Commonwealth Day Celebrations

What Commonwealth? What Celebrations?

Well, this event seems to have gone mostly unnoticed. However, the Queen celebrated it by attending a Commonwealth Day Observance Ceremony at Westminster Abbey. There were also several members of the Commonwealth nations in attendance: Hugh Masekela, a South Africa musician, performed at this particular gathering of global peoples.

This moveable feast, is celebrated annually on the second Monday in March, and this year the theme was Connecting Cultures. The service in Westminster Abbey was to ‘explore the golden threads that tie together people from every continent, faith and ethnicity.’ This was achieved through a mix of world music, dance and personal testimonies to around 1,000 selected heads of states, official dignitaries, faith leaders and school children.

In the past there were national exhibitions and parties to celebrate this connection within Commonwealth countries, now there is a whisper in the British media to mark its occurrence. I wonder if the origins and links of the Commonwealth have, at last, become an embarrassment to the British monarchy and nation.

The Commonwealth (aka the colonial British Commonwealth) was first set up in 1949 with eight member countries. As of today, 12^th March 2012 - Commonwealth Day, there were 54countries that were members of the Commonwealth. It is now referred to as the modern Commonwealth because it is now an association of free and equal member from independent countries who are linked by shared values, goals and equal votes in all matters.

Queen Elizabeth II, marking 60 years as head of theCommonwealth, said: “This year, our Commonwealth focus seeks to explore how we can share and strengthen the bond of Commonwealth citizenship we already enjoy by using our cultural connections to help bring us even closer together, as family and friends across the globe."

My question is, ‘What does the Commonwealth mean to you?’ To me it does not mean anything sweet or pleasant. The bitterness of colonialism still resonates in daily life – especially in the failure to give a rounded historical account of the colonial times in British schools. This leads to ‘unconscious bias’appearing in the everyday life of people whose only real experience of African, Caribbean or Indian life comes from the Eurocentric education or the occasional story of forced economic migration heard from a grand-parent.

I don’t think that the Commonwealth ever had any respectability, I would further suggest that it has now lost all veneer of respectability. This muted celebration confirms my views.

R.I.P. Commonwealth of Nations. The wealth of nations is anything but common.

Chocks and Blocks

In WWII the British pilots used to have problems with the planes rolling away when the engine was running so they put wedge-shaped blocks by the wheels to keep them still until the crew were ready for take-off. This led to the phrase from the cockpit of, “Chocks away!” And the ground crew would remove the blocks so there was a free run for the plane.

I think that sometimes we are like the British Air Force in our personal lives because we often place our own chocks and blocks on our runway to happiness to prevent ourselves from moving forward.

Some personal blocks may be in the form of past pain – but my advice is not to let the past inhibit you from starting something new. As with the WWII planes, they are much more effective when they are doing the task they were designed for.

Like eagles, we are better when we soar.

It’s time for all the chocks and blocks to be moved away.   

Chick lit or Dick Lit?

I was at school before the half-term holiday and a particular boy came to me with his reading book.

“It’s a new one,” he said as I started to write in the records.

“Oh,” I remarked. I was waiting for him to give me more information; he is a bright and questioning child. However, what he said next did surprise me somewhat.

“I changed it,” he sneered ever so slightly before he continued. He now had my total attention. I put the pen down on the desk and looked at him.

“Did you finish it?”

“No!” His reply was firm, with an edge of indignation to it.

“Why not?” I asked gently.

“It was a girly book.” He said in a matter-of-a fact tone. “I didn’t like it, so I changed it.” This 9 year old boy sat on the side of his chair with one leg dangling while the other was tucked beneath him. “I prefer different books. Not girly ones.” Each time he referred to the type of book he was trying to avoid it seemed as if he had something bitter in his mouth that he was trying to, unsuccessfully, spit out.

“Ahhh.” I hesitated as to whether or not to take this any further, but – being me – I took the opportunity to look at this matter from all angles. “What makes it girly?” I asked.

“I dunno,” was the only response I got from this usually articulate child. “It just is. Everybody knows that.” As we discussed his book choices further we concluded that the rejected book was not just for girls (it did not have a pink cover, ribbons, fluffy dogs or diamonds on the cover) but something about it – not just the storyline or characters, made it an uncomfortable choice for him to read, especially in front of his friends.

Applying this theory of gendered literature further I realised that for the first few years of a child’s life books are ... just books. Then they start to separate into boys' books and girls' books. This division continues in a bell jar effect until adulthood when books are usually regarded as literature (non-gendered) or not.

It’s the really young and the more mature readers that seem not to care about gendered differences in books. In between everything seems to be either chick-lit or dick-lit.

This encounter of disgust and alienation from a specific book made me wonder if almost everything from the cradle to the grave is gendered?

Man up, bird!

I got to thinking today about a situation where, if I were a man, it would have been said that I ‘manned up’. But as I’m not a man I also wondered what the female equivalent was:

Imagine a French lesson if you will:

Today we are talking about rising to the occasion,

(for some strange reason this phrase has elicited images of obelisk-type structures in my mind – go figure)

Now class, stop talking amongst yourself, pay attention please - the masculine form of this verb shown here on the board is ‘manning up’ and the feminine version is ‘womanning up’...

It doesn’t quite have the right ring to it does it? Womanning up?

I was talking with a friend today and after I had laughed until my chest hurt we spoke about some serious matters that were important to each of us individually. One of mine had to do with me doing something that I had been afraid of for a while. My friend – who sometimes says next to nothing but it still amuses me because of the way he says it – has the ability to see positivity and potential in so many things and while we were flitting from topic to topic as friends do in conversations he came up with the phrase that seemed to fit the bill rather well. He suggested that what I did was to ‘bird up’ – I think it was him that suggested it but as I like the phrase more and more I’m beginning to rewrite the conversation in my memory and I’m almost certain that it was me who first aired this phrase ...

Anyway, it was born in the delights of a wonderful moment of sharing the truth about where I had been and why I had changed. I accepted that I had risen to the occasion – like a phoenix rising from the ashes, and I have continued to face reality in my life. So, here I am being strong and being brave. It’s conversations like these that remind me that I do have confidence to do what needs to be done.

If as if at that stressful time I thought to myself, “Man up, bird!” And I responded by doing just that.

Who am I?

That age old question plays in my mind from time to time and I always seem to have a different answer depending on the day, time, mood, location or company.

I am constantly changing and it has taken several decades to shape the person that I am today.

Like the potter at the wheel I am continuously altering one aspect of my creation by pressing a bit here, or smoothing out a bit there. I add water and turn the wheel at a pace to suit the change I have in mind.

My work of change is never done because who I am changes each moment.

I don’t always work alone, either. I receive help in this shaping process when gentle hands shape my world and being. To them I am grateful.

I just hope that I can consistently be the best person possible in each moment of my existence.

Who am I?

Right now I am growing into a new me.