Thought Picnic: Only statues stand immortal after men have long gone

I stand before great men

As I visit cities around the world I am attracted to statues, monuments of stone or marble built to the memory of men whose passage in time is recorded for a viewing.

Before you, on a plinth higher than man is the edifice to man and it is usually a man though rarely a woman, the name, the year of birth and the year of death, between the years is a hyphen and that represents the long story of a life so honoured.

Yet my sight plays with my mind for seeing statues at night almost excites my imagination into thinking they would come alive and converse with me.

Men long gone

Then one reflects that statues are very much the yearning for immortality, great men personified in stone as a symbol, a memorial and a story, having walked the earth, they are long gone, dead and buried.

In the square in front of the fantastic neo-gothic Manchester Town Hall are five statues, I know only two of the men, Prince Albert the consort of Queen Victoria had a grand statue set under a canopy held up by four columns, his honour came by reason of marriage and great it was. Albert Square it is.

A few plinths away stood a greater man, William Ewart Gladstone without much ceremony, four times called to be Prime Minister of the United Kingdom during the reign of Queen Victoria, yet the greater honour of a grander memorial fell on him who married than on him who achieved.

But for the stones, there is no remembrance of the men except in history or in conversation where what they did or the lives they lived mattered.

We are transients

Man on whom power has fallen for stewardship yet fails to see this passage of time, a long period of passage that is an eternity and a future also which is an eternity, we men being markers on the chart that offers an opportunity to live, but never the gift of immortality.

In our folly, we grab money and grab power and act as if for us, time has stood still, as if the reckoning has stopped and history ended yesterday, but we are all transients, some for a moment, some for longer, like flowers we bloom, we wither, we die and blessed be the work of nature as we return to dust or ashes to be fondly remembered or completely forgotten.

If honour outlasts us, a statue rises in a likeness for a moment in time when we were most comely, and as I visit another city square, I sit again observing monuments to great men long dead. Lifeless statues with names, the year of birth and the year of death.

When I depart, my slow long walk or journey back home continues as I contemplate how well I shall be truly forgotten, not having made a dent in time.

The memorials in Albert Square, referenced from Wikipedia

• ·         The Albert Memorial by Thomas Worthington and Matthew Noble (1869)
• ·         Bishop James Fraser by Thomas Woolner (1887)
• ·         John Bright by Albert Bruce-Joy (1891)
• ·         Oliver Heywood by Albert Bruce-Joy, (1894)
• ·         William Ewart Gladstone by Mario Raggi (1901)

The UK: Can we trust the establishment to establish the truth about child sex abuse?

Money and sex

Someone once said for most criminal activity in the world, you should either follow the money or follow the sex. I would say that it applies to everything that defines human weakness and the basest expressions of our humanity.

Following the money is quite easy once you have the knowhow and the tools.

Where the confluence of sex and money meets, the activity could range from prostitution to human trafficking.

Following the sex

Following the sex can however be an inscrutable conundrum, because it is usually secretive and for all our scruples, sanctimony and sententiousness it can be obtained by means too shameful and embarrassing for words.

The given is that we are all sexual beings and most of us have need of sexual expression which can easily be selfish, uncaring, dis-compassionate and primal.

The worst acquisition of sex is when it is exploitative, the rich prey on the poor, the powerful on the less so and heinously, the adult taking sexual pleasures off the child without restraint.

Too shocking for words

We have reached a nadir of the latter in the UK as what started over a decade ago as accusations of clerical child sex abuse has now roped in the establishment which appears to include household name celebrities, national treasures, politicians, businessmen, entertainers that you wonder who is left out of the number.

Hands and members violating the young, the powerless, the vulnerable, the star-struck and most especially those in the care of the state; used and abused at will and with pleasure by those whose status in society appeared to grant them immunity for impunity to commit vile and unmentionable acts.

The culpable establishment

The establishment – the aristocracy, the politicians, the police, the prosecutors, the judiciary, the famous and honoured, and their powerful friends – all closed ranks covering the sexual abuse; paedophile criminality being chief amongst the shameful and heinous deeds they stopped from seeing the light of day as the establishment sacrificed the abused to maintain its veneer of respectability and protect itself from deserved scrutiny and excoriation.

This has been going on for decades and many of the actors are long dead and buried, yet some grace exists for some granted the longevity of life to see out their days in shame for crimes too odious to mention in even louche conversation.

An inquiry is more than necessary as to who suffered and how this went on for so long. The establishment must now unravel itself and expunge itself of this odious history, but one wonder if the interest of the establishment is too vested for us to elicit the slightest truth of what really happened.

Some justice

It is all well and good that we have nabbed many of the dead establishment figures as Sir Jimmy Saville and Sir Cyril Smith, then Max Clifford and Rolf Harris have gone to jail, many others who were accused have been acquitted, with certain other names making the rounds online, this whole sordid saga might well be the tip of the iceberg.

The lesson to all must be, regardless of what status in society you might have as a child or young person, there is no given licence for you to be sexually abused just because you have no one to speak up for you, and now, those who did would have to face justice and if they don’t the mere taint of association with paedophilia and sexual abuse is enough the ruin of any reputation as any.

Worse still is we have not even lifted the lid on these sorts of abuses beyond the West, I hate to think of what people got away with in Africa, Asia and South America where some acts might even have been subsumed in cultural acceptance as not to at all of concern.

Nigeria: To a boy most things are forgiven, but to a man, more is expected

An education without history

As the Germans destroyed the assumed mythical status of Brazilian football with a 7 – 1 rout, we all took to Twitter, sharing wit, puns, jokes and memes, some funny, others not so, but the whole atmosphere was marred by a rather tasteless and ‘stupid’ tweet.

I do not intend to reproduce that tweet here because it reeks of odium unparalleled that words fail me.

Now, the perpetrator is a young and rising star in the Nigerian political system, many of us just between what might be the uncle to the parent age with reference to him have found reasons to commend and respect him for his achievements.

In many cases, we may not have been in agreement, but there has been no reason to be disagreeable, he has always held his official brief well and that is worthy of every recognition.

Looking for mitigating circumstances

Yet, having changed masters from a demur Sports and Youth Federal Minister to one who with the brief of Minister of State of Defence whose supposed education and political experience fails to reflect in his tactless and somewhat undiplomatic screeches on Twitter about terrorism in Nigeria, I fear that some of that doltishness has rubbed off on him.

In an unguarded moment, he tweeted what would not be heard in polite society in Europe for as far as the eye can see and this repugnant phrase has not been heralded in public settings since April 30^th 1945.

Ears are for listening

Immediately, those who cared called it out, and this is where you know a man; one with character, one with principle and dare I say, one with integrity. When a fault or wrong is pointed out, not as a voice of common antagonism, but one of clear reason and reasonableness, you reflect, review and gracefully regret error.

Sadly, he dug in, with obduracy, obstinacy and bewildering stupidity, flailing with bluster and braggadocio as a typical Nigerian politician blown adrift like a rainless cloud because it is not anchored in the realism of truth and facts.

Boy came out of the man

Maybe I am being overly harsh on the boy, because I as a boy, he can be excused many things, a lack of knowledge of history which in a man we would call ignorance, a lack of the ability to reflect, which in a man we would call arrogance, and the inability to say sorry, which in a boy would be a clear sign of immaturity.

Worst still, I would hate to extrapolate this event and suggest that many of the youth that I follow and engage with on many forums are prone to this absentmindedness of the powerful to realise that one does stoop to conquer, that one is wise to know that when in a hole you stop digging and that being regretful and sorry is hardly as sign of weakness, but one of strength, even if it is not obvious to the person involved.

One still hopes

Yet, one of the greater qualities of youthfulness is not one of aging but in the ability to learn, the presence of a teachable spirit and to know that one can change if a path to being better is found.

Yesterday, I tweeted extensively about A Man for All Seasons, the character analysis of Sir Thomas More contrasted with Richard Rich with the somewhat reactionary William Roper in the middle of some very insightful exchanges, the subject like one handed a rope to save himself has pulled towards Rich than towards More.

I close with one of the tweets I posted on the issue. “It is amazing what seemingly inconsequential things show the true integrity and character of a man and it can be so damaging.” It needn’t have needed much commentary; to a boy all is forgiven for out of him might grow a man of all seasons, but to a man, much more is expected lest he be judged a man of no season.

I recommend anyone entering politics or anyone and battling with issues of conscience, duty and allegiance consider watching A Man for All Seasons (Film), on Amazon (DVD) and (Streaming).

Nigeria: My plea for Wasilu Umar, the 14-year old bride

On crime and punishment

Murder is never a good thing, the victim having lost their life and the perpetrator having committed a heinous crime which by all standards of justice should be punished.

Whilst homicide should be adequately punished to reflect the crime, I have never been an advocate of capital punishment. I do not subscribe to the old Mosaic Law concept of an eye for an eye.

If ever I were in a position to plead for mitigation, it would be to temper justice with mercy, asking for a level of compassion that appreciates the gravity of offence but a lenience that would be both instructive and reformative of the perpetrator.

Yet, I would make an exception, on the matter of mercy for child sex abusers, whilst I would never go as far as advocating state-sponsored mutilation, there is nothing that suggests such people should walk our streets freely. No length of incarceration can judiciously expiate for the damage wrought on the innocence of a child whose sexuality and sexual expression has been violated for the inordinate pleasure of an adult.

A child bride is wrong

This brings me to the case in Nigeria of a 14-year old bride, Wasilu Umar, who is to be charged with culpable homicide punishable by death for poisoning her 35-year old husband along with, unfortunately three other males aged 12, 13 and 25 respectively, besides the 10 others who survived, though after needing hospital treatment.

BBC News - Nigeria child bride 'poisons older husband'

Vanguard News - Kano seeks death sentence for alleged bride-killer

So many things do not sit right with this case which needs to be scrutinised without emotion. The first issue is, why is a 14-year old a bride? That ought not to be so, that she was pressed into this liaison by her father is both unfortunate and really, putting all religious sentiment aside, cruel and criminal.

Then, she was married off to a 35-year old; this sort of shameful and reprehensible conduct needs to be expunged from our society and anything that gives licence to this kind of culture needs to be excoriated in the sternest terms.

Betrothal maybe, but never marriage

There might be scope for betrothal, but marriage must come much later, at the minimum, it should be the age of maturity, at 18 years, for instance, and it should be only be sanctioned where all parties have the full rights to consent to such a union. The girl, there are no two ways about it - a female of 14 years of age is NOT a woman, she is a girl and should not be made into a woman regardless of societal privations for the sexual proclivities of a patriarchy that cares little about the welfare of the girl-child.

The unfortunate situation of marrying off a girl to someone who could easily be her father thereby putting the life of 14 souls at risk, 4 people dead already, bears the hallmarks of a serial killer, 14 people would have been carnage unspeakable, but we must never absent our minds from the cause and we must not be blinded from the truth.

Slavery is the name

The next question is why a 14-year old girl has to cater for 14 people, whilst extended families are attributes of the Nigerian culture and many including children have to play their part within the family, the idea that a girl has to cook for or serve 14 people smacks of that forgettable word called slavery.

That any society would accept and condone such because I do not think this girl is an exception is contemptible, it needs to be addressed with urgency, it is abuse, it is vile and there must be instruments to elevate the rights of a child beyond being sentenced with juvenile marriages contracted for the purpose of submitting the girl to an abysmally cruel life of servitude in the kitchen and in the bedroom.

Society must reflect on what to do

Then the next question is, should she be punished for the crime? There should be a punishment, but it should not be capital punishment. For the innocent lives lost, there is no clear indication as to whether the girl at 14 really knew what the consequences of her actions would be. There is a case also for pleading her innocence due to diminished responsibility.

We may not be able to apply the first world aspirations of a happy marriage to this situation, it was anything, but happy. Much was asked of this girl well beyond her abilities that those responsible must carry a share of the blame. Her father first, her husband, now deceased, and the society or community that celebrated this or turned a blind eye until bodies began to fall into graves.

Most of all, what the girl needs is rehabilitation, the decision to make an example of her is a sad reflection of a society unwilling to stand for right and stand for the emancipation of the girl-child. The greater absurdity to this matter is how this society automatically ascribes womanhood to a girl the moment some dirty old man takes her for a wife.

Protect the girl

In essence, the girl is being tried as an adult. I am saddened by this development, I hope that better judgement prevails to give the girl another chance to grow out of childhood into womanhood with all the opportunities girls of that age are supposed to have – some freedom to be a child, the latitude to be an adolescent and the right to a decent education.

I cannot suggest that they send the girl home because there is where her problems started, but she does have to be sent somewhere where her life, her rights and her freedoms are fought for vigorously and protected by every means possible.

This charge of culpable homicide punishable by death is by all standards a shameful societal regression that must never be countenanced.

Dublin: A Wedding Speech

An uncle of the day

When I was invited for a wedding in Dublin, I thought it was great honour to be considered. From a friendship and moral support perspective, at best, I thought I’ll be an ordinary uncle amongst many of the day. That for me for significant enough.

However, you can only imagine my shock when I received an email that I had been selected as one of two to make a speech no longer than 5 minutes and without religious exhortation since it was a civic ceremony.

I write and rarely speak

Now, I write blogs, it is quite due to my presumed inadequacies that I rarely write for other forums, at least I have not done that for a well over a year. I am quite comfortable with my blog, what I write, in my own space and without having to voice it.

I probably can count the number of times I have spoken into a microphone and in all those times, my voice quavered as I hoped to finish what I had to say before I lost my voice to nervousness.

Yet, I have been called to give impromptu speeches or even stand in front of congregations to talk and as long it was just my voice, it carried loud enough to the hearing of those present, but has not been something I have so desired to do with much enthusiasm.

The madness of inspiration

Back to the speech, I could not think of what to write as each day passed with all sorts of quotes and stories appearing in my usual reading that derives from news stories, Twitter and other media.

Nevertheless, on Wednesday night, the ceremony being on Friday, I decided to go for the madness of inspiration angle. The one where I have a thought in mind and I just begin to tap at the keyboard. I have written before that when I type I can be like a person possessed, the thoughts almost un-thought, the words never before strung together like that to my reading, something materialises.

Long enough, short enough

The theme I chose was the strength of communication and need to work together at making a marriage work and after my first draft, what was needed was some refinement of parts to make it easy to understand in a speechmaking setting, something I have no particular experience of.

I read it first to my flatmate, it was just 2 minutes 45 seconds long, he timed it and he liked it, but as I read it, I made some corrections. I have found that reading a piece out loud is a good way of proofreading a write-up; if it does not flow or sound right, it needs to be edited.

The same principle applies, as I do with my blogs, it should wear like a good skirt; long enough to cover the detail and short enough to keep the interest.

Reviews

Then I sent it to my best friend who thought the Shakespearean quotes I used were a bit Old English for my intended audience, though I thought otherwise. However, rather than modernising the language, I tried to explain the context better because I was playing with quotes and the names of the plays and to my mind I thought that was good.

The final edition and there were only three was sent to my colleague at work and that inadvertently caused him to suggest I might have to give a speech at his nuptials – surely, I am not that good. In any case, he liked it.

The speech was tested across three radically different cultural perspectives and the feedback suggested it was nice, that gave me some confidence.

Giving the speech

I have never fancied myself a poet, so I don’t attempt such theatrics, recitations are difficult because that means you have to commit the piece to memory, jokes were completely out of the question, I am enough of a clown that I could not afford to make a complete fool of myself, in front of strangers.

That did not leave me out of ideas, the speech just filled an A4 paper size but I decided to read it from a blown-up A3 paper size. The gag being as I talked about being asked to make a short speech, I would unfold the sheet until I had this unusually big sheet of paper in my hands and wait for a reaction.

The registrar was concerned that we did not have all day, but it was effective and though I stumbled through a few paragraphs, I seemed to come across well enough that some even remembered parts of my speech that were not particular quotes of others.

I do not think this is the advent of a speechwriting career, but for the occasion, I hope the words would matter to those to whom it mattered and that they helped to make a lovely day too.

Dublin: A Wedding Invitation

An invitation

Almost two months ago I was intimated with the plans for a wedding and at the same time invited. I accepted the invitation, noting the date and kept it at the back of my mind.

Then a month ago, we had another conversation where I got a better idea of the plans and at that time I decided to book both my flight and hotel as we were chatting.

Now, I have to be quite attentive to my booking regime because I cannot count the number of times I have had a hotel and flight booking mismatch or just got my return dates wrong because of the way calendar months are presented when booking.

At times, I’ll spend extra to have the option to review, reschedule, rebook or cancel, and that came in handy for when I booked my hotel.

Irelands

I have never been to Ireland, in fact, I have never been to any of the Irelands, those being Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland.

However, I do remember when I was about to be sent to solve a problem in Belfast in the 1990s and I just refused to go. The office was above a police station and this was during the troubles.

I said to them, there are places where being in close proximity to a police station would present a sense of safety, but I was not going to risk that in Belfast. No sooner had I refused to travel to Belfast did I experience the IRA bombing in Manchester where not even 10 yards from where I stood, shards of glass fell on a man. Those were crazy times.

Last year when I was working in North Wales, I could have taken the opportunity to travel from Holyhead to Dublin by ferry, I considered it many times but never found time to plan it. Dublin, here I come.

Eerie bookings

I booked my hotel, it looked like a bargain; in the centre of town and easy to get around until I had another look at the map and saw it backed unto a garden of remembrance.

Memorials are great and I celebrate them, but I know how my imagination can run away with such vividness that I could begin to see things. There are some things I do not want to see either by error or by commission; that realisation had me cancelling that booking almost before the confirmation email settled in my email inbox. Good thing I chose the cancellation option.

Besides, I need to follow my deepest premonitions more, because there have been times when something has suggested I take a particular action that later on I regret I have not done. Yet, I cannot beat myself up, I just hope that next time I am more sensitive.

Listlessly wireless

My usual booking site did not present any betters deals for the weekend I wanted to visit Dublin, so I tried LateRooms and that came up with a really good deal, I stayed at Wynn’s Hotel for 3 nights, the staff were friendly, the room was good, though the complimentary wireless internet service almost left me wanting to do the unconventional.

In the end, it was 3 nights in Dublin, but I must return because I did not get to see much of this amazing city which at only time in its history was second only to London in the British Isles.

Flight from fright

There are two airlines I would not board if they were the last escape from a dying earth, EasyJet and RyanAir, they have both for the no-frills and cheap flights they offer to places that would never appear on a decent map of civilisation taken the fun out of flying and in the process dragged everyone else down with them.

Gone are the days when not even 20 years ago you got a decent silver service for an hour’s flight in economy class. Now, one just makes do with a drink and sometimes you have to pay for that drink.

I’ll rather have stop-overs than take a direct flight, thankfully, Aer Lingus flies direct to Dublin from Manchester, though when I departed on Thursday evening, my flight lingered in late and left 45 minutes behind schedule.

The service was good enough and as I await boarding for my return to Manchester, the experience has been fun.

Thought Picnic: Living your own life, creating your own norms

Father and son, Justice Oputa and Charles Oputa aka Charlie Boy
Courtesy of Nancy Keshy Ademolu

You do your norms

I happened upon a Twitter firestorm about norms, standards, customs and values. My Nigerian friends were at their sententious best from judgemental through castigation to excoriation, disgust heaped infamy on notoriety, what a sight it was.

Now, it was the difficult case of the son of an establishment figure at his father’s funeral service, where he gave no space for expected norms or decorum that people felt both scandalised and mortified, yet I was unperturbed.

Peace is all

In my view, father and son had made their peace with each other, the father a respected judge, the son an anarchist of sorts, a complete opposite of his father in demeanour and conduct, at 63, still playing tearaway with incredulity. His father knew all that and yet he made no plans to have his funeral conducted by any other than his son as he deems fit.

Beyond that, the funeral services of very important personalities can so easily be gatecrashed by political transients seeking validation through egotistical displays of shameless megalomania. What should be a solemn and sombre occasion can readily descend into farce because of these trashy people. [Information Nigeria]

It can become a protocol nightmare for the family of the deceased, it is probably best to suggest they keep away than have them create a rowdy scene. If the programme does not confer the honour of making a speech, the uppity had rather keep their seats or send in their regrets for not attending.

Trash the norms

In any case, the broader issue was about what was expected and what was observed. The son was never a conformist and the expectation that he would conform to a certain type was at best wishful.

Having broken all the rules of convention, we should have expected the unconventional and that could well be bizarre and lacking in taste, but that was his prerogative and he exercised it to the full.

Many people many not be worthy of example or even close to being role models but as outliers they are bold, courageous and out there, living their own lives happily without a care for what others think about them.

Live your own life

To some, it is almost lascivious, yet it is the ultimate pursuit of happiness and long may we have such amongst us to teach us that we do not have to conform, we can break the rules, jettison the norms and still be well-adjusted and successful people.

The bigger question is, when are we going to begin to live our own lives, the lives we have charted and wished for regardless of what others think they have as influence over us?

The life to choose your own career without sanction, the life to love the one your love without question, the life to live with the full expression of your sexuality without shame, interference or fear, the life to be you and be accepted for who you are.

The themes of tolerance, acceptance, understanding and humanity become the focus as is the need for everyone including ourselves to mind our own business.