Nick Griffin and Rape Scaremongering

So... long time, no post. Unfortunately life got in the way a bit (moving flat, job searching and the wee matter of a 15,000 word Masters dissertation), but I've been biding my time waiting for something to make me seethe.

That time is now.

Over the past few months there have been repeated protests in Midlothian about the housing of convicted violent rapist Robert Greens, otherwise known as the Da Vinci rapist because he attacked a Dutch student near Rosslyn Chapel, one of the locations for the book.

After his release from prison, no other local authority in the UK would take him, so Midlothian has been forced to house him. Local people have been up in arms about the matter and have undertaken a number of protests, including marching outside the house and staging a go-slow in the centre of Dalkeith to slow traffic.

Now since this furore began, my main reaction has been one of discomfort. I'm uncomfortable with the fact that the protesters have placed so much media attention on this man, because it distorts the perception of rape. This man is dangerous because he perfectly fits the stereotype of 'real rape'. He attacked a young victim, who was a stranger to him, and used considerable violence. I'm not denigrating the victim's experience - witnesses who found her walking startled along a road thought she had been in a car crash. The crime was repellent. However, by warning about the dangers of this man - who we know is capable of rape and assault - is likely to underplay the dangers of the majority of rapists who are much more subtle in their methods. I respect the locals' right to protest, but I worry about the message they are sending.

Then the BNP heard about the protests and decided to get in on the act. Nick Griffin made the journey North to join in but there was, as it were, a stooshie and the BNP were forced to leave. Commenting on the 'ugly scenes', Griffin said:

I hope the people who are protesting us feel ashamed and if their daughter or granddaughter is raped next - maybe they would change their minds.

Wow. There is so much wrong with this statement that my head feels as if it will implode. This is probably a good time for numbers.

1) This sounds pretty threatening. If Griffin isn't suggesting the BNP might rape these women then he is certainly suggesting that he wouldn't mind if someone else did. 'Cos then obviously we'd all turn to those bastions of morality for protection (even though there have been a number of BNP members and representatives charged with sex offences recently).

2) As my good friend Camilla has pointed out, Griffin is simply using this as a way to positively publicise the BNP rather than show solidarity with those protesting. He knows that his presence is controversial and liable to draw attention away from the matter at hand, but chose to rock up anyway. Given his response, he certainly doesn't seem to care about the welfare of the victim or the locals protesting.

3) Perhaps this sounds pedantic, but rape myths get my back up like nothing else. Only women are raped, and young women at that - and we all need to be protected by big, bad Nick and his BNP cronies. Urgh.

I'm sure there's more that will enrage me about this statement, but for now I have that dissertation to be getting on with...

But for now, needless to say - Nick Griffin has been banished to my own personal hellfire.

I Would Spit on Him. Unless He was on Fire...

I know, I know. I'm mean and horrible. Unless you consider who I'm talking about, in which case you may be more amenable to my way of thinking...

That's right, it is the monster that is Clameron, or Camegg. I've not decided yet.

And why, oh why would these odious, duplicitous little goblins make me act in such a terribly impolite manner?

WELL.

We've got an issue that is close to my heart, even if it doesn't directly affect me - tuition fees. I will say here and now I can't imagine a time I'd ever vote Tory. Ever. Like, unless my local Tory candidate was standing against Nick Griffin, and I'd still be tempted to spoil my ballot. My feelings about the Lib Dems (or Labour if you want to accuse me of being partisan) were not quite as entrenched, but the sight of Clegg's smarmy (and worryingly indistinguishable from Cameron's) face and manner in the election debates, as well as my inability to shake off the feeling that he was the illegitimate love child of Pinkie and the Brain - all the world dominating ambition but with the ability to only say nyarf - meant the Lib Dems weren't getting my vote either.

(Side note: I'm not actually keen on the idea of party politics anyway, but the fact that my constituencies Tory and Lib Dem candidates spouted the same rubbish as their 'leaders' meant that they didn't get a vote.)

But it seems the rest of the country is STUPID and/or were mislead by greasy lies, and so we have a ConDem Nation.

It took a while, and I got over the sharp pain in my brain whenever I realised that those muppets were in power. So much so I didn't even get violent at those who admitted they voted these idiots in.

Then the cuts happened. Tripled tuition fees for many students came in, just to make sure that your universities are filled to the brim with clones of our power sharing team, who were privately educated at two of the best regarded schools in the country, and we can patronise all 'poor' students who need to be catered for with practical training, because heaven forbid they want to go to university too, or even, horror of horrors, wee Tarquin from Harrow wants to be a roof slater.

Iain Duncan Smith told people to 'get on their bikes' and look for work when no suitable jobs were available in the immediate area. Which is fine and grand. Unless the nearest suitable job requires public transport, which is going up in price. Or if you have a young family or sick relatives and need to take on caring responsibilities.

But what makes me truly incandescent with rage is the ways in which the government has targeted women in their cuts. The Fawcett Society brought an action against the government for sex discrimination, in which it was found that no gender impact assessment was carried out.

The most horrific example I have come across is the situation in Devon, where the cuts in council grants mean that three main charities working with victims of domestic/intimate partner violence have had their funding cut. By 100%. That is not a misprint, one hundred per cent. The Devon model has won awards for their success in working with some of the most vulnerable members of societies, but when the economic crisis (would it be churlish to point out the massive gender disparity in bankers here?) hits, women are disposable. As I've argued before, the myth that women are equal is damaging, and here it is being put into practice.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I'm keeping my saliva to myself.

Funding Saga Part II: The Troll Shows Who is Boss

Yeah, the troll won. There was a tiny moment where I had him confused, a bit like when Ron sticks his wand up the troll's nostril in Harry Potter, but I was defeated. Well, given a bit of bruising.

The 5 grand fees of Edinburgh require one to dig a hole of debt so deep that my thesis would be burned up in the heat of the Earth's core, so that was out. Then came a last minute 'what-the-heck' application to Cardiff Uni for their course looking at Islam in Contemporary Britain. Although it was a little outside what I had anticipated, the content of the course looked relevant (a dirty word to some academics) and purposeful. A short while later, one ridiculously nice e-mail from a lecturer there and the quickest scholarship application you ever did see, I was shortlisted and had an interview in Cardiff. A day-trip ensued (never, ever, EVER take a day-trip to Wales folkies. Just don't. Make it a proper holiday) which entailed four hours in the city, including the time set aside for interview and I left sure that I had been unsuccessful.

I was right.

However, the feedback from the scholarship committee was so positive and constructive that I feel the 5am start wasn't wasted. Yes it means I can't study this year and that makes me sad. Really, really sad. But I am only 21 after all, and I haven't experienced life outwith full-time education since I was 4 so this opportunity could be rather formative. I will work away at my job (which I am *loving*), take the advice of the committee and get some practical voluntary experience with the Muslim community under my belt (something I'm really excited about!) and, best of all, I will study in my own time. This way I can mature my ideas in the direction I want to take them, and see where that all ends up for funding applications early next year!

On the topic of my self-study, I had a bit of an epiphany this week when I was in the NLS. It was one of those moments where I get so excited that it actually requires a concerted effort to not squee very loudly at the fact that what this person is saying is so true, is something I've often thought and fits into my work perfectly! Yay!

What do you do when you meet a Troll?

I've always thought of myself as a pretty straightforward kinda gal. Decisions come along, tap me on the shoulder and I consider all options before making my choice. Alas, it would seem that this quality has deserted me when most required.

About a year and a half ago, I had a niggle. Just under the surface something was brewing that would blow my plans out of the water. Instead of the sensible route of teaching, which suited me so well, I wanted MORE. Yup, I got a bit greedy and wanted to learn more, to teach at a higher lever; in short, I wanted to do a postgrad.

Dun dun DUN!

After months of suppressing these desires, I began to make progress in making my dream happen. I researched options, funding issues and consulted with staff. Applications happened. Offers were made. It was all going swimmingly and I'd made it to the bridge to postgrad land. Alas, under that bridge lived the Funding Troll(tm). Funding Troll(tm) is grumpy, greedy and (in my head anyway) green monster lurking to suck the momentum out of potential postgrads. For both courses I had one main source of funding, which would cover fees and living costs. Time ticked by and I found that I didn't receive either of these, so I was left with a rather unpalatable decision - continue with my plans and self fund through loans (aka selling one's soul to the bank) or find a job (which in the current climate is basically selling one's soul to a private corporation).

So I considered.

I thought.

I debated.

I asked for advice.

And what was I left with? A decision as hard as it was in the first place.

I am currently leaning towards the debt option, but that all lies in the hands of the bank advisor I'm off to see on Wednesday.

(EEK!)