About the street art/graffiti divide

I’m not going to get sucked into the whole Mear One/Corbyn mural saga, except to observe that the guys around the table do have noses that are rather larger than necessary and to suggest that if you want to defend yourself against charges of anti-semitism, there are better platforms on which to do it than David Icke’s website.

It does, however, add another layer to the whole debate about the dividing line between officially sanctioned street art and verboten graffiti, which I touched on here and here. I wrote a term essay about this in January, touching on the speed with which subversive, dangerous art can become officially recuperated in a relatively short space of time; one example was my local council’s attitude to the hoary punk combo The Damned, who were excoriated in the 1970s and are now lauded as favourite sons. Which, of course, means that the street art that celebrates them is falling victim to the spray cans of those (currently) beyond the pale. As is entirely right and proper, surely?

Hanbury Street: who nose?

Not entirely sure what to make of this. An LA graffiti artist, Mear One, has painted a mural in Hanbury Street, east London, which, according to how you choose to interpret it is either an attack on global capitalism or a collision of several different bonkers conspiracy theory tropes with a distinct stench of anti-semitism. “Oh, but those big-nosed guys on the Monopoly board aren’t meant to be Jewish,” say the picture’s defenders. “They’re just, y'know, capitalists. With big noses.” The fact that the mural appeared in a predominantly Muslim area has escaped nobody’s attention.

Without wanting to descend to a pointless game of whataboutery, maybe those Danish cartoons were just pictures of some bloke. With a turban. Oh, and while we’re there, check out Amazon’s Dachau jigsaw; and, from a free speech perspective, William Saletan at Salon. My view? None of these things should be banned; but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s sensible to do them either.

Meanwhile, on a cheerier note: over here, I write an entire blog post about one footnote.

PS: Panic over. The mural’s going. But not before it becomes the victim of another moment of impromptu street art.

First, they came for the documentary producers...

Let's get things straight: the situation in Gaza is dire; and the BBC should have broadcast the DEC appeal (although what with the fallout from Brand/Ross, the Queen's exit/entrance, the Blue Peter cat and all the way back to Gilligan, it's clear the corporation's in a permanent damned-if-you-do situation).

That said, the issue has dragged a few nasties from the ideological woodshed. Here's one Josie Hines of Bradford, on Saturday's Any Answers:

"You're not permitted to say anything against Israel. If one says anything, as an individual, one is automatically anti-semitic."

Her point may have carried more weight had it not been prefaced with:

"It is possible that perhaps a large part of the hierarchy of the BBC may well be Zionist Jews who will have a great influence on the situation."

No comment

I'm looking at an advertisement in the Financial Times; specifically, an advertisement on the back page of the House and Home section, in last weekend's edition (August 23-24).

The FT is not a newspaper that's intended for the likes of me, and the advertisement follows that trend. It offers investment opportunities in The Trump Ocean Club, a luxury development in "Punta Pacifica, the most exclusive location in Panama City". However, nearly half of the spread is given over to singing the praises of Panama itself. An info box itemises the plus points of the place where the hats come from (although they don't, apparently), including:

• Political and economic stability, over 13% GDP growth in 2007;
• 20 years property tax exemption;
• Expansion of International Airport and improved roads;
• Panama hosts a large, powerful jewish community

Er... pardon? Leaving aside that peculiar lower-case 'j' (Mixed-marriage? Non-observant? Short, which surely contradicts large and powerful?), a large, powerful Jewish community would not appear to be an unqualified selling point. Of course, it would attract some people: Jews; people who like Jews, in particular large, powerful Jews; people who like chicken soup with matzo kleis. But it would also scare off a sizeable segment of potential investors: chiefly, anti-Semites (for whom the alignment of "powerful" with "Jewish" must trigger all sorts of Pavlovian paranoia) and people who get a toothache when they hear klezmer music. The majority of people, meanwhile, wouldn't really give a damn one way or the other. Donald Trump (for it is he, of course) might as well shout about the fact that Panama has 15 indigenous species of tulip, or that the policemen wear rather fetching maroon trousers.

Sorry, I don't have a conclusion to this one, facetious or otherwise. It's just a very peculiar thing to put in a property advertisement. If anyone can concoct a sensible explanation, the floor's yours.

The air is free!*

Oh dear, I think I'm probably going to hell.

*I would explain this, but my dad tells the joke so well, I wouldn't be able to do it justice.

RCM RIP

Leeds United chairman Ken Bates has been accused of racism for describing his successors at Chelsea as shysters. As far as I'm aware, the word has no anti-Semitic connotations; in fact, "shyster" is a Yiddish word and, oddly enough, people who speak Yiddish aren't all that prone to using anti-Semitic epithets. Is Bates being accused of racism simply for appropriating the language of his opponents? And, to be frank, if I were an anti-Semite, Leeds would be the last place I'd move to. It all sounds completely meshugge.

Also... following on from the Old/New Media musings I posted yesterday, a fun piece from the Graun about how Hollywood is bypassing print critics in favour of internet-driven word of mouth. But interestingly, they only seem to do this for popcorn schlock; films aimed at people who can read without moving their lips still get the old media treatment. Maybe with print critics, you know the opinion is coming from someone who has seen at least one film that is either a) free of CGI; b) black and white; or c) foreign.

And, in the skateboarding duck slot, the story of the Filipino judge and the three imaginary mystic dwarves reaches its conclusion. For further details, read his blog.

As I said in the last post, I usually blog about stuff, rather than about myself. Not that I have any problem with old-school, diary-type blogging, or confessionals, or reminiscences, or those that give intimate details of one's own sexual exploits. (Is there a word for those? Blogjobs?) It's just that I'd rather write about Belle and Sebastian, or Kandinsky. Or even Ken Bates.

But, for a change, two bits of moderately personal importance. One is to note that the guy who's being held in connection with the JonBenet Ramsey case was arrested about 50 metres from my front door.

The other is rather less lurid and, to me at least, far sadder; the death of Campbell MacKay. Campbell was one of my English teachers at Appleby College in Ontario, 20 years ago. He directed me in his never-to-be-forgotten, Mafia-themed production of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead; he got me reading Joyce and Beckett and Burgess and Larkin. When people talk about inspirational teachers, you get the image of Robin Williams doing John Wayne impressions, and kids standing on desks. Campbell wasn't like that. He was a grey-bearded, chainsmoking, clarinet-playing Glaswegian, with the lugubrious demeanour of a slightly hungover bloodhound. He was one of the best teachers I've ever had, and I've been lucky with teachers. He was also a kind, funny, clever, gentle gentleman. Tonight, a glass will be raised.

"But you could not have a green rose. But perhaps somewhere in the world you could."
James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man