My quick plea about Germany’s far-right AFD party.

I have a quick plea to make about the AfD, who as many of you may already know are Germany’s fast-growing far-right party. My plea is simple: it is that, when you hear their name mentioned, you take them seriously. I ask you not to laugh them off; I ask you not to say that they are merely a group of bumbling bigots, the mere result of a protest vote, who will crumble under the merest scrutiny or implode due to in-fighting. Because they are not. There is nothing comical about neo-Nazism and there never will be.  

 

Why am I writing this article in particular? Because the AfD have just come out with a series of quotes that the Berlin-based journalist Charles Hawley has described as “full neo-Nazi”. If you read Hawley’s series of tweets, which you can do by clicking here, you will see it all – the call for Germany to be taken back from foreigners, the thinly-veiled call for Holocaust denial (“need to shift our memory politics by 180 degrees!”). As Hawley reminds us, “remember that AfD started as an anti-euro party. Since then, it has undergone a migration to the extreme right.” And each time it migrates, it sustains its support.

 

There was uproar in Germany, when, last summer, the AfD took aim at Jerome Boateng, one of the country’s most-loved footballers, merely because he was black. You can read my article on that episode here. There was further uproar when the AfD called for the reintroduction of Nazi terminology to political discourse. And what happened after that uproar? The AfD took 14% of the vote in Berlin. The AfD cannot be dismissed as a party only strong among the disaffected working-class East Germans – even though that dismissal would say plenty about the snobbery of the person who was making it. To quote the Cologne Institute for Economic Research, “nearly 34 percent of AfD sympathizers belonged to the top fifth of the population, while fewer than 10 percent are worried about their own personal economic situation.”

 

So, please: let’s not laugh the AfD away, because they are currently networking internationally with their far-right cousins with an eye on unsettling Angela Merkel in September. Let’s not allow anyone to “do a Trump”: to neglect their threat, and then panic come election day. Let’s not allow anyone to say that “we were not told”. Let’s support superb organisations who resist them, like the Amadeu Antonio Stiftung. And let’s reply to anyone who tells us “oh, you’re just fear-mongering” that, no, “actually, we’re fact-mongering. The AfD are here, and their danger is real.”

 

A short note on Germany’s refusal to ban the neo-Nazi NPD party.

Today, Germany’s highest court has ruled that the neo-Nazi NPD party should not be banned, on the basis that it does not represent a threat to democracy in the country. The Amadeu Antonio Stiftung, one of Germany’s leading foundations in the fight against far-right extremism, welcomes this decision, and I agree with them for the reasons they provide. The Amadeu Antonio Stiftung, in a press release, make clear that the NPD is no longer politically dangerous, but that the hatred they espouse has diffused elsewhere, most notably into the AfD party – which in Berlin alone has captured 14% of the vote.

Dr. Matthias Quent, of the Institut für Demokratie und Zivilgesellschaft, has bemoaned what he regards as a year-long waste of time in bringing this case to its close – time and resources which would have been much better spent addressing the damage that the far-right is doing in several other areas.

The NPD has been succeeded by nimbler organisations, whose effects are being seen daily – and which are co-ordinating their efforts with notable diligence. It’s revealing, I think, how there has been this concerted move to stamp out its weak flame – it suggests an attempt to show that Something Is Being Done, without actually addressing the root causes of the current problem. In that sense, a banning of the NPD would have been analogous to the planned execution of Dylann Roof – an act of catharsis, whereby a society can partially avert its eyes from a growing threat. This ban would have represented a validation of those who are in denial; and for that reason, above many others, this ruling is to be applauded.

“Optimism is your greatest weapon”: a talk for the Institute for Philosophical Progress.

On 14 January 2017, I was very kindly invited by the Institute for Philosophical Progress in Würzburg, Germany, to give a talk about how we might make music in response to the current political climate. The text of my talk, “Optimism is your greatest weapon”, is below; I hope that you find it of interest. If so, please share; and thank you for reading.

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It is the job of musicians and other artists to create, but there are times when this task seems more difficult than others.  Times like now, for example.  I find that the world is in such a troubling place that making music can sometimes feel like a futile act. I am a journalist, and so a part of my job is to keep aware of whatever is happening in the news — this also means that my music has a political dimension. And there are often times when I am not sure what sort of art I should make in response. Every morning, the headlines hit you with the fury of a January snowstorm. You read that refugees are freezing to death on their way through Europe, and that in Germany last year there were 900 attacks on refugees and their shelters. You read that Syria is suffering even more than you thought possible, that the Pentagon has just successfully tested an army of drones, and that each year for the last few years has been the hottest one yet. And that’s before you read that several species are going extinct every month, and that America’s next president seems likely to start a new round of international tension by using Twitter.  Put simply, I think that we are in a mess, and heading for a larger one. The only thing that I can control is how I react. In the style of a referendum, I have given myself two choices: I can either be immobilised by despair, or I can create more and better work than ever before. I have chosen the latter. The only question I must now answer is how.

 

The first thing I have done is to decide upon a philosophy behind my music. When, at the end of this year, I listen back to all the lyrics that I have written, I want them to have a common theme. I always try to have some kind of thread running through my music – I think that’s because, at heart, I will always be a storyteller. I did this with my last release, an EP called “The Nomadic” – you can find a stream of it on the Okayafrica website, it was produced by Greg Surmacz. The four-track EP dealt with the subject of migration, and was written at a time when I was caught between four cities. I had just returned from Rio, where I had been covering the World Cup as a journalist for the BBC; I was living in London, and planning to move to Berlin; and I was recording the music at Greg’s house in Leeds. It was a time of so much change for me – it was my own period of flux, which the world is experiencing now. In that moment, I felt the need to do two things – to capture the moment, and to have a positive attitude about my circumstances.

It was during this period that I came up with my favourite, and probably my best, lyric to date: “optimism is your greatest weapon”. The only thing that we can hope to influence at any point are the seconds which still lie before us. As long as we have the future, we have hope. It is with this philosophy that I am making all of my music this year.

 

It’s hard to describe what kind of music I make. I don’t make beats, and I don’t rap; I very occasionally sing, but most of the time I talk over electronic music. I guess the closest artists, in terms of what I do, are people like Tricky, Roots Manuva, Scroobius Pip and The Streets. This means that I have to work with a very particular type of producer – someone who listens to every type of music, and who makes tunes that are a little unconventional. I love plenty of bass in my music – maybe that’s because I spent many years as a Londoner – and so whoever I work with has to love that too. Looking for the right collaborator is hard, but exciting – it’s almost like dating before the days of Tinder.

 

These days, it is thankfully easier for me to find people to work with. A few months ago, I had a piece of very good news – I was offered a publishing deal by Bosworth Music, a publishing house based in Berlin, who have signed a series of excellent producers. After ten years of putting out my own music, I am now working on four new projects, which I hope to share with you soon enough. Each of the artists I am collaborating with are very different, but the one thing I will try to do with each of them is to make sure that each song is a journey – beginning at a place of negativity, and ending on a path towards happiness.

 

For a long time as an artist, I was afraid of writing happy endings. I found them cheesy. The world was a big serious place and so I thought that it needed big serious work in response. The problem with that, though, is that people already know how frightening life can be. More often than not, they need hope. This, I think, explains why gospel music has re-emerged as such an explicit influence of hip-hop in the USA. I can safely say that my own writing has changed over the years. I no longer write songs of doom, describing the growing threat of climate change. Instead, I try to craft songs which have broad appeal, which are accessible and upbeat.

 

To give an example of what I mean, we can look at possibly the best piece of music I have written so far, a tune called “Ring The Bells”. It’s from that EP I mentioned, The Nomadic, and it’s the last song I wrote for that project. The reason I think these lyrics are effective is that I didn’t overthink them – I wrote them pretty much as a single draft, during a two-hour train journey to my producer’s studio. The best thing about working to a deadline, as I was in this case, is that it forces you to be direct in your language, to use only the images which are the most vivid in your mind. I also find that it stops me from being too forceful with a particular political message. I’m so busy trying to get the thing finished that I don’t have time to elaborate. In fact, writing lyrics is a little like my mother would cook for us when I was young. She would come home from work and cook a meal with whatever she found in the fridge, throwing everything together with a mix of experience, creativity and urgency. And she got it right, every time.

 

So I guess what I’m saying is that “Ring The Bells” is the closest I have ever got to cooking like my mother. I drew upon all the ingredients that were lying around in my life at the time. My fear as I sat at the train platform, preparing for my new life in Berlin – but also my growing anticipation at the new adventure. The sound of the bell in the thirty-second beat I’d been sent, which was so subtle and insistent that it had to be the song’s chorus. My memories of my trip to the World Cup in Brazil, and of the film Interstellar, whose trailers were some of the most inspiring art I had seen in years. As I put pen to paper, I began to realise something important about songwriting – that most of the songs that had moved me most, like Radiohead’s “Idioteque”, didn’t point their figures at me. Instead, they painted scenarios – they showed, they didn’t tell. And so when I wrote that simple chorus, “Ring The Bells”, I made sure that it was the most gentle of commands. Very few people will respond well if a complete stranger scolds them, telling them to shape up and fix their life. They tend to prefer it if that person seems to care about them, to want to go on that journey with them. And that’s the music I want to make now – music which accompanies people. Those tunes you listen to at the weekend when you’re travelling to see your partner in another city. That track that seeks you out when you’re feeling isolated. I want to make music that feels like that tiny light on the hillside when you’re driving up through the darkness.

 

I don’t normally publish lyrics from songs that aren’t yet recorded, but it feels right to do so. Late last year, I noticed that several of my female friends were going through some particularly hard times – they are the kindest, gentlest people, who the world always seems to hit the hardest. And so I wrote a track called “Glaciers”, to describe how they still somehow manage to find a way forward. They are my heroes, and so this song is for them. This is the opening verse:

 

The greyest skies and coldest seas

Remember the sun, eventually:

She will find her way upright

Though life has her on bended knee

Is this how it’s meant to be? –

Ever so, the cycle goes;

This world serves her a defeat,

She counterattacks, then repeat:

Indomitable thief,

She seizes happiness and flees;

She knows well that life is brief

So woe can kindly take a seat

It proceeds evermore,

Each time the ice before her thaws,

And so the glacier retreats,

Her will, her heart, provides the heat.

 

This is how each of my songs will be this year – an attempt to join the listener in whichever bleak place they may be, and hopefully to leave them feeling warmer by the end. I will keep the work coming, and I hope that it resonates with you.

My manifesto for 2017.

I’m not going to lie; I am frightened. It’s 3:35am and I’m writing this because I can’t sleep – because, right now, it feels as though I shouldn’t sleep. There’s too much to do, too much to think about.

This isn’t an ordinary year, or an ordinary time. If I look at the grand scheme of things, then everything is divided, harshly partisan; politically, socially. But if I try to retreat to more peaceful environments, I still struggle to find respite. There is tension everywhere. This Christmas, back in the town where I grew up, there was no escaping the disquiet. Half of those I spoke to among family and friends had voted Leave. One was vocal in their support of Trump. Hillary Clinton, I learned, was a Satanist, she endorsed Lucifer.

The EU never liked us, it only ever looked out for itself. We were leaving now, and that was the end of it. A family friend, who had voted Leave, spoke of concern at the racism that she had seen spike directly after the referendum.

I won’t lie, I was frustrated. Of course I was. For years I had been criticising the problems in the UK which had brought us to this place – the job losses, the costs of living, the unfairness of many aspects of our economic system. The people and the companies who didn’t pay their fair share into our economy, which would have resulted in better services for all. All of these things had contributed to the current disaffection in Britain. There were also the unavoidable cultural changes. I have always been pretty relaxed about racial and cultural diversity, but there are others who feel that there has been too much of it, too soon.

Why don’t you go into politics, asked my friends who had voted Leave. You talk more sense than most of those people up there. Oh please, I don’t, I said. And I won’t. I’m probably one of the last people that Leave voters need to hear from right now. I’m a beneficiary of the EU, I’m to all intents and purposes a metropolitan elitist. The last thing Leave voters want to is to be lectured to by someone who’s done very well out of the system, who has spent much of the last few years being scathing about the unfair coverage of immigrants.

I shouldn’t care as much about all this as I do, it’s not healthy. But I still somehow do: I guess that the heart wants what it wants. And maybe I also care because this isn’t an ordinary time, and to look away feels like defeat. To ignore what is happening around us feels like complicity. Of course, after we all had a good rant about the referendum, everything settled down again; because we are family and friends, and though some voted Leave and some voted Remain we still love and care for each other. And we are all trying to plot a positive course forward, somehow.

I was in Lisbon a few weeks before Christmas, and saw two middle-aged Americans, a man and woman, having an argument. I thought they were a married couple, but it turns out that one had voted Clinton and the other one had voted Trump. They were coming to the end of the tram journey, and were looking for directions; they’d obviously bonded over their shared aimlessness, and had promptly fallen out. I found myself almost refereeing their dispute. The Clinton voter was incredulous that anyone could have voted for Trump. He insisted that Michelle Obama should run in 2020. I suggested that maybe the US wouldn’t be keen on another dose of dynastic politics. He shook his head. The Trump voter was very nervous – she seemed afraid that I would think she was stupid. She was absolutely terrified of being judged, and she couldn’t bring herself to say that she had chosen him at first. So I said, well, people clearly wanted a change from the old order. She was much more relaxed after that. Look, I said, I know Trump is a break from the norm, I just don’t think he’s going to take things down a better path. She seemed relieved that I hadn’t called her crazy. They made their way off on another tram, and I caught a bus down the hill.

I have seen and experienced so many things in the last year – anger, contempt, even violence. I have expressed fury and incredulity at political positions contrary to my own. Some of that I regret, most of that I don’t. The neo-Nazis, in particular, can do one. But this year, I am going to get much better at sifting. This year, I am going to get much better at spending my time on areas where I feel that I can have a more useful impact. Yes; here is what I am going to do.

First, I am going to spend much less time writing blog-posts in response to articles that seem designed only to provoke. I have a limited amount of time to address that kind of disingenuous nonsense. Instead, I am going to spend that time thinking of new projects, and creating the most positive, forward-thinking art that I can. I am going to make more music, write more poetry, more stories. Instead of conserving my creativity for one or two key projects, I will try to do everything. I am deliberately going to spread myself thin. My aim is to end this year exhausted.

I am going to wear the expression “bleeding-heart liberal” as a badge of honour. Looking around at the world, there aren’t nearly enough bleeding hearts out there. Compassion is an asset. What a society we have where sensitivity is so roundly mocked. Sensitivity is strength.

Of course, I will continue to read widely, and continue to work with people of different political viewpoints who genuinely want to see a kinder, better world. I actually enjoy that, because every time I do so it feels like progress. I will be much better at directing my energy towards the fights I truly need to fight. I will tweet less and think more. And I will be braver, whenever the opportunity presents itself. I will speak up when I am afraid – particularly when I am afraid. I will have those hard and necessary conversations with myself. I will ask out that girl I like.

This all feels small, in the grand scheme of things. But I am beginning to think that these small acts of courage matter. I look at how small the margins were in the US election and in the Brexit vote – and I also look at the shortfalls in empathy that led to such division, both at the polling booth and under my own roof. I am not going to act as if 2016 never happened, but I am still going to consign it firmly to the rear-view mirror. This year, I am going to walk firmly in the direction of my fear, wherever and whenever I can. With a deep, tired breath – my God, it is 5:06am! – here I go.

 

My top 10 tracks of the year.

So, as some of you know, I make music; I don’t really talk about that as much as I should, considering how much I love doing it. (I’ve included a link to my own work below, if you’d like to check it out.) I’m always listening to new stuff – it’s probably fair to say that it’s one of my quiet obsessions. I thought that I’d put together my top 10 tracks of the year, just in case readers of my work were interested. They’re not in any particular order, but they’re the ones that I keep returning to.

MOTSA feat. Sophie Lindinger, “Petrichor” – I was out for a drink with a friend earlier this winter; it was brutally cold outside, and so we were both hunched over a glass of mulled wine (or Gluhwein, as they call it in Germany). Then this tune drops through the speakers, and suddenly I was scrambling towards the bar staff to ask what it was, so I could buy it from iTunes at once. It’s perfect, really. The bass, the vocals, the build, the drop. And the video is a gem. I then checked out Motsa’s work, and came across “Citadelle”, his excellent track with the similarly brilliant Kimyan Law. Will be following their work closely from now on.

Radiohead, “Present Tense” – I mean, it’s Radiohead. They could have had any one of three tracks from their new album on here, but this is the one that made it – again, they manage to do so much with so little. Those cascading chords, the way Thom Yorke stretches single lines across several bars, and the way the song tumbles to a close…so few can pull that off, but this band pretty much always does.

A Tribe Called Quest, “We The People” – This album is as inspired a soundscape as you will hear all year, and this particular track is its jewel. The highest point is when Phife comes in after Q-Tip has set the table, and then delivers a timeless verse over that raised fist of a bassline. What a majestic way for him and the Tribe to go out.

Kano, “Hail” – It was either this or “Three Wheel-Ups” from an album I have listened to almost non-stop for about half of the year. How this LP did not claim the Mercury Prize I do not know. This track shades it just because it’s so quotable and because Kano even pulls off a gem of an Irish accent (Man’s at your door like/D’you like to buy a carpet?). The most rousing way to start my morning, for months on end.

Porches, “Pool” – Beautifully melodic, this. Every note falls just where it should. It’s so restrained and never does too much – it reminds me of Kaytranada’s best remixes (which means a lot coming from me, as I love Kaytranada’s work). And the final minute or so is triumphant.

Kaytranada, “Track Uno” – Speaking of Kaytranada, he’s responsible for perhaps the best final 30 seconds of music on any track this year. “Track Uno”, the first song on his debut LP, teases you for the first five minutes or so, and then ascends into euphoria. I am not embarrassed – well, maybe a little embarrassed – to say that I have strutted around Berlin many a time listening to this.

Luke Cage Theme Tune – Speaking of strutting around Berlin, I’ve had this on loop for some time too. Netflix’s finest. This is collar-up, kick-door-down music. As the great man famously said, “Sweet Christmas!”

Hugh, “Direction” – This song asks us, as George Michael might have said, to listen without prejudice, and love without prejudice too. It would not work were it not so finely crafted. Gentle, elegant, insistent, it is a uniquely powerful protest song.

Beyonce, “Hold Up” – This was the track of hers that I had on repeat. Maybe it was the righteous, riotous horns, or the defiance of the vocals, the jab of each lyric. The whole thing just had immaculate swagger from start to finish.

Dave, “Picture Me” – My God, this man can write. My God. I have spent a couple of decades either trying to motivate myself to work harder or trying to encourage others to do so, and Dave has produced something which is an exhilarating call to arms – he’s telling listeners to seize the day in terms that are neither cliched nor preachy. This, as any MC, poet or songwriter will tell you with exasperation, is the rarest of feats.

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So, that’s my top ten. My first reflection is that it’s a very “male” list, which means that I should probably listen more widely next year. I also need to check out the new Solange and Little Simz records – both of which artists have been producing very strong work of late. Please send me any recommendations you might have, and if you have a moment please check out my music (you can see a review of it here, and stream it here). I’ll be releasing at least two EPs next year, so if you’d like me to keep you posted about those please email me at info@okwonga.com and I’ll add you to my newsletter. Cheers for reading, and I hope you enjoy the tunes.

Trump, race, and the way forward.

I have tried to strike a mostly positive note about things following Donald Trump’s election as President. After all, given the tone with which he ran most of his campaign, it would be easier now to be a little despondent. Yesterday morning, though, I had my first real rush of sadness. A Jewish friend of mine told me that his parents, who had lived their entire lives in Ohio, had decided to leave the USA, so disturbed were they by the mood that Trump’s rhetoric had created.

It is with their concerns in mind that I am wary of arguments that those worried about Trump’s comments on race are merely blowing the problem out of all proportion. In the last couple of days, I have twice been sent an essay which argues that Democrats are “crying wolf” when it comes to the issue of Donald Trump and racism. The essay, over the course of eight thousand words, aims to make the exhaustive case that Trump is not particularly racist within the context of American politics – not the most reassuring of stances, but an interesting stance all the same, given one of Hillary Clinton’s past pronouncements and her husband’s policies on crime.

The striking thing about this essay is how well it has been received, despite the glaring omissions throughout. I agree with the essay’s general premise – that a culture of fear is not helpful – and it raises several interesting points. Yet these points are overshadowed, in my view, by the author’s failure to take account of much of the material before him. How, for example, can he mention the “alt-right” with no mention of Milo Yiannopoulos, Richard B Spencer, Mike Cernovich, Breitbart or Gamergate? How can he discuss Trump’s racism, or lack of it, without mentioning Trump’s engagement of Steve Bannon, or Trump’s retweeting of white supremacist Twitter accounts, which those accounts took as an endorsement? How can he write an article thousands of words in length about Trump’s alleged racism with no analysis of his calls for the execution of the innocent Central Park Five, or no mention of Trump’s discriminatory rental policies?  How can he claim that “Trump is going to be approximately as racist as every other American president” when Barack Obama, who has repeatedly tried to address some of America’s deepest racial wounds, is still in office? It’s very easy to make a case that Trump is not especially racist – which is not comforting at all, mind you – if you fail to address widely-available chunks of the opposing argument.  I am not so naive or so intellectually dishonest to argue that the outcome of the US election was solely due to race: of course there were several other reasons why Trump prevailed, the most pressing of them economic. At the same time, I think it is a mistake to “take [Trump] at [his] word that you are determined to be the President of every American” when he has just run a campaign characterised in large part by scapegoating and scaremongering. I understand the desire to seek a productive way forward, but that desire should not make us evade the damage to political discourse that Trump has already done.

Since I am aiming to be positive, I will share links to two excellent articles; one of them provides a useful diagnosis of why the US election went the way it did, and the other outlines practical steps that can be taken to address Trump’s presidency. Both, I think, are vital reads, and will hopefully be of great use in the months and years to come.

Fury towards Glenn Beck, and thanks.

Before I can be gracious, I must express my fury.

I am aware that this is my second blog of this nature in two days, but maybe this is a place where I need to park my rage for now. It appears that Glenn Beck, the radio host and American media personality, is absolutely horrified at the rise of the “alt-right” (or, as I prefer to call them, the Racist Right), and is making a series of media appearances to condemn their flagrant racism. Beck should not be remotely surprised by their ascent, given that he has devoted years of his career to promoting the very same bigotry whose wave the alt-right is currently riding.

And I am angry, even as Beck continues to make his way in a positive direction, and continues to renounce his past. I am still furious. Because now Donald Trump has been elected President of the United States, and he looks likely to appoint a white supremacist as his chief strategist. And for years, black people were dismissed as overly sensitive when they criticised Beck, as they watched him laying the foundations for Trump’s election. They were told to stop whining, their worries were dismissed as mere political correctness. Meanwhile, with every bigoted broadcast, Beck gently pushed Trump closer to the White House door. And here we are, and now Beck is sorry.

Perhaps, at some level, it was all just a game for Beck; perhaps he was just chasing ratings, pumping his prejudice into the air as part of the racist arms race that is so much of American shock-jock radio. Maybe he just didn’t see the damage that his rants were doing to black people and to other minorities. In any case, shame on him.

And I needed to say that, first. Because what I will now say is this: thank goodness Beck is doing what he is doing. Because he is taking the conversation about racism to the place where it must consistently go: to the dinner-tables of white America. He was far too late to help to prevent Trump’s election, but maybe in the years to come he can extinguish a small amount of the fires that he so recklessly started. What he is currently doing takes no no little bravery, and once my rage subsides I will commend him properly for that. And if there is anything to be learned from Beck’s career arc, it is this: please listen more carefully, and in timely fashion, to black people who are painstakingly noting the rise of racism. We assure you that we aren’t doing this for fun.

Trump, Black Lives Matter, and transforming the terms of debate.

A very worrying thing is taking place, right before our eyes. I have just read a post from the columnist Tim Montgomerie, in which he approvingly quotes an article by Andrew Sullivan, one of the most prominent conservative thinkers in America. In the post, Mr. Montgomerie approvingly quotes the following section of text:

Much of the newly energized left has come to see the white working class not as allies but primarily as bigots, misogynists, racists, and homophobes, thereby condemning those often at the near-bottom rung of the economy to the bottom rung of the culture as well. A struggling white man in the heartland is now told to “check his privilege” by students at Ivy League colleges. Even if you agree that the privilege exists, it’s hard not to empathize with the object of this disdain. These working-class communities, already alienated, hear — how can they not? — the glib and easy dismissals of “white straight men” as the ultimate source of all our woes. They smell the condescension and the broad generalizations about them — all of which would be repellent if directed at racial minorities — and see themselves, in Hoffer’s words, “disinherited and injured by an unjust order of things.”

And so they wait, and they steam, and they lash out. This was part of the emotional force of the tea party: not just the advancement of racial minorities, gays, and women but the simultaneous demonization of the white working-class world, its culture and way of life. Obama never intended this, but he became a symbol to many of this cultural marginalization. The Black Lives Matter left stoked the fires still further; so did the gay left, for whom the word magnanimity seems unknown, even in the wake of stunning successes. And as the tea party swept through Washington in 2010, as its representatives repeatedly held the government budget hostage, threatened the very credit of the U.S., and refused to hold hearings on a Supreme Court nominee, the American political and media Establishment mostly chose to interpret such behavior as something other than unprecedented. But Trump saw what others didn’t, just as Hoffer noted: “The frustrated individual and the true believer make better prognosticators than those who have reason to want the preservation of the status quo.” (My emphasis in bold.)

It’s a long piece of text, but the section that I would like to talk about briefly is that piece in bold. It’s only one line, but it’s very revealing, I think. Black Lives Matter is an ongoing protest movement to address the wrongful death of black people at police hands; it is an attempt to encourage greater scrutiny of a problem that is now getting some attention but not nearly enough resolution. Sullivan doesn’t adequately scrutinise why the desire of some black people for justice should have been so upsetting to the apparently monolithic white working class. After all, what skin was it off their collective nose? What was it to do with them? How exactly is a wish for better treatment by the police any kind of affront to “the white working-class world, its culture and way of life”? In Sullivan’s article he is not sympathetic to Trump’s bigotry: he rejects it throughout. However, in failing to critique some of the apparently racially-motivated elements of Trump’s support, he helps to cast aspersions on the Black Lives Matter movement. He implies that the problem with the Black Lives Matter movement is that it somehow pushed white working class people too far too soon, and Trump’s election was a logical result.

Elsewhere in the article, Mr. Sullivan refers to Black Lives Matter as part of “the kind of identity politics that unwittingly empowers [Trump]”. (My emphasis.) Yet Black Lives Matter is not “identity politics”, in this newly-negative sense: it is not asking for special treatment for a particular marginalised group, it is asking for equal treatment under the law. It is asking why Freddie Gray can have his spine severed in the back of a police van and every officer involved can walk free; it is asking why Sandra Bland can be pulled over for failing to execute a turn signal and end up dead in a jail cell. It is about asking why Eric Garner had to die for selling cigarettes. If that long, painful advocacy is to be reduced to the now-pejorative phrase “identity politics”, then we are in a troubling place indeed.

Mr. Sullivan notes that “Neo-fascist movements do not advance gradually by persuasion; they first transform the terms of the debate”. Yet in framing Black Lives Matter as a movement that has served primarily to provoke white ire, and not as one which is looking for justice in cases where it is being denied, Mr. Sullivan actually helps to transform those terms of debate. It is the same transformation which has led to the characterisation of those who are concerned about equal rights for marginalised groups as “elitist”That is a dangerous shift, and it must be resisted at every turn.

What’s the point of art, at times like these?

What’s the point of art, at times like these? In truth, I don’t know. What I do know, though, is that there is a value in hope, and there always will be. And so I made a conscious choice at the start of this year to make art which had hope at its core – that is to say, if I had any creative ideas which had an underlying message of pessimism, then I didn’t pursue them. Don’t get me wrong, I love a bit of apocalyptic art now and then – Radiohead’s “Idioteque” has always felt like the kind of dance tune you would hear at the end of the world – and I think that there is tremendous worth in music that is the soundtrack to despair. It allows us to feel that others understand our helplessness. For my part, I also feel the need to create work that has a positive outlook – that, if I am honest, has happy endings. Because I think that for many millions of people going about their lives, being happy has always been a radical act; and if I can create anything which enables that act, then I’m going to go for it.

Below are the lyrics for a song I wrote on the afternoon before the US election, “Higher Course”. I have had a strong sense since around late February that Donald Trump would win the presidency, and have like many others drawn parallels between his rhetoric and that of far-right leaders in modern Europe and further back in history. I think it bears repeating, especially now, that there is nothing inevitable about the ascent of these demagogues; that the margins by which they are being elected are still very narrow; and that, within those narrowest margins, there is still room for a message of hope.

“Higher Course”

The old ideas return,

We’re on the verge,

The brutes become more brave –

These injured souls,

Their eyes are Berlin-winter-cold,

and frozen;

They’ve sold us fear,

and here the price we’ve paid is dear –

But then we pause,

since of course we’ve seen their like before:

They’re nothing new,

The early nineteen-thirties ushered through;

They close their doors,

But we’re answering their storms with warmth –

They stalk the lowest roads,

We take the higher course.

On Donald Trump, “the naysayer”, and deep-space travel.

So Donald Trump has been elected as the President of the United States; and so I would like to say two things. The first is about the naysayer, and the second is about deep-space travel.

A few days ago, I was talking to a friend of mine about a distressing recent incident, where I was racially harassed (and perhaps assaulted) in the street. I mentioned my discomfort at what had happened, and offered the opinion that choosing where to live as a black person, in many parts of the world, was often a matter of choosing the place that was “the least shit” (not the most poetic of phrases, I will admit). I didn’t think this was a very controversial statement – after all, whenever a friend recommends that I visit a particular city, my first question is frequently “what’s the racism like there?” (This, I assure you, a question borne of painful and personal experience.) I was very surprised, then, to hear my friend tell me that he had “lost all respect” for me. His reasoning was that I should not be scared away from a city by its racism, but that I should stay and confront it. I was upset by his reaction, for which he subsequently apologised, and we parted on friendly terms; he is a very good person, after all. Why, though, had he reacted like that?

We actually discussed this, and we got to the bottom of it; which was important, I think. There are some people, like my friend, who have a very positive outlook on the city around them (in this case, Berlin). Their emotional attachment to the city is so powerful – for them, it is a place that gives them unparalleled freedom – that any presentation of its more unpleasant sides immediately meets with a negative reaction. It is a little like telling someone that beneath their beautiful pedicures lies a fungal infection. And this is the insidious thing about racism – it is so ugly that its mere presence unsettles people; good people, who would be horrified if they saw a Nazi trying to intimidate you on the train. But these good people need to do more, otherwise they become “the naysayer”: the person for whom the existence of racism is so uncomfortable that they would rather turn away from it, in the hope that by covering their eyes it will no longer be there.

What can these good people do? Well, that’s where we come to the second thing I would like to say. There are two places in this Universe, both equally remote, to which I will never be able to travel: one of those is deep space, and the other is a conversation about racism at an all-white family dinner table. As a black person, I won’t be in the room when white people discuss how they feel about ethnic minorities, but I really think – given the emerging demographic details of Trump’s victory – that the all-white family meal is the most important conversation in America. It’s at this dinner table where fears and misconceptions about non-white people will be aired, and it is here that those who are unafraid of us must speak up, and not turn away; it is here that they should try to respond with the same degree of indignation, that my friend replied to me. I don’t think for one moment that this conversation will ever be an easy one: in some cases, those people will be outnumbered at the dinner table by people they dearly love, and who have always shown them great kindness. Nevertheless, it is the kind of conversation that is essential, in its own way as revolutionary as any street protest; and, if we look at the current polls, it is not happening nearly enough.

As for me? I am not here merely to point fingers at others. I will continue to write as I always have, and to speak as boldly and precisely about these issues as I can. I will try to listen, and where I can reassure those who are only afraid, rather than triumphant in their bigotry – because I am not arrogant enough to think that I can affect that latter group. And, most of all, I will try my very best not to despair; since while I may be despondent now and then, prolonged misery is a luxury that I cannot afford. On I go, then; away from fear, and hopefully towards more effective work.