I believe

Alabama State senator Clyde Chambliss on passing a total ban on abortion . “When God creates that life, that miracle of life inside the woman’s womb, it’s not our place as humans to extinguish that life. That’s what I believe.”
Fair enough. If his daughter is raped and wants to have the child, that wish will be respected.
What is not acceptable is that his 'belief' is thrust upon those who think differently. We all bleieve in something, but when someone's personal belief is placed above another's, usually by some self-proclaimed God-given right, then society needs to fight back.

These lyrics sum it up nicely.

 MAN MAD GOD

I BELIEVE MY MUM AND DAD

I BELIEVE THE THINGS I HEARD

I BELIEVE WHAT TEACHERS TEACH

AND THE PRINTED WORD

I BELIEVE MY FRIENDS BELIEVE

I BELIEVE WHAT WE DO IS RIGHT

I BELIEVE TRUTH IS ON OUR SIDE

AND WHAT WE SEE IS LIGHT

I HAVE THE POWER

I WIELD THE ROD

NOW THAT I CONTROL CREATION

I'M A MAN MADE GOD

I BELIEVE THIS CHILD NEEDS CORRECTION

AND LOST SOULS NEED MY HELP

I BELIEVE YOU'RE JUST NOT LISTENING

SO I WILL TAKE IT ON MYSELF

I BELIEVE I HAVE ENEMIES

I BELIEVE A WELL MEANT LIE

I BELIEVE IN CRUCIFICTION

I BELIEVE THIS MAN MUST DIE

I HAVE THE POWER

I WIELD THE ROD

IN THE BEGINNING GOD MADE MAN

NOW I'M A MAN MADE GOD 

Voting is a luxury.

Election day in Spain. I am unable to vote because I do not have Spanish nationality. Neither can I vote in UK because I have been out of the country for too long. If Brexit goes through I will not be able to vote in the municipal or European elections either.

I could always get dual nationality, I have all the requisites. Yet I am reluctant. Not only because of the daunting prospect of going through Spanish bureaucracy. Nor because of the fact that once completed there is an inexplicable two and a half year wait for it to come into effect.

No, I am loathe to do all this because it seems to me like a booby prize. I had high hopes, hopes for a European passport, European nationality. I had hoped that maybe, just maybe, we could drop all this nonsense about borders nations and reach a sensible agreement.

When I first arrived here I had to apply for a work visa, which took almost eight months to receive. My contract was for nine months. It was a pointless and tiring task, traipsing from one department to another to get duplicate stamps and hand in documents they already had.

Now we are heading back down that road. And I will be forced to jump through the hoops once more.

So if you can, get out and vote. This situation may not last forever.

¡A votar!

Dentro de poco más de un mes habrá elecciones generales. Como siempre, a los partidos de la izquierda les importa más luchar entre ellos que contra sus verdaderos rivales.

Mientras tanto partidos como Vox y Ciudadanos no dejan de crecer. Y ell PP se frota las manos, porque en río revuelto…

Muchos votantes de la izquierda, enzarzados en sus guerras fratricidas, se quedarán en casa. Craso error. La derecha no se duerme, está al acecho. Si lo que pretenden algunos es un voto de castigo, o una abstención de castigo, serán castigados de verdad.

Ni el sistema ni ningún partido es perfecto, a la vista está, pero lavarse las manos y no votar tampoco puede ser una solución, porque las consecuencias pueden ser terribles. Hay que escoger la opción menos mala y frenar el auge de la extrema derecha.

Hemos visto lo que ha pasado en Andalucía. Que sea una anécdota. Hay que mandar de nuevo al pasado a los neo-fascistas. Son historia. Que sigan así.

¡Que viene el Relator!

¡Cerrad bien las puertas! ¡Apagad las luces! Que viene el Relator.

España entera tiembla con solo nombrarlo. El temido Relator, el Coco, el hombre oscuro que ha venido a destrozar la paz idílica que siempre ha reinado en este maravilloso país.

Habrá una nueva guerra incivil. Las plazas se llenarán de patriotas, enormes banderas ondearán bajo el cielo azul, y una vez más escucharemos a la multitud gritar Viva España.

Todo muy cómico, muy exagerado, muy español. Aquí todo es blanco o negro, Real Madrid o Barcelona, Derecha o Izquierda. Todo el mundo está indignado porque le llegan mensajes inflamatorios en sus móviles. ¡España se rompe! ¡Es el fin del mundo!

Y por supuesto todo es muy cínico. Los políticos actúan como abogados – tienen una explicación para todo. Es puro teatro. Lo triste es que tanta gente les siguen.

Entre tanto ruido es muy difícil oír la voz de la moderación, de la perspectiva, de la sensatez. Parece que para llegar al poder hay que hacer un curso en marketing agresiva, con continuos ataques al rival, y con los fake news por bandera.

Son tiempos revueltos. Hay agitadores haciendo muy bien su trabajo y los resultados están a la vista. Pero no nos conduce a nada más que la confrontación. No es un camino recomendable. Es un juego muy, pero muy, peligroso.

Lo que hace falta es un poco de sosiego. Hay que comprobar los datos, no tragar cada mentira solo porque se alinea con nuestra particular ideología.

Y sobre todo no hay que tener miedo. 

Bueno, menos al temido Relator.

Progress is a stubborn beast.

Progress is a stubborn beast. Too fast for some, too slow for others, it marches on steadily, relentlessly, oblivious to sticks and carrots.

Recently we have witnessed an attempt to hobble its advance. Reactionary forces worldwide are intent on slowing down the pace of change. This is only to be expected – the rich and powerful do not give up their privileges without a fight. We say that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. But when it comes to wealth and position the opposite is true. It is harder to have had and lost than never to have had at all.

Ah, the old world order! White, straight, male and god-fearing. A place where boys wear blue and girls wear pink, where gays are outlawed or cured, where atheists are damned both in life and death, and where lesser ethnic groups just get on with the menial tasks. I know my place!

Nostagia for days that will never return. The world has moved on, woken up, grown up. Hence this desperate turning back of the clock. Trump, Bolsonaro, Salvini and the likes, modern day King Canutes ordering the waves to retreat. Let them rant, let them hold their illusions, have their swansong.

 They are the past.

They cannot last.

We carry on.