Today programme recently.

via Shameful: health gap wider than in 1930s | The Equality Trust.

Submitted by Bill Kerry on 23 July 2010

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In January 2010 Jean-François Copé, the parliamentary leader of the Union pour un Mouvement Populaire, the ruling French party, proposed the draft of a law which bans the full-body veil from French streets and all other public places. This announcement came after the anguished six-month debate on the burka and its Arab equivalent, the niqab, which cover the woman’s face, except for a small slit for the eyes. All main political parties expressed their rejection of burka: the main opposition party, the Parti Socialiste, said it is “totally opposed to the burka,” which amounted to a “prison for women”. The disagreements are of purely tactical nature: although President Nicolas Sarkozy opposes the outright ban on burka as counter-productive, he called for a “debate on national identity” in October 2009, claiming that burka is “against French culture.” The law fines up to 750 Euros on anyone appearing in public “with their face entirely masked”; exemptions would permit the wearing of masks on “traditional, festive occasions,” such as carnivals. Stiffer punishments would be laid down for men who “forced” their wives or daughters to wear full-body veils. The underlying idea is that the burka or niqab are contrary to French traditions of freedom and laws on women’s rights, or to quote Copé: “We can measure the modernity of a society by the way it treats and respects women.” The new legislation is thus intended to protect the dignity and security of women. Furthermore, as Sarkozy said, veils are “not welcome” because, in a secular country like France, they intimidate and alienate non-Muslims… one cannot but note how the allegedly universalist attack on burka on behalf of human rights and dignity ends up as a defense of the particular French way of life.

via The Symptom 11 » The Neighbor in Burka Slavoj Zizek.

For my take on the issue click here

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