RED SCARE

  • Memory Culture, Guilt and Germany’s Palestine Problem

    For centre-left liberals and EU advocates Germany has, in the twenty-first century, been viewed as a moral standard. Whether this was ever really the case or not is beside the point. Because whatever those of us on the left may think of Germany’s neo-liberal governance, we can probably agree liberal media like the Guardian have often fawned over it as a serious and stable global leader. Four months into 2024 we see a very different picture: its economy remains in recession, it is facing critical labour shortages, farmer protests shut down Berlin in December and, despite recent slip in the polls, the AfD, Germany’s main far-right party are looking to make significant ground in the upcoming election. But is its response to Israel’s onslaught in Gaza, crackdown on public expressions of support for Palestine and its unwavering support for the genocidal actions, which has made the country stand out. This has led to calls by Strike Germany, supported by more than 500 workers, for cultural workers to boycott German institutions, calling for an end to McCarthyite policies on freedom of expression.

    For those unaware of Strike Germany and its aims, or those unaware of the German position on Israel more broadly, you might be wondering how different could things really be in Germany than, say Britain, where I live? But even by British standards, the German states support for Israel is near incomprehensible given the events of the last 6 months. Germany are Israel’s second biggest arms supplier behind the US, increasing their sales tenfold between 2022 and 2023. In January they rushed to announce their intention to intervene in South Africa’s case against Israel. More recently, on 1st March Nicaragua brought their case against Germany for contributing to the commission of genocide to the ICJ.

    Where British MPs attempt to limit freedom of expression and shut down protests, and consistently enjoy smearing pro-Palestine protesters, particularly Muslim demonstrators as taking part in ‘hate marches’, in Germany the McCarthyite steps have come comparatively thick and fast. Many pro-Palestine marches have been banned, especially in the capital due to apparent fears of antisemitism, despite reports suggesting that over 90% of antisemitic hate crimes in Germany are committed by those with links to the far right. The phrase “From the river to the sea” is now a criminal offense, and those protests that have been allowed to go ahead have been heavily policed and criticised by the state, with hundreds reportedly having been arrested since October 7. Jewish anti-Zionists in Germany have reported feeling considerable pressure on their freedom of expression, as they too have been victims of arrests, or accusations of antisemitism. Research by Emily Dische-Becker has suggested that, absurdly, almost a third of those ‘cancelled’ by state-funded German institutions for alleged antisemitism have been Jewish.

    Even before October 7, the German government have criminalised pro-Palestine speech. When it comes to limiting the impact of the BDS campaign, the government were way ahead of the curve, passing an anti-BDS resolution in 2020, to the dismay of 32 prominent cultural institutions and over 1000 artists and academics. In June of last year police arrested 12 demonstrators at a Nakba commemoration organised by Jewish Voice for a Just Peace in the Middle East. Germany prides itself on their ability to confront and commemorate the horrors of the Holocaust, but why does this right of commemoration, or freedom of expression not extend as far as the Palestinian cause?

    In popular culture and social spaces, Germany also appears exceptional. In many popular spaces of culture in other countries, even Britain despite its normally tepid and mild-mannered nature, support for Palestine is high, and not unexpected. But in Germany, spaces which have typically been progressive, at least to varying degrees, have taken on the state’s McCarthyite policy of suppression of pro-Palestinian discourse. HÖR Berlin, ran by two Israelis who served in the IDF, removed two streams of DJs wearing clothing expressing support for Palestine, leading to many DJs choosing to remove their sets from the platforms YouTube page. World-famous nightclub, Berghain, has also been accused of cancelling the event of Arabian Panther for their support of Palestine. Blitz Munich recently cancelled a line up which hosted globally recognised DJ’s including Blawan, JASSS and LCY because of alleged antisemitism through pro-Palestine social media posts calling for the dissolution of the apartheid state and return of Palestinian land.

    In academic circles too, the suppression of dissenting voices on the ‘conflict’ has been felt. The Guardian were quick to pick up on the irony of Masha Gessen initially not being awarded the Hannah Arendt prize for their writing on Gaza, pointing out that the rules on what academics can say about Israel would mean even Arendt herself, highly critical of the Israeli state, wouldn’t be eligible for the prize. In a bizarre turn of events, where a joint Palestinian-Israeli documentary on the plight of displaced Palestinians in the West Bank won a prize at the Berlinale, after controversy over her obvious applause, the Minister for Culture declared she was only applauding the Israeli director. It’s clear that in many instances, even independent social and cultural spaces are towing the line on Israel, and support for the Zionist ideology is apparently embedded in German society. This is the German Left’s Palestine problem.

    So, what has led to Germany, a country once seen as the liberal sensible state, to its position today? How can the country which has an enormous Muslim population, and indeed substantive Palestinian population, and has accepted more refugees than any other in Europe, now seem hell bent on alienating these people, as well as progressives and anti-colonialists more generally, through its unquestioning solidarity with Israel?

    It’s obvious that the horrors of the Holocaust being central to Germany’s recent history has led to their unreserved support for Israel. In the past, they have been praised for confronting the violence of their history, where others have failed, not least the US genocide against the Native Americans, the violence of the British Empire or indeed the savage treatment of the Congolese by Belgium, now home to the neo-liberal utopia/hell-scape of the EU. The German states official approach to coming to terms with the past is one of ‘Erinnerungskultur’ or a culture of remembrance. This means, in short, a society which properly confronts and interacts with its own history, hence the many monuments and memorial sites, robust education policies and frank educational experiences for German students and tourists alike. All sounds positive in this instance.

    However, the celebrated culture of remembrance has come under scrutiny. First, within German cultural memory, the Holocaust is incomparable to any other historic tragedy. It is removed from politics, removed from history. Callinicos has rightly argued that “the point of Holocaust commemoration is surely not only to acknowledge the suffering of the victims but also to help sustain a political consciousness that is on guard against any signs of the repetition of Nazi crimes.” But Germans have keenly treated the holocaust as a singular event in history. This does not grapple with the conditions which lay the foundations for the emergence of fascism, conditions which are continually present today: racial capitalism, social inequalities and cultures of fear and othering. We cannot remove events in history from their context. We cannot treat them as singular. Otherwise we are doomed to create an ahistorical approach to history, something reactionary and fascist forces capitalise on.

    Despite Germany’s supposed remembrance culture, it continues to limit the boundaries of this to the Holocaust and to Europe, in relating itself to its own notions of genocide as well as antisemitism and Judaism – ‘how dare anyone try to tell us about antisemitism – we invented it!’ In focusing on Europe alone, memory culture implicitly suppresses dissenting and marginalised voices on histories of genocide and violence. This suppression has in cases become explicit, such as that of Achille Mbembe whose Ruhrtriennale address was cancelled due to his comments on Palestinian oppression.

    In fact, the comparisons made to Britain’s inability to repair the harm done by its empire only serves to highlight the German states inability to contend with its own colonial past – indeed any ability to look beyond Europe’s boundaries. That is why Namibia have invoked the genocide of their people at the hands of the Germans between 1904 and 1907 at the ICJ, highlighting that the country had yet to full atone for this “forgotten genocide”. And it is this inability to confront imperialism that has brought in Germany, as in Britain, the Netherlands and France, a continued orientalist logic about the middle east. A logic where in brown peoples are considered savage, uncivilised, ‘the enemy’. So within German memory culture, when these factors of orientalism, colonial amnesia and the heavy guilt and shame about the Holocaust on German soil, coalesce it creates a unique situation on the Palestinian genocide in the German psyche.

    This connects to what has become one of the most toxic by-products of the culture of remembrance in Germany, which is its unwavering support for Israel. Those on all sides of mainstream politics have, for some I’m sure in good faith, tried to apparently atone for their past, and highlight, for all the world to see, their solidarity with the Jewish people. In the political sphere this has been conflated with supporting Israel and Zionism at any cost and refuting any attempts to connect any actions of the Israeli government to anything remotely similar to the holocaust – say, speaking in the language of genocide. And this is in the form of not only rhetoric which has long contended that Israeli security is the German states raison d’etre, but cash, arms and bureaucratic strength in the EU. However, by supporting the Israeli states genocidal intentions in Gaza, remembrance culture is evoked as nothing but an empty propaganda tool. It is used to shed the states continued guilt onto Palestinian people, to recreate antisemitism as an Arab problem, to not have to actively contend with the European antisemitism which laid the foundations for the horrors of the holocaust.

    This politicised idea of remembrance implies that anyone, Jewish anti-Zionists included, cannot stand against the Zionist state, or acknowledge the complexity of Jewish culture and history before Zionism, or before the Holocaust. In doing so they perpetuate both antisemitism onto these Jewish anti-Zionists by homogenising all Jewish interests, and racism onto Palestinians and Arabs, by exporting their own guilt and shame, creating orientalist conceptions of the anti-Semitic, radical and dangerous Palestinian.

    For the mantra of never again to be anything more than an empty propaganda slogan, showing “just how much” the Germans have changed, it must be politically active. It must be tangible. It must be about more than coming to terms with the past, but about using the lessons of the past to grapple with contemporary problems. It must mean never again, anywhere, to anyone.

    For more information on Strike Germany, visit their website at: https://strikegermany.org/

    For more information on the Boycott, Divest and Sanctions movement visit: https://bdsmovement.net/

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  • Remembering Sinead O’Connor

    It has been a little over two weeks since news broke around the world of the passing of ground-breaking musician and political and social rebel, Shuhada’ Sadaqat, better known by her former name Sinead O’Connor, on 26 July at the age of 56. This will be a rare moment where many across the world, and perhaps all those in Ireland will have stopped in their tracks at the news of her death, and will have felt a collective grief on seeing her funeral on the news. With her funeral being just two days ago, much of this grief is still public, but the major flurry of news reports and opinion pieces have died down, giving time for a truer reflection on the artists life and her relationship with fame.

    The artist became most well known with her chart-topping cover of Prince’s Nothing Compares 2 U – though from the reporting of many newspapers you couldn’t be blamed for thinking this was her only musical endeavour. As well as her pop stardom, her rebellious spirit has been remembered by the media in recent days, as have the singer’s well-documented mental health problems.

    But, as a fellow Irish woman, I want instead to look at O’Connor in the tradition of protest songs, rich and significant to Irish culture. The Guardian’s reporting of O’Connor presents her as a dynamic, talented yet contradictory figure in music. While perhaps a fair analysis of a highly complex character, the article makes many insufficient, and sometimes outright disrespectful comments about the singer. One thing the author notes is that “she lacked the determination needed to keep a top-flight pop career aloft”. But O’Connor was a protest singer, and she didn’t throw away any sort of career she wanted, but the career the industry wanted for her. And there seems a lack of recognition in mainstream media circles of the strength of determination this would take.

    Because not to view the defiance and bravery of the artist as just that, would be a vast underestimation of the forces which she was up against: the forces of state, religion and media. When O’Connor took on the Catholic Church in 1992 it shocked the world. The simple act of tearing up an image of the pope on television made the Catholic population of America shudder. In succession to this came a vicious backlash from the American public at a show at Madison Square Gardens, as well as an amusingly ironic criticism from the queen of pop herself, the ever so pious and Catholic, Madonna. In the immediacy of this incident on SNL and at the Bob Dylan Anniversary show, there seemed more horror at Sinead’s declaration of the Church as an enemy than what she was fighting against, the systemic sexual and physical abuse of children in the church. In the end, as would happen on more than one occasion, O’Connor was proved to be on the right side of history.

    And no matter how well documented this moment is, how many references there have been to it in British and American media over these past 2 weeks, or how many times the clip is played over, what there appears to be is a lack of appreciation in British and American media circles of what this moment meant in Ireland. Ireland, who fought her way out of over 800 years of British rule, to slip straight into the iron grip of the church. This was a country where, not only was abortion and gay marriage illegal, but divorce and even contraception until 1980. But the singer risked it all to speak truth to power. Not just pop stardom and money, but the image of herself in her home country, where catholicism was intertwined with nationhood.

    So maybe only the Irish will be able to truly understand how consistently brave and uncompromising she was, because certainly many obituaries from international outlets don’t seem to fully explore this with some being lacklustre at best and outright disrespectful at worst. If they recognise her as a protest singer, they fail to see what this truly meant in an Irish context. The history of protest song in Ireland is fierce, and Sinead was a rebel in the truest sense. In her early career she may not have been viewed as part of the Irish folk tradition – not all of her songs would span Irish history, and she would choose to leave Ireland for mainstream success, which as a woman at that time felt like an inevitability. But she used her voice in the most radical way she could, tackling the most significant issues of the time, constantly taking on the patriarchy in Ireland, as well as racism and poverty across the UK and Ireland, perhaps most famously on the haunting ‘Black Boys on Mopeds’. 

    But the love and pride she had for her country and its history would be known in her music too – and especially in the hip-hop inspired track ‘Famine’ which would trace intergenerational trauma and social issues to the Irish famine. And despite the death threats she would endure in Ireland and beyond, no serious listener of O’Connor could misunderstand her criticism of the church or the Irish government as hostility to her nation or its people. And it was the earnesty with which she so evidently cared for the nation that established how beloved she became. For a ‘pop star’ to speak of the nation’s collective trauma and the necessity for its healing, and for this voice to reach British and American audiences, was groundbreaking. For many Irish women in particular, the traumas of the Church, and especially the Laundries, was being acknowledged. Not only this, but as is tradition in folk culture, she would take on some of the greats including Raglan Road and The Foggy Dew and make them her own, cementing her legacy among some of the giants of Irish trad including Luke Kelly, The Dubliners and The Chieftains.

    But despite the many in her own country who loved, admired and respected her, Sinead O’Connor would become an early victim of the ferocity of the media, and later the tumultuous nature of social media. She was mocked, nearly relentlessly, for being ‘crazy’, ‘unstable’, ‘attention-seeking’ and whatever other terms could be flung at outspoken women which would stick. She was berated for her protests, how profoundly principled she was, and how she used her fame as a platform for her social and political voice. All of these elements of her character were discussed as symptoms of her mental health. For a pop star to not ‘shut up and sing’ was outrageous, and, for the suits in the industry, intolerable. As the mainstream media remember her now, they celebrate her achievements and her talent but recognise her as a jaded and unwell woman, often viewing this as the focal point of her story, a distraction from the fact that she was a musician and woman lightyears ahead of her time, politically, socially and musically.

    This isn’t to say the singer did not struggle with her mental health – this was something she did not shy away from. But quite how open she was would make the mainstream recoil: for all the talk in the present day about openness with mental health, Sinead faced a barrage of abuse for just that. Popular discourse on O’Connors mental health was Victorian, discussed as if she were ‘hysterical’, with no acknowledgement of the very real impact of her lived experiences. How her cries for help, and for justice were ridiculed and dismissed throughout her long career is a testament to the fact that even the strongest, and indeed the wealthiest of women cannot escape patriarchy. Sinead’s loss is not isolated. Its a result of the very reality of her existence – the pain and the torture suffered at the hands of the Church, and the hands of the state, and the years of torment suffered under the cruel eye of the media. She wasn’t the first and she won’t be the last. They might mourn her now she’s gone, but if you aren’t going to stand up for someone in life, why do it in death? To quote Sinead herself, “it is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.”

    Rest in Power Sinead. I hope you have finally found peace.

  • A nightlife under attack: comments on the Belfast scene

    It has been nearly 5 years since I first left Belfast for university and settled in Manchester. When I moved, I wore the fact I was from Belfast on my sleeve and with pride – sure, it may be a complicated city but it’s a city full of passion and love for its own people and the alternative arts and music scenes. Quoting Terri Hooley in the 2012 punk biopic ‘Good Vibrations’: “When it comes to punk: New York has the haircuts, London has the trousers, but Belfast has the Reason!” 

    The city, the north and even Ireland more broadly, has not had an easy ride when it comes to the creative sector, and in particular, underground music and nightlife. But in spite of this, I left Belfast when it was having a real moment in terms of the electronic music scene. Between huge commercial club nights, to underground techno and house nights, and a growing jungle, dnb and UK bass scene, as well as a reignition of free party culture, the city was establishing itself as one of the best nights out in the UK, with nods from the likes of MixMag and DJ Mag. 

    The era between 2016 and 2020 felt to me like the reign of a modern youth subculture, similar to the punk and rave scenes of the 20th century, where young people could find a space to freely mix and express themselves, in spite of the politics of the world around them. The north, and indeed Ireland more broadly has always produced dynamic figures in the arts, across literature, music and art. The island’s global cultural weighting far outshines the humble population it holds. 

    It’s not been an easy ride, and still, truthfully it feels like an uphill battle. Since moving away from Belfast, I have been struck by just how much the city’s nightlife economy and wider art sector has suffered over the years since the pandemic. In spite of the success and celebration of the culture in Belfast, the council have found no space to credit this and have struggled to keep up with this progressive wave of arts. Indeed the north cannot seem to keep up with its neighbours in terms of providing a progressive and dynamic arts sector – put simply the funding doesn’t allow it: £4.72 is currently allocated per head of the population, compared to £10.51 in Wales and £22.50 in the Republic.

    The start of this economic year saw an onslaught of blows on an already struggling cultural sector. In March, the Arts Council of Northern Ireland warned recipients to brace themselves for another 10% cut to funding in 2023/24. This followed pre-covid cuts of nearly 5% in 2019. Perhaps the most prominent example of this cultural degradation for me has been the announcement of the halting of the Cathedral Quarter Trust and the end of their involvement in the iconic Culture Night, something I have incredibly fond memories of. 

    In a city so often boiled down to the ‘two cultures’, Culture Night presented a free space for all communities to come together and celebrate in the shared culture of the city. To have its core funder ripped away certainly feels like a punch in the gut. In this city when it comes to progress, it’s one step forward, two steps back. The fact that it will be continuing on without the CQT is a testament to the talent and work of the artists and activists surrounding it. But without this backbone, I’m personally pessimistic that they will have the resources to capture quite the same magic as they have in years gone by.

    While my passion is for the nightlife and music industry, it would be an oversight not to mention the cuts that have hit theatres, dance and art studios and other cultural hubs. Venues such as the MAC and the Lyric have warned of the impact of further cuts, which some have labelled catastrophic, on jobs and institutes themselves. Some studios and companies will be preparing for potential closure amid this funding devastation. These studios follow the likes of PLACE charity, QSS and Paragon Studios who have already seen all of their annual funding cut in previous economic years – the strength and resilience of the people within these communities is what keeps them alive.

    These annihilations at the funding level compound a nightlife industry which already does nothing to celebrate a city brimming with musical talent and big ideas.The Belfast night economy is littered with regressive policies and circumstances; from prehistoric licensing laws which allow a latest licence of 3am (and 1-2am without a special licence) to a public bus service running no later than midnight and taxi companies stretched to the max. 

    This is before we even get into the short survival rate of venues. Even prior to covid I watched nightclubs, bars, and other venues close with incredibly short life spans. Simultaneously I have witnessed some of the city’s most iconic venues and alternative spaces like the Bunatee and Warzone close their doors. And with the further impact of covid on the mainstay power of clubs, it is unsurprising to see those with an interest in dance music congregate almost exclusively at one venue. 

    And this isn’t just a problem for the north; it feels to me a strangely Irish problem. Despite the comparative wealth of funding for the Irish arts council, nightlife and particularly clubbing, is seldom viewed as an integral part of the arts, and it is certainly no secret that in southern cities, the night time economy has been destroyed. Galway for instance, is one of the country’s most popular university cities and yet it has been left with no nightclubs, while Dublin venues like Hangar and District 8 have closed their doors in recent years. In fact, 4 in 5 clubs on the island have shut since 2000, alarmingly dropping from 522 clubs in 2000 to a mere 85 in 2022.

    The reality of the decimation of nightlife North and South of the border seems a uniquely Irish fusion of self-flagellation based on religious tradition and a twisted structure of corporate capitalism supported by parties on both sides of the border. The Irish identity was for so long tied to a catholic theocracy, while northern presbyterianism was similarly defined by religious conservatism. The ripples of these theocratic structures continue to be felt across the island into the present, particularly on social policy, including policy on nightlife. In my view, the only assessment of the laws on licensing in the north – not just early club closures but also the strict limits on when and where alcohol can be sold – is the result of a minority of religious ideologues whos lobbying strikes at the heart of governance, nearly exclusively within the DUP.

    Economically, for many (particularly EU neo-liberals) the Celtic Tiger represented a moment of progress, where Ireland, in the south at least, shed its religious conservatism in favour of a neoliberal system. This era created a form of culture which was exportable and capitalisable, and many supported the ‘progressive’ culture and arts of the ‘New Ireland’. It only took until the world economic crash that we saw what the Celtic Tiger really ushered in was a nation whose identity became wrapped up in a rampant and unstable capitalism. 

    With the economic crash, the underground would be one of the first things to fall. With a new, plastic cultural economy focused on tourism, the fat cats of Dublin promoted the mass expansion of hotels and swanky cocktail bars – music by the city and for its people became expendable. Enter the era of the white boy in Temple Bar singing Ed Sheeran and passing it off as Irish trad for American tourists. And since the mid 2010s, we have seen these changes be accompanied by a shift from private landlords to non-resident corporate landlords. This has led to spiking rents across commercial and private property, pushing working class communities, pillars of the arts and music scenes, outside of the city.

    It’s not that these issues have gone unrecognised by the establishment. Meagre reforms have been put in place in the south – including an additional 5% income tax on corporate landlords. Perhaps most significantly for nightlife and down to the work of Sunil Sharpe and the Give us the Night campaign, has been the announcement that the government would be introducing 6am licences for certain clubs. These baby steps certainly seem to be a start. It’s just that, when compared to the pace of progress of cities like Berlin, it’s a reminder that, without further fundamental change these may be as useful as a plaster on a broken leg.

    Unfortunately in the north, reform has been less hopeful and, despite a similar campaign taking shape in Free the Night, the stubbornness and futility of Stormonts (lack of) governance has reigned supreme. Any hope for artists of all shapes and sizes feels impossible in light of continuing emigration tied to the failures of partition and the Good Friday Agreement. Ultimately, politicians remain tied to sectarian cultural agendas, embedded in the Good Friday Agreement, and everything from the economy, social policy and the arts has fallen further to the wayside.

    As hopeless as it can feel, I am constantly reminded of how the people of Belfast are holding up the crippled scene from below. As a child of the north, I can say that the spirit and energy of the crowds, and what it means to people, is more than other cities. Still to this day arts spaces and underground music events provide a haven of hope and joy in the city for many, young and old, and multiple crews and their events still highlight the city at its best in terms of the variation of local talent on offer.

    As I write this, the Irish rap scene is at an all time high, pushing some of the most enthusiastic and exciting young talent in the country. And with a new generation of creatives coming through, it feels like we have the first fresh wave of energy since covid, with many youngsters following in the footsteps of those in the UK and new events popping up nearly each week. Ultimately however, without the funding, without policy change and without something keeping young talent from emigrating, this wave seems doomed to the same fate as those before. It’s time for change.

    By Annie Hackett

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  • RS002 – FAIRPLAY 2023 REVIEW: A triumph of the independent venue

    Fairplay fest is quickly becoming one of the biggest days on the calendar for the independent music scene in Manchester. Embracing a variety of independent venues in the Northern Quarter, as well as local talent, and more established names on the indie circuit, makes it one of the most refreshing music events of the year. I was lucky enough to drop by last weekend.

    The festival is located across 5 venues in the Northern Quarter, and is set up in a more rough and ready format than most other festivals of the present day. We live in a time where arts funding from ACE is being slashed across the board, and where working class communities in particular are facing huge issues in terms of access to the arts, making up just 7.9% of people in the creative industries. The Government has chosen to slash funding to arts courses by 50%. In the midst of this attack against the cultural sector, the festival’s choice of venues and its independent setup in many ways feels like a political statement. A statement against the commercialisation of music and the arts and against giant entertainment conglomerates like Live Nation. 

    In usual fashion, I was running late and feeling a little worse for wear after a healthy dose of madness at The White Hotel the night before. This meant I was disappointed to miss most of the first round of acts kicking off the festival in various locations around the Northern Quarter. But, once I’d had my first pint (hair of the dog perhaps wasn’t the best choice), I was ready to go. It was straight over to the Peer Hat, where I caught the last ten minutes of the fabulous Doss. Their closing track, a raucous diss track of DF Concerts and King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut, sent the crowd as crazy as I’ve seen any crowd at 3 in the afternoon. The track firmly cemented them as Scotland’s answer to Sleaford Mods – as funny, as socially aware, but with better accents.

    I was particularly excited to catch Bikini Body and they certainly didn’t disappoint. One for fans of Panic Shack or Dry Cleaning, they are part of this new wave of female led punk and post-punk which feels like a British-based, second generation Riot Grrrl movement. The group haD the Peer Hat rocking in no time, with their high intensity set complete with jangling guitars and comical lyrical quips.

    However, with otherwise limited plans on how I was going to spend my day – running on too little sleep and a bag of crisps, I found myself spending parts of the day wandering between venues checking out various acts with no concrete plans. And honestly, doing this is really where the magic happens. It’s what festivals like this are all about, encouraging discovery and finding new artists. I’d endeavour anyone lucky enough to have such events on their doorsteps to go to an artist they haven’t heard before. To look beyond the headliners, and see what you find.

    For me, I found myself wandering into the Castle Hotel early in the day and seeing YAANG – a local band I hadn’t heard before and had no intention of seeing. But they stole the show for me. The electronic production, pop feel, punk lyrics and truly rock and roll guitar and bass, made them the most exciting act of the day for me. They were chaotic and camp and did not allow the binaries of genre stifle their creativity. A definite highlight.

    Indeed, it was simply through dandering into Night and Day Cafe that I also came across Piglet – an artist from Belfast I’m ashamed to say I had yet to listen to. But, coming from some rather high energy sets to step into the queer, sad boy energy was a well needed reset. And, perhaps fueled by a bit too much alcohol, and a lack of sleep, the emotion at times got the better of me throughout such a mellifluous set. Being from Belfast, to hear a fellow Belfast native connect so much with their queerness on an artistic level was a truly liberating and deeply personal experience.

    As the end of the night came round, I prepared myself for the big one, SCALPING. Knowing already how perfect SOUP’s soundsystem is for a set like this, I was buzzing. And the performance was overwhelming: blistering drums and bass, heady guitars and acidic synths. It was the perfect union of band and venue. And it reminded me why electronic music is my favourite music style. Its versatility and diversity is unparalleled. Watching SCALPING, I couldn’t help but think of what SOPHIE once said about what the purpose of music was for her – which was to push limits and take things as far as possible. And electronic production can do this quite like nothing else. The Bristol group closing of SOUP was monumental, the perfect choice, and an excellent end to this part of the night.

    Some of the other excellent acts I caught across the day were Suep, whose indie-pop bangers were never going to disappoint, Me, Charles, a raw and captivating display of emotional vulnerability, and Silkback Armour, a totally new and welcome surprise for me – and many more excellent acts were missed! 

    The night rounded up with Keg in Night and Day Cafe, who’s energy, passion (and excellent fashion in the form of matching fedoras), was almost enough to make me stay into the wee hours. Rounding out the night in Night and Day Cafe felt rather full circle. It grounded the festival in what it was really all about. And it felt like a true show of solidarity from every person at the event for one of the most iconic venues in Manchester. A venue that’s been there since before the Northern Quarter was the ‘hipster haven’ it is today, since it was surrounded by empty buildings and seedy adult stores. And a venue which is now fighting for its survival against a council Noise Abatement Notice. The day felt like a massive ‘fuck you’ to the landlords causing its potential closure.

    However, the aforementioned hangover had begun to creep in, and a swift exit was made before the end of the set. Despite my early exit, the takeaways from Fairplay fest were huge. Allowing a day to recentre the independent venue, to give it new life felt like a radical choice for modern day music promotion. It’s after events like this that I take time to consider how lucky I am to live in a city with such a rich and vibrant underground culture. Coming from Belfast, a city where arts and culture has taken a hit like in no other city, I feel fortunate to now be in a city where cultural heritage is able to be celebrated and supported.

    And some departing advice. Go to bands you’ve never heard of, go to the small venue with the cheap booze, show up for the support act, invite your mates, invite your ma. These venues and these musicians are the lifeblood of the music industry.

  • RS001 – Qatar and the Ludovico Technique

    This article has been written and published at the very last minute because even whilst writing it, I was unsure if my convictions would actually match my actions when it comes to watching the World Cup. However, I am committed, at this point at least, to boycotting the 2022 World Cup. The true purpose of this article, even now, remains a mystery to me. Is this a last-minute piece hoping to inspire a widespread boycott? Is this merely an opinion piece regarding the World Cup? Is this a transcription of an internal monologue or even one of the internal dialogues I have with myself on the way to work? I am not sure: it is probably a mix of all three. Whatever the article’s motivation, this is why I have arrived at the decision not to watch the World Cup and why I feel there has been an abject failure on the part of the fans, players, organisers and sponsors that there has been no organised boycott.

    The goal of sportswashing is to change the perception of the host nation from a poor to a positive one, as the host country is absolved of accountability for their human rights abuses through high-quality sporting action and excellent hospitality. Qatar is also evidently seeking to impose itself as a major player in international relations. This event will even work as a means for the host country to absolve themselves of the crimes committed in the building of the tournament itself. 

    Qatar has spent an estimated $220 billion on these efforts, making it the most expensive World Cup in history. Despite this, there is little interest in football in Qatar and no space for the fast-growing women’s game. Qatar will be enshrined in football history, particularly with the opportunity for the coronation of Messi as the greatest player ever. A small country with such minimal football history playing host to the greatest sporting event in the world is a clear example of cultural imperialism and a symbol of the power of the pound in football.

    Of course we should use sporting events to call attention to legitimate causes and poor human rights records in other countries which have been bestowed the honour of world cup hosts. This is undeniably true. But rarely have we seen a tournament where the very creation of the games has caused such devastation to the country’s inhabitants, with some reports estimating 6,500 deaths as a result of the preparation for the event.  The Qatari aim of using the World Cup to cleanse the country’s image is unprecedented in that it has been the goal of the Qatari bid from the outset. Even the two most notable examples of sportswashing, the 1936 Olympics in Berlin and the 1978 World Cup, were both handed to these nations before the rise to power of the Nazi Party in 1933 and the military junta coup d’etat of 1976. 

    6,500 migrant workers have died during the building of this World Cup: literally worked to death to make this world cup possible. Up to 1.5 million migrant workers have been used to build this world cup, with South East Asia, in particular, contributing large portions of this number. These migrant workers have made their way to Qatar to work and earn money to send back to their families, but instead have been held hostage and forced to work while employers keep their passports and refuse them the ability to change employment. This is modern-day state-organised slavery. 

    Some will claim the abolition of the kafala system as progress, which has both raised the minimum wage and means that workers can now freely move to other jobs without the permission of their employers. Despite this, low earners can still earn as little as £1 an hour. The Guardian has reported this week that security guards at the world cup are still being paid just 35p an hour with only one day off a month. It is evident that the abolition of the kafala system was merely appeasement of Western liberal media, not genuine or radical change. 

    With all of this in mind, what is the purpose of a boycott? The goal of boycotting an international sporting event is to damage the host country, predominantly through economic loss and reputational damage, to force governmental or regime change. But with no widespread protest movement against this World Cup, it feels impossible for fans to use collective power to force any change. Instrumentally the value of a ‘one-man’ boycott is unclear. Without the economic and reputational damage necessary to force genuinely revolutionary change to workers’ rights in Qatar, what is the point? 

    But this does not reduce the intrinsic value of it as a boycott. This is in the same ilk as boycotting last year’s Eurovision or products you know come from Israel. It is a clear statement that Qatari’s employment of modern-day slavery to cover up their human rights abuses, homophobic and misogynistic laws and impose themselves into international politics is not acceptable, nor what we, as football fans, should want the world game to look like or be used for. 

    And this is not just about the politics of the Qatari state; this is about the politics of football. This is about what we, as football fans, want the game to represent. Increasingly, with projects like the scrapped Super League, football is being used as a tool of major international corporations and states to rake in billions of dollars of profit or to wash away their abject human rights records. Instead of representing working people and the shared culture we have created across the past 150 years of playing football, it is nothing more than a selling point to benefit a few wealthy elites. Standing against the trends that underpin this world cup is part of a broader goal of fans reclaiming the sport from FIFA’s corrupt bureaucracy. The corporatocracy is real. FIFA is a business, and nothing else, selling the beautiful game for profit and endorsing state-organised slavery for the private gain of a few.

    Hosting a world cup is not a right. Questions have been raised about the South African World Cup bid. Perhaps this set an unhealthy precedent for corruption but was it not correct to take the World Cup to a country that had ended apartheid and sought to highlight the significant change in South African society? Is FIFA not rewarding Qatar for upholding homosexuality as a crime? The honour and prestige that comes with a World Cup have been bestowed upon Qatar, despite their working of over 6,500 migrant workers to death. By attending, journalists and fans alike will have allowed Qatar to scrub its image clean. The chance for solidarity and resistance will have passed.

    After accepting a punditry job for the World Cup, one of England’s most outspoken football figures Gary Neville, has defended the decision to go, arguing that the route to force change is going to the tournament and highlighting the issues. The lack of logic here is astounding. How much can Neville, a man helping to cleanse the Qatari image through his engagement with the state institutions, really reveal or change through vague statements and whitewashed interviews and a documentary? 

    Historically there is no evidence that individuals or states have made a difference in their attendance at such events. These issues are never adequately highlighted but kept under lock and key in resistance to change. Following Berlin 1936 Hitler and Germany started a second World War and committed genocide. Russia was still four years away from invading Ukraine when it hosted the World Cup in 2018. Did the 1978 world cup in Argentina actually do anything to raise awareness or stop the dirty war the junta was fighting against its own people or was it their own deepening of the economic crisis and loss of the Falklands War that led to this downfall? These tournaments not only present these countries as hospitable world powers but through hosting the best athletes in the world to compete in a sport/entertainment extravaganza, the questionable human rights records of these countries are buried. The lines between image and reality become blurred, allowing the scope of such state-sponsored human rights neglect to widen.

    The implication from multiple footballers that it is not up to players where the tournament takes place appears merely as a weak statement with only the goal of sidestepping the issue. While no player has the power to just remove the holding rights from Qatar, no player is forced to play. There is a genuine lack of willingness from players to engage in real action to change footballing governance. Players can decide not to play for their international countries: there is no binding contract to play. It remains to be seen if we will see any public acts of protest during this World Cup, apart from the token gesture of rainbow-coloured armbands.

    The World Cup is like any other sports tournament in that its prestige is bestowed upon it by the fans and players through the value that they place on it. By watching this World Cup, we are granting legitimacy to this tournament and en masse people are deciding to watch it. The success of the Qatar World Cup and the state’s subsequent aims will result if we infer value and legitimacy by engaging with it. 

    The World Cup will, of course, be very entertaining, as it produces the usual supply of thrills and tense moments. The intrigue and unpredictability are particular features of this World Cup as the first tournament since 2006 without a clear favourite. We cannot retroactively retract the value of the World Cup once it has happened and cannot deny the legitimacy of the tournament whilst simultaneously watching every game. As football fans and players, we are placing higher importance on our experience of the joys of the World Cup over the lives of migrant workers. We are actively not holding the Qatari monarchy to account for their crimes or genuinely seeking to improve the living standards for migrant workers.

    While I do believe that someone can watch this tournament and feel anger towards the despicable crimes that occurred in the building of this tournament, I cannot also deny the fact that watching this tournament is implicitly accepting and agreeing to the sportswashing of this tournament. The World Cup may be the greatest football tournament in the world, but it is only so because of the fans watching it. We have willingly ignored genuine human suffering in the search for iconic football moments. To watch any of the games at this year’s World Cup is to willingly subject yourself to some reverse Ludovico technique, whereby you strap yourself in and place the pincers between your eyelids, viewing this tournament to the point of equating quality Qatari hospitality, culture and generosity with brilliant football memories and not modern-day slavery, homophobia, misogyny, classism and cultural imperialism. 

    Qatar is inviting the world’s best players to dance on the graves of those who made this tournament. If you want to watch the tournament, then watch, but know that simply remembering the crimes is not enough. At a minimum, there has to be some widespread recognition of our implicit agreement to allow Qatar to ‘sportswash’ its image. Qatar will have already hosted a World Cup that was watched worldwide. The world will leave Qatar on December 18th and with it they will take the power to improve the working conditions for migrant workers in Qatar. In a state of nearly 3 million people, where only 300,000 are citizens, and the rest of the population are migrant workers, where there are no political parties, it is incredibly unlikely we will see genuine change to workers’ rights when there is no incentive to do so. The incentive should have been the World Cup. Keep this in mind while you watch. 

    https://campaigns.allout.org/qatar2022

    by Shay Pomeroy

    Edited by Annie Hackett

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