I saw the documentary Cocaine Diaries: Alex James in Colombia a few weeks ago and it got me thinking. So much attention on part of the 'left' is paid to sweat shops, organic food, and reducing carbon emissions, of thinking globally acting locally but how many of these people use illicit drugs and how many of these people know where they came from? And again how many of them care?
I was at a party a week or so ago and I was chatting with this guy who told me he was partial to the occasional line of coke. So I told him about the film. "Yeah I've heard about it but haven't seen it," he told me, "Actually I have a friend who's constantly bugging me about my drug use for all those very same reasons and I feel kinda bad but I think I live a reasonably good life, I buy the right things and give money to charity, you know? It's just a bit of fun."
It's like the blood diamonds, I told him. Westerners with too much money, wanting something bright and shiney on their finger, whose money was used to fund a brutal civil war in Western Africa, where aputations and killings were a part of every day life. The war was sustained by there money, and in the end it was more about controlling the supply of diamonds that it was about ideology or territory or old ethnic tensions.
"What if I offered you a line, right here and now?" he asked me. "What would you do?" So I answered him as honestly as I could: "I guess I would have to think about whether the several hours off buzzing off my nut is worth more than the life of someone on the other side of the world and I hope I would say no."
Sunday, January 25, 2009
cocaine diaries
Alex James, ex-Blur bassist and now cheese farmer, once wrote that he had spent a million pounds on champagne and cocaine. Now cocaine-free James recently visited Colombia, the source of 80 percent of the world's cocaine, on the invitation of President Alvaro Uribe, to see first hand what his personal drug habit and that of the estimated 800,000 Brits has had on his country. Vice President Francisco Santos explained to him, upon arrival that when a "person starts consuming coke, all that money comes here to finance landmines, destruction of the environment, terrorism, kidnapping, displacement." During his visit, James met with drug dealers, farmers and members of an anti-narcotic unit, who according to the BBC website, 10 percent of them have been killed since filming in 2008. In Bogota, the capital of Colombia, James met with a contract killer, disguised as a taxi driver. Driving through the streets of Bogota, the driver told James that business was very good, making allusion to the paid killings. It's all drug related, he explained. The taxi driver was killed himself after filming.
Friday, January 16, 2009
the self hating homosexual
I've been listening a lot to gay troubador Rufus Wainwright of late, having bought two of his albums, Want One and Want Two at this marvelous post christmas sale at JB HiFi: two CDs for sixteen dollars. Chilling-out in my room with the lights turned down low listening to what I can only describe as theatrical folk, I was taken by the thought that I so rarely get to hear songs where the lyrics so explicitly relate to gay men in love (or out of). I mentioned this to a friend of mine while sitting round the barbeque on my balcony. "I'm not a big fan," he replied. I'll admit I was somewhat surprised, I had thought Rufus Wainwright was so him and so I pressed the issue. "A guy at work was playing one his albums off i-tunes and I thought it was kinda cool, but have you ever heard him speak? It turned me off him a little," he explained.
"What do mean?" I asked him.
"Just go listen to him and you'll understand," he told me and I did.
Watching an interview from American television on youtube, Rufus explained how he had been living in Berlin with his boyfriend recording his new album. He spoke with a slight but noticible, well I guess you could call it a "gay lisp", wouldn't you? He sounded gay.
I was reminded of a book I read while I was at University called Jewish Self-hatred by Sander Gilman. It was all about how European Jews, pre-holocaust, that were attempting to assimilate into a wider Gentile and generally anti-semitic European society. They disavowed themselves of anything Jewish, the mannerisms, the traditions, in the hope of being accepted, while at the same time criticising and even attacking such behaviour in others, labelling them the bad Jews. The thing is however, the reason why anti-semitic Europe reviled the Jews was not about how they acted, but the very fact they were Jewish. No matter how much they acted Gentile-like they would never be accepted and their future was to be like all those flamboyant and unrepentant Jews: the gas chambers of Nazi Germany.
Thinking about it, there is a similar mindset within the gay community. You can be straight-acting or camp, a good homosexual or a bad one. Dating websites are replete with references to acting straight and being indistinguishable from our straight brethren (something it seems that is both important and desirable) except for the simple fact that we like to suck cock of course. A small difference, yes? The point however, is that the reason why we are so disapproved of, feared and hated has nothing to do with a lisp or a limp wrist, it has all to do with sucking cock and taking it (or giving it) up the arse. Sure acting camp makes you more open to homophobic abuse, but since when has a victim ever been to blame for the violence of others, whether it be in word or action?
What does it matter how a person talks? I ask you. What is important, to steal from the Reverend Martin Luther Jr, is the content of a person's heart and not the limpness of their wrist. Straight-acting as a term seems loaded with self loathing, why should anyone act? While wider society may ridicule the effeminate man, it is only a symptom of a deeper unease. To say there are good gays and bad gays is a chimera; there is one thing homophobes and I agree upon and that is that they fear/hate what we do in bed not our haircut or the way we walk and talk.
"What do mean?" I asked him.
"Just go listen to him and you'll understand," he told me and I did.
Watching an interview from American television on youtube, Rufus explained how he had been living in Berlin with his boyfriend recording his new album. He spoke with a slight but noticible, well I guess you could call it a "gay lisp", wouldn't you? He sounded gay.
I was reminded of a book I read while I was at University called Jewish Self-hatred by Sander Gilman. It was all about how European Jews, pre-holocaust, that were attempting to assimilate into a wider Gentile and generally anti-semitic European society. They disavowed themselves of anything Jewish, the mannerisms, the traditions, in the hope of being accepted, while at the same time criticising and even attacking such behaviour in others, labelling them the bad Jews. The thing is however, the reason why anti-semitic Europe reviled the Jews was not about how they acted, but the very fact they were Jewish. No matter how much they acted Gentile-like they would never be accepted and their future was to be like all those flamboyant and unrepentant Jews: the gas chambers of Nazi Germany.
Thinking about it, there is a similar mindset within the gay community. You can be straight-acting or camp, a good homosexual or a bad one. Dating websites are replete with references to acting straight and being indistinguishable from our straight brethren (something it seems that is both important and desirable) except for the simple fact that we like to suck cock of course. A small difference, yes? The point however, is that the reason why we are so disapproved of, feared and hated has nothing to do with a lisp or a limp wrist, it has all to do with sucking cock and taking it (or giving it) up the arse. Sure acting camp makes you more open to homophobic abuse, but since when has a victim ever been to blame for the violence of others, whether it be in word or action?
What does it matter how a person talks? I ask you. What is important, to steal from the Reverend Martin Luther Jr, is the content of a person's heart and not the limpness of their wrist. Straight-acting as a term seems loaded with self loathing, why should anyone act? While wider society may ridicule the effeminate man, it is only a symptom of a deeper unease. To say there are good gays and bad gays is a chimera; there is one thing homophobes and I agree upon and that is that they fear/hate what we do in bed not our haircut or the way we walk and talk.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
home truth
I got an email from a friend last night. He was responding to an email I sent prior to Christmas and I guess I must have been moaning about work/life etc; who knows, I was probably drunk when I sent it but in his response he said: "I never remember you ever saying that you really liked it that much." I didn't pay it any heed but I guess home truths are like that: it's better not to think too hard about them, just file 'em away for later.
I lay back after finishing my poorly worded email to Julio and picked up Brian Greene's The Fabric of the Cosmos. Somehow trying to understand the intricacies of warping spacetime at half-past-twelve at night is a war I can't win, no matter how many Simpson's characters Greene drags out to explain Einstein's theory of general relativity. The book dropped onto my chest and I was fast asleep...
...wobbly spacetime distortion effect...
It was my birthday and my friends and family were throwing me a big big party in the warehouse apartment that was my home (yes one can dream). Everyone was there, throngs of people... wow I didn't realise I had so many friends... and then the speeches began. My mum, close and bestest friends all saying exactly the same thing: I've been on this planet for thirty years now and done jack with it; I've amounted to nothing and by the look of it, I never will. I was ropable. How could people who professed to love me say such awful things? While tears welled in my eyes the merrymaking continued around me, drinking laughing smoking as I sat in the corner feeling sorry for myself, abandoned. As things wound down, people made their excuses and left. The night was young and apparently there was a better party to go to.
Alone now, my appartment seemed to expand and darken and grow colder as I wandered around it.... then my alarm buzzed and I was awake and I knew it was time to get up and get ready for another day at the office.
Funny hey? I'll admit I've spent most of the day thinking about this. The dream's left me with a feeling I can't shake and as a result I feel a little shaken. It's not like it was an epiphany or anything so profound like that, nothing I didn't know before but hey I guess that's why you call it a home truth.
I lay back after finishing my poorly worded email to Julio and picked up Brian Greene's The Fabric of the Cosmos. Somehow trying to understand the intricacies of warping spacetime at half-past-twelve at night is a war I can't win, no matter how many Simpson's characters Greene drags out to explain Einstein's theory of general relativity. The book dropped onto my chest and I was fast asleep...
...wobbly spacetime distortion effect...
It was my birthday and my friends and family were throwing me a big big party in the warehouse apartment that was my home (yes one can dream). Everyone was there, throngs of people... wow I didn't realise I had so many friends... and then the speeches began. My mum, close and bestest friends all saying exactly the same thing: I've been on this planet for thirty years now and done jack with it; I've amounted to nothing and by the look of it, I never will. I was ropable. How could people who professed to love me say such awful things? While tears welled in my eyes the merrymaking continued around me, drinking laughing smoking as I sat in the corner feeling sorry for myself, abandoned. As things wound down, people made their excuses and left. The night was young and apparently there was a better party to go to.
Alone now, my appartment seemed to expand and darken and grow colder as I wandered around it.... then my alarm buzzed and I was awake and I knew it was time to get up and get ready for another day at the office.
Funny hey? I'll admit I've spent most of the day thinking about this. The dream's left me with a feeling I can't shake and as a result I feel a little shaken. It's not like it was an epiphany or anything so profound like that, nothing I didn't know before but hey I guess that's why you call it a home truth.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
Do we ever really leave the closet? I think as I sip tea in the house of my Sudanese friend. Years back I used to teach him english, way back when he first arrived in Australia as a refugee. He could barely speak a word of english then and now we can discuss politics, the global credit crisis or why for example I am not married. "It's important to have children, I think you should have at least six children... you need to find a wife" he tells me.
It's moments like these that time stops, butterflies fill my stomach as I experience something you might call the truth or lie reflex. I dodge and evade until I can either disclose my sexuality or ... for instance say "maybe 2009 will be my lucky year" and reinforce his belief that I am just another happy, albeit unlucky, heterosexual.
Why did I say that? I think to myself, whincing a little but with my friend's conservative christian values, I just don't want to have THAT conversation with him right now or perhaps ever. Where does that leave us though? Do I just keep quiet hoping it'll never come up? I am not normally ashamed of who I am but there are times when I just don't want to get into it. I don't want to explain or defend who I am. I just want to be one of the boys ... but then one of the boys generally means being heterosexual.
I was at a new years party, sipping a vodka mixer. I was engaged in a lively discussion about South America with me the centre of attention. I was standing about outside on the balcony having a cigarette with a couple I had just met. They'd wanted to know why I'd been drawn back to Chile so soon after my first adventure eight months earlier. You meet someone? The guy joked. I hesitated. "Yeah I met a... guy."
"Oh.... that's wonderful," the girl said with a little shock but recovering it well. "So what's his name? Where did you meet him?" I answered her questions gingerly but soon relaxed. We talked about our various opinions of men, past relationships (mainly mine) until the guy bored, up and left the conversation.... and then she sprung it on me as if she had been waiting for her moment, "so when did you come out, when did you tell your parents?"
I had to answer those same questions twice more that evening/morning until I felt like I was just going through the motions. Surely this conversation is as tired for you all as it is for me? Obviously not.
concluding comments:
I do wonder whether you can ever really leave the closet. We all have that moment in our gay lives that we can point to and say "that's when I came out," but we rarely say "that's where I briefly stepped back in," or "oh, when did I come out? Just now actually to you... and before that to that woman over there who kept touching my arm and asking me to dance."
It's moments like these that time stops, butterflies fill my stomach as I experience something you might call the truth or lie reflex. I dodge and evade until I can either disclose my sexuality or ... for instance say "maybe 2009 will be my lucky year" and reinforce his belief that I am just another happy, albeit unlucky, heterosexual.
Why did I say that? I think to myself, whincing a little but with my friend's conservative christian values, I just don't want to have THAT conversation with him right now or perhaps ever. Where does that leave us though? Do I just keep quiet hoping it'll never come up? I am not normally ashamed of who I am but there are times when I just don't want to get into it. I don't want to explain or defend who I am. I just want to be one of the boys ... but then one of the boys generally means being heterosexual.
I was at a new years party, sipping a vodka mixer. I was engaged in a lively discussion about South America with me the centre of attention. I was standing about outside on the balcony having a cigarette with a couple I had just met. They'd wanted to know why I'd been drawn back to Chile so soon after my first adventure eight months earlier. You meet someone? The guy joked. I hesitated. "Yeah I met a... guy."
"Oh.... that's wonderful," the girl said with a little shock but recovering it well. "So what's his name? Where did you meet him?" I answered her questions gingerly but soon relaxed. We talked about our various opinions of men, past relationships (mainly mine) until the guy bored, up and left the conversation.... and then she sprung it on me as if she had been waiting for her moment, "so when did you come out, when did you tell your parents?"
I had to answer those same questions twice more that evening/morning until I felt like I was just going through the motions. Surely this conversation is as tired for you all as it is for me? Obviously not.
concluding comments:
I do wonder whether you can ever really leave the closet. We all have that moment in our gay lives that we can point to and say "that's when I came out," but we rarely say "that's where I briefly stepped back in," or "oh, when did I come out? Just now actually to you... and before that to that woman over there who kept touching my arm and asking me to dance."
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