Freedom of Speech - Some More Thoughts

A few ‘afterthoughts’ on the last ‘Blog’.

It comes to mind that we should include ‘YouTube’ in those culpable for the death of the American Ambassador. The administrators of this site know very well the reaction that is likely, inevitably, to occur as a result of showing this video. It was their responsibility to block it right away so that it would not be seen at all.

Have we forgotten already the furore that a Danish cartoonist created? That, too, was held up as ‘Free Speech’ and ‘Freedom of the Press’.

That these things are published at all shows a lack of sensitivity, of consideration to the beliefs of others. That these things do not bother the creators or the media in their beliefs is of no concern to them.

All down the line, from the making of these cartoons and videos to the publishing of them is a cavalier lack of respect that echoes through Western ‘civilisation’.

Let me give an example.

There are more guns per capita in Canada than there are in the United States.

Gun crime in Canada is almost non-existent except for people coming up into Canada from the south and some problems with immigrants occasionally.

Why?

It seems to those of us in the outside world that Americans will take a life at the drop of a hat and for as little reason.

Life has become valueless.

Why?

Is it traditional? Is it ancient custom from the days of the lawless West? Canada also had a lawless West.

Is it TV and the media where, in films and series there is an increasing body count; people are slaughtered casually – in passing?

This sense of irresponsibility lends itself to a desire for more sensory input.

Americans are jaded; their thirst for bigger and better has destroyed their sense of judgement.

Or is there a deeper, more sinister plot? One involving the Zionists and the Illuminati? A movement to stir up trouble, perhaps, where it is easy to stir things up.

Should the Islamic World have reacted as it did? Maybe not. Maybe a peaceful, but pointed protest might work although it has not done so to date.

I doubt that you would appreciate me doing bad things to your wife or mother. Gross indecency on such a scale would be, rightly, punished severely.

Gross indecency to people of other faiths is, then, acceptable?

No. It is not. It is reprehensible and the culprits must be punished. The makers of the video and ‘YouTube’ should both be held liable and culpable for inciting riot and causing an illegal death of an innocent person.

Anything less will not satisfy the Islamic World and should not satisfy the family and friends of the American Ambassador.

Freedom of Speech

Freedom of speech is a fantasy. It is something that we should all like to exist but it does not.

Firstly, let us peer into the dark side of the riots following the posting of an ill-conceived video on ‘YouTube’.

The reason that Muslims do not like pictures of any kind being published of the Prophet (pbuh) is because there is a fear that people will begin to worship him rather than God. There is, of course, a precedence for this.

There is also a feeling of, justifiable, distaste against anything that is spiteful, hurtful or shameful against a person who is revered and highly respected.

This is well known amongst non-Muslim people the World over.

But the video was still produced. It was produced deliberately to invoke exactly the response they received.

People died.

The video makers are responsible for inciting murder and should be punished for that since they were perfectly well aware of the result of their public production.

They will claim that they have the right to free speech under the First Amendment. They do. But not at all costs.

Not every country in the World has a ‘First Amendment’ and many (not just Islamic countries) have little to do with any sort of freedom of speech.

What about ‘Facebook’? This is easy. Many people say the most abjectly stupid things on ‘Facebook’ for many reasons. Mostly, I suspect, because it makes them look ‘cool’ or tough.

These people are, for the most part, without intellect. They can be, and usually are, ignored.

There are whole pages on ‘Facebook’ compiled entirely for the purpose of insulting other people, spreading derision and disseminating hatred [see earlier posts]. They can be ignored.

So can ‘YouTube’.

When Salman Rushdie who is, incidentally, one of the worst authors I have ever had the misfortune to read, published his mind-numbingly boring ‘work’ entitled ‘The Satanic Verses’ it created such an outcry that the book sold in great numbers. The result? Rushdie became wealthy and was subsequently Knighted.

Had the Islamic public ignored him, as should have been the case, as a raving idiot the book sales would have approached zero and he would have slipped quietly into obscurity and a damp council house in Moss Side.

This should have happened with the ‘YouTube’ video.

As anticipated by the video makers, it did not become ignored. An American died. Not a Muslim but an innocent American. He had nothing to do with making the video but he had everything to do with the idea that America is a free country with free speech.

Freedom of speech.

Does not exist.

I shall tell you why.

I have the right, the freedom, to say anything I like about anyone. It does not have to be true but I do risk a libel case if it is not.

For the most part, if I stick to saying anything I choose about ‘poor’ people then I am safe from civil action. (I shall check this with Maryam who is a civil law specialist and daughter of a dear friend – therefore her advice, to me, is free!)

If I go through my list of ‘Facebook’ friends, for example, I find that, by carefully studying their posts, I know more about them than they would be entirely comfortable with. By examining the quotes they like and their comments on other people’s posts there is much that is revealed to one such as myself.

I am aware that one of my friends is an ex-prostitute and another is an ex-junkie who has been in prison for causing grievous bodily harm. They are, now, both good and caring people.

How hard would it be to take it in turn to list posts about everyone – few people get away with a clean bill of mental health.

I don’t do it because, for the most part, I am equally vulnerable to verbal attacks. My shoes are no cleaner than anyone else’s perhaps, even, filthier (aren’t they, Jim. We shall remain mute about each others exploits because Jim is a dear friend whose shoulder is not only valued but cherished).

For the second part, although I have freedom of speech it comes with responsibility.

I have been called weak for stepping down from an argument – one in which I saw no point in continuing, but the fact is that we have to respect other people’s views and faiths.

We, each of us, have a responsibility to everyone else.

We should not insult other people simply because we have a right, and freedom, to do it.

The makers of the video have a right to make the video, they have a right to put whatever they want into it but they also have a responsibility towards the rest of the World.

The deaths caused were their responsibility because of the emotions that they, knowingly, evoked.

On a smaller scale we have that same responsibility. All of us, all the time.

When you write a story, a small one on ‘Facebook’ or ‘Twitter’ or a big one in the shape of a novel, that responsibility is echoed.

That is why there is no such thing as ‘Freedom of Speech’.

Anywhere.

Pillbox

Williams shrunk himself as small as possible behind the ridgeline.  He knew it was pointless just as he was certain he was about to die.  The men below him were all looking up expectantly; they were mostly hidden behind a dry stone wall.  His stomach was a cold knot of fear and his legs were weak and trembling.  Swallowing was impossible; he looked around at the view from his position, breathing deeply and hoping beyond hope that death would not be painful.

Grasping the grenade tightly in his left hand he hurled himself over the ridge and ran falteringly up the slope towards the machine gun emplacement.  It was a good hundred metres away, he realised he had to get within twenty metres to throw the grenade with any hope at all of hitting the slit from which the barrel of the gun was pointing out.

The breath was tearing out of him in ragged gasps as he reached the halfway point counting the steps he was taking.  The gun had not moved; he had a rash despairing hope that perhaps there was nobody manning it.

He saw the puff of smoke and then felt a blow in the chest as if somebody had hit him very hard.  His breath caught in his throat, he sank to his knees suddenly feeling very weak and watched as the grenade slipped out of his numb fingers.  Pain spread like a warm glow at first and then became incandescent and searing.  The grass came up to meet him just as the sounds of battle faded along with the pain.  He never heard the grenade explode.

“Hughes?  You’re next.”  The Sergeant was dispassionate as he sighted the gun position through his binoculars.

His eyes widening in fear, Hughes went cold all over and willed his body to move.  He wondered if Williams, like himself, knew he was about to die or if he believed he would be able to make it to the slit and throw the grenade inside.

“We’ll give you covering fire to keep their heads down when you get to the ridge.”  Sergeant Thomas told him.  “Go!”

Hughes had noticed that the covering fire had done little to keep Williams safe and thought it was probably just a psychological ploy to make him feel better about being killed.  He dropped off all his kit, just keeping a side-arm and a couple of grenades, and leapt up onto the wall.

Immediately he felt his head explode.  All the colours of the rainbow appeared and swirled around, he was utterly disorientated and sank into the blackness of death before he could know what had happened to him.

“Edwards?  Go!”

Edwards felt his bladder fill and was certain that he was going to wet himself as he stripped off his kit to get a better speed in the run up the hill.  He kept the grenades in his belt and took off the holster for his pistol, sticking the weapon into the back of his trousers.

At the top of the hill, inside the pillbox, were two men.  One was very young and held on tightly to the stock of the machine gun.  The other was a little older and supported the belt of ammunition ready to feed it into the firing mechanism.

The younger of the two, Number One, had just arrived from the training camp.  This was his first taste of action.  He was nervous in case he found he was unable to kill another human.  Shooting at targets on the range was suddenly a very different proposition to this cold reality of killing a flesh and blood man.

Number One watched the first man appear at the ridge.  Number Two quietly murmured to wait until he was about fifty or sixty metres away to make sure of a clean shot.

After quite a pause, during which Number One realised that the man was terrified, he appeared over the ridge and started to zigzag towards them.  Bullets were pinging, clattering and whining off the pillbox.  These fellows shooting at them were not trained snipers so he knew that the chances of a bullet coming into the shelter were very small but still….

The grenade carrier was now only sixty metres away.  Number One was sighted on him now that the zigzags were almost non-existent but could not pull the trigger until Number Two whispered ‘Fire.’

He fired.  Two thumps in the shoulder told him that the gun had gone off and the man on the slope crumpling up told him that he had hit him.  He was unsure whether the hit was fatal or not but at least the grenade was no longer a danger to them in the concrete box.

Then the grenade went off.  Even at that range they could feel the pressure wave from the explosion like a fist punching them all over.  The man was definitely dead now.

Number One felt sick.  He had killed and knew that he would have to kill again.  After a few minutes he pulled himself together and looked out on the view below once more.  He sighted down the slope and let a short burst go hoping it would stop them sending any more people up.

From his position he could just see the top of the wall behind which they were hiding from him.  A man suddenly appeared on top of the wall and, equally suddenly, dropped to his knees on top of the wall and fell backwards out of sight.  At first Number One could not comprehend what had happened.  Then the realisation came that it had taken a second or two for his bullets to get to the wall and he had killed his second victim.

Number Two put his hand comfortingly on Number One’s shoulder when he saw the tears flooding down his face.

“I can’t do this,”  he said, “Why can’t they just give up and surrender?  Why do they have to die so pointlessly?”

Number Two just shook his head not knowing what to say for the best.

Dimly, through the tears, Number One saw yet another man make his way over the wall.  He disappeared for a moment and then his face peered over the ridgeline.

Another long pause.  They knew he was preparing himself for death and wondered at the stupidity of it.

The man came over the ridge fast, going at an angle and then ducking and rolling the other way.  At once there was the familiar pinging and whining of bullets ricocheting off the concrete.

Number One heard a slapping sound instantly followed by a wet smack.  The ammunition belt was pulled down and the gun pointed upwards.  He turned in alarm and there was Number Two lying on the floor with blood pouring from his throat.  The body was twitching and his hands were clawing at his neck as if he was trying to draw breath.

Paralysed with fear, Number One was transfixed on the scene on the floor, only coming out of his trance when he heard a metallic clunk and saw a grenade bounce across in front of him.  He was aware of someone screaming and then every inch of his body seared with agony as the skin was ripped off and his penis and testicles were shredded into a fine paste.  He looked down at his chest and there was nothing but blood and bones sticking through shredded muscle.  Blood was spurting in great gouts from somewhere but he was beyond forming any coherent thought other than a futile plea to somebody that he did not want to die.  His brain could take no more and shut down, mercifully plunging him into death.

Edwards had leapt over the ridge and run faster than he had ever run before.  All the time he expected to feel bullets burning into his flesh but nothing came.  When he was within seventy metres of the pillbox he could see that the barrel of the gun was pointing upwards.  He kept on running at an angle but was fascinated by the motionless machine gun barrel.  His plan was to throw the grenade from about twenty metres distance but the gun never moved so he kept running and running.  He was still running so fast and yet he felt he was taking an age to reach the slit in the concrete that filled his vision.  Gasping for breath he ran right up to the pillbox and lobbed the grenade in  -  immediately forgetting whether he had pulled the pin or not.  Edwards watched the grenade go through the slit into the pillbox, he saw the horror on the face of the young boy and felt the thump as the grenade exploded sending shrapnel everywhere.  He slumped down at the slit of the pillbox and wondered why he felt so thirsty.  Somehow he was covered in blood and thought that it must be from the men inside the concrete box.  He never associated it with the cut in his neck where the grenade splinter had gouged a lump of his muscle away taking a half centimetre section of jugular vein with it.  He had a desire to urinate and let it flow.  The warmth spread down his trousers and mixed with the blood pouring out of him.  He was inexplicably tired, his neck was stinging.  He reasoned that it had been a long run and that the anticlimax of such fear was getting to him.  Picking what looked like a comfortable spot, he lay down on the grass and slipped gently into eternal dreamless sleep.

Behind the wall, Sergeant Thomas breathed a sigh of relief.  Edwards had done it.  He didn’t know how he had achieved it but the fact was that the men in the rest of the platoon were now safer than they were a short while ago.

Cpl Parry reported that he thought Edwards might be dead.  He believed there was a lot of blood around the body lying down in the grass  -  as far as he could see through his field glasses.

Sgt Thomas wondered when it would all end.  So many young men had died in this interminable conflict; he had sent so many to their deaths on suicidal missions.

The radio buzzed.  Griffiths passed the handset to the Sergeant.

“62 Delta receiving.  Pass your message.  Over.”

“62 Delta, 62 Alpha.  Stand down, stand down.  The war ended an hour ago but we have problems with the radios.  Tell your men to unload their weapons and await further instructions.  Repeat back.  Over.”

Sergeant Thomas repeated the message to show that he had understood it and gave the handset back.

Leaning back against the wall he slid out his service revolver.  Cocking it, he placed the muzzle comfortably under his chin.  And squeezed the trigger.

Deeper Perceptions

We have peered darkly at ‘Perceptions’ previously. Now we need to look further into the mists that swirl over our conscious mind and into the sub-conscious.

It goes without saying that what we are trying to do is almost impossible without applying guesswork; in other words, the art of the ‘psycho-analyst’ who will tell you what you should be thinking, why you are not and how bad this is for you.

Let’s think about the National Rifle Association, the NRA. This is a State sponsored terrorist organisation thinly disguised in a cloak of urbane civility that entreats the World to accept that it is permissible for people to shoot other people. To death.

Their erstwhile leader, Charlton ‘Chuck’ Heston, was a fervent proponent of this idea and was, it must be understood, a messenger of Satan in spite of his portrayal of Moses. Under his, and his predecessor’s, guidance the NRA devolved from just supporting the right to carry rifles but the right to ‘bear arms’, all arms, as suggested by the National Constitution of the United States. This is then modified by an oppressive (to them) law that restricts the carrying of weapons to non-fully automatic - unless you are a criminal.

The last two paragraphs have been carefully worded to divide the reader up into two groups:

One group will espouse the idea of gun control and will agree with the sentiment expressed.

The second group will disagree vehemently; they will support the idea of the ‘right to bear arms’; and they will now send me hate mail.

I have no idea what the NRA is ‘for’ or ‘against’. Given that there has been a burst of gunfire in various locations in the USA then one might consider that views regarding the carrying of weapons concealed or otherwise might be particularly polarised.

Similarly, for all I know, ‘Chuck’ Heston was a really nice guy; a family man and supporter of several charities. The suggestion that he might be in league with the devil is entirely specious.

But it makes the point.

I can easily stir up a pot of hatred here. It takes little effort and few words.  All it takes is bigotry and selective arguments. I might even find a few quotes, taken out of context, that support my ‘views’. Perhaps, even, browsing through their text, there will be passages from the NRA literature that I can use to good effect to endorse my arguments.

People do this all the time. Just pick a subject and you will find someone who is vehemently against you.

We have mentioned, also previously, that there are a number of people who love to spread hatred. They will attack anything that does not agree with their own, usually narrow, views.

Perhaps they will attack other beliefs – Buddhism, Taoism, Hinduism, Atheism, Optimism. I have a Prism; it takes in a pure ‘Illuminati’ light and splits it up into various other colours ranging from Blue to Red. Except Pink. There is no pink. The Sectarianism originating from the original ‘Light Source’ now has an outsider, a heretical sect called ‘Pink’.

We shall come back to that.

If you observe some of the comments on the likes of ‘YouTube’ you will see that the vast majority of people who make comments do so in favour of the video clip. But there are always people who say ‘Hate it’.

Why?

Why is it that there are people who will waste time, effort and energy in making negative statements about, well, almost anything?

Do they think that they will change people’s minds? Do they imagine that they will be highly valued, admired, for making a stand against the run of other comments?

Many of these people are ill educated. Their grammar and spelling is, for the most part, execrable. Yet they persist. Something makes them do it. Something, in the inner recesses of what minds they have remaining to them, makes them avoid pages they will enjoy and go for those ‘links’ that they know they oppose.

Let’s go back to ‘pink’.

Pink does not exist. It may well be that ‘Pink’ is Steven Tyler’s (‘Aerosmith’) favourite colour but it doesn’t, in fact, exist.

There is no ‘pink’ in the spectrum. It is something that the brain makes up to fill a hole in the varieties of colours available.

So it is that ‘pink’ is an imaginary colour. Something that the brain uses for its own convenience.

What else does the brain use? From whence does the brain, your brain and mine, get this persuasion?

This has to go deeper than ‘perceptions’ because this is something that controls and adapts our perceptions.

There’s an old saying, “Give me the seven year old and I will give you the man.”

The meaning of this is that a child of seven has a mindset that is already moulded. The likelihood of change is small.

Yet a child under the age of seven has no great ability to reason and, furthermore, lacks the life experience and education to make rational judgements.

What we experience as a young child affects us more than we like to think. It affects us for the rest of our lives. Irrational? Yes. But there is very little you can do about it.

In simplistic terms it would be easy to say that the child who sees violence will become violent but this is not always true.

“Don't handicap your children by making their lives easy.”

― Robert A. Heinlein

is another view. But, once again, this is too simplistic.

In the United Kingdom a statistic says that domestic violence costs Plymouth City Council 49 million pounds per annum (USD 78million). They also say that a third of the children who witness this abuse MAY go on to repeat the cycle.

‘May’. They ‘may’ go on to repeat the cycle.

Yes, that is undeniably true but what of the other effects?

Witnessing and being part of abuse are two different things but there are similarities in the effect upon the individual.

Some of those children may grow up to shy and nervous to the point of being reclusive. Some may only be violent to their ‘loved ones’; others may be generally violent.

The likelihood is that there will be something that, buried beneath the surface, will manipulate the perceptions of the World as seen by that person.

There may be a trigger point – the smell (it is often smell) of alcohol or a Sunday joint cooking. It may be the sound of the pages of a newspaper turning or a pencil’s soft scratch on paper.

We have looked at violence as an obvious cause of sub-conscious mindset but it can be so many other things.

Heinlein meant that if you do not project some difficulty into the your children’s life path then they will perceive everything as simple and become frustrated, possibly violent, when things do not turn out their way.

You cannot know how your children will turn out. However you bring them up – however YOU were brought up, there will be something hidden in the darker recesses of the mind that will spring out unexpectedly.

Coming from a broken home is no excuse for being a criminal but it might be a reason

We are all responsible for how we behave. We are all aware of our shortcomings but we are not aware of our potential to do harm to others.

Even the quietest of people, perhaps especially the quietest of people, need to keep their own fingers on their life’s pulse.

Blaming your upbringing is an easy escape but we all do it. None of us like to think we are guilty, we all like to think of ourselves as victims.

Something, in our formative years, will squeeze the trigger on a mental bullet that lurks back there in the subconscious. It may colour over your idea continuously or there may only be odd occasions when something causes that blurring of logic and reason.

Embrace this idea in your writing.

When you are writing a story you do not have to give the ‘baddy’ a ‘bad name’. Not all bad people and those craving world domination are called ‘Igor’.

Similarly, good people, lovable people, can be called ‘Zbigniew Jarenicz’.

One of my most evil characters is called simply ‘Meevo’. Because, when Mummy and Daddy gave you your name at birth nobody knew what you will become.

Until you are seven years old or join the NRA.