Bradford Buzz: Buzzing about Bradford – says it all really.
Bradford Buzz has become a staple of my search for culture, creativity and fun in and around Bradford. I’ve written a couple of articles for them and have found more than a few places on more doorstep that I never knew existed.
Next month, they’re doing even more by asking you to take a photo of a piece of art, sculptures, or installations in and around Bradford and tweeting them to the world.
@HiddenBradford are at it again! They’re asking you to take a #BradfordPhotoADAY and share it with the world using Twitter, Instagram or Flikr.
With 100s of photos shared during their April and May challenges, the June photos are bound to be as beautiful, numerous and, dare I say it, sunnier.
They’ve taken a little detour from the theme of the day and decided to use letters, giving you even more scope to be original, unusual and creative in your pictures of Bradford and District.
Those of you who follow me on Twitter know my proclivity for retweeting photos of Bradford in all its glory, and using the hashtag #hiddenBD. And I’ll be doing just that as the #BradfordPhotoADay challenge continues this month with a whole new set of topics and themes.
The idea comes from the amazing @HiddenBradford team (one of my Bradford Cultural Pirates…
The New Statesman’s exclusive George Galloway’s conversion to Islam seems to have quite a few people upset, not least Gorgeous George himself. But is it a big deal? Why do people care? And what does it have to do with his ability to serve Bradford? In my opinion, nothing. So why are people so bothered about his alleged conversion?
Jemima Khan bravely ventured north, overcoming the M1 turning to cobbles or the train turning to steam at Watford Gap, to meet George Galloway in Bradford. They embarked upon a “wide-ranging interview… [in which] George Galloway talks about his spectacular by-election victory, Ed Miliband’s fortunes, Middle East dictators and mass unemployment.” But the website chose to focus on Khan’s exclusive revealing of “the background to Galloway’s conversion to Islam”. A politician is asked about his “spectacular” political win, former political colleagues, dictators and a huge problem which he, as an MP, is responsible for sorting out… and they chose to highlight his religion. Why?
The website article focuses solely on matters of religion, even using the meal as proof of his conversion: “Over a halal, alcohol-free lunch at a cafe on Bradford’s main high street…” I am sorry but what did she expect? Do they have pork vindaloo in her local curry house? Maybe she’d prefer gammon and chips when coming to the country’s Curry Capital! And is it so shocking that an MP wouldn’t want a drink at lunch? Particularly a teetotal one.
The tone of the article is most concerning, though. It is written as if he’s been outed, as if Khan, with razor-sharp wit, has outmanouvered Galloway, linguistically cornering him until he was forced to reveal a deep, dark secret he’d hoped would never come out. Without showing his thoughts on Springs Arabian or Bradfordian, matters of State, politics local or national, it is his religion which seems to be of utmost importance to the reader of The New Statesman.
Whilst I am not religious, I defend the right of anyone to choose their religion and practice it how they wish (as long as they are tolerant of others and don’t force it upon people). This piece suggests Galloway has done 
something bad, wicked, awful. He’s got religion… but the wrong one! Had he gone to St Margaret’s CofE Church in Frizinghall, would there have been this outcry? I doubt it. Religion is a matter of soul and faith, and it is a deeply personal matter which has nothing to do with one’s ability to serve in Parliament… which is just Galloway’s point. It does not matter one bit what religion, if any, he is. Do Muslims make better parliamentarians than Sikhs? Are Catholics good for local issues but, in Europe, you need a Protestant? Is a person who discusses their lack of religion a better law-maker than one who chooses not to discuss it? No, no, no.
Are these Bradford West voters?
One reason people might care politically is shown in a reaction I read – and the first – by Simon Cooke, a Conservative councillor in Cullingworth, a village in Bradford District, but not in Galloway’s Bradford West. He and Khan (or Alice Gribbin who has the by-line in TNS) are of the same mind:
“There must have been some white constituents in Bradford, who, although natural Labour supporters, preferred to vote for the white Catholic candidate rather than the brown Muslim one representing Labour.” (The New Statesman)
“What I can’t understand – unless George thinks his conversion might lose him votes – why he hasn’t come clean about it? What sort of muslim [sic] does that make him?” (The View from Cullingworth)
It is reactions like this which make me angry about these ‘revelations’. I’m a white guy in Bradford West and I voted for Galloway (you can read why here), but it’s suggesting that we’re racist. We’re white; he’s white: ergo, I’ll vote for him. Tosh! His religion or lack of it has no bearing on my vote, and I know of no-one else for whom it does. I’ve voted for whites, for Muslims and, once, even for a Tory (to keep out the BNP in my old ward). But Khan’s foolishness over accusations of racism do not stop with me, and are also made against the Muslim population:
“Many [Muslims] favoured a possible or a potential Muslim over a “lapsed” one, such as Labour’s Hussain, who, Galloway claimed in his campaign, was “never out of the pub.”
Is this a Bradford West voter?
The suggestion that whites voted white and Muslims voted Muslim is, frankly, offensive. None of these commenters talk about the other candidates. The Tories, fielding a white candidate, came in a distant third with 8% of the vote; the Lib-Dems’ white candidate got less than 5% and lost her deposit; the VERY white DemNat got 1%. Similarly, the only bone-fide and ‘out’ Muslim, important to Muslim voters according to Khan, the Green Dawud Islam got 1.5%.
Furthermore, and despite our reputation as a segregated, broken city, Bradford West has shown that culture, religion and ethnicity are not the be-all and end-all, nor even, quite frankly, important. Something lots of places can learn from. Bradford West is mixed, with 40% of voters being of Pakistani heritage and, probably, Muslim… yet it has never had a Muslim MP. The previous incumbent, Masha Singh, is Sikh. If the whites are so racist and the Muslims are pro-Islamic, how come we had a non-white, non-Muslim for over a decade? Actually, we’re a bit of a model for inclusion in this area, choosing to ignore colour and creed and elect the party and the man (Singh bucked the swing to the Conservatives in the last election) it wants. Make Bradford British? What’s more British than democratic choice, picking the right person for the job and believing in one’s right to self determination over all?
I take issue with Simon Magnus who, as a local lad, should really know better and should not be peddling stories of intolerance where there’s none. We have intolerance and prejudice and racism, and we know it, but, together, we should sort them out, removing them from Manningham, Clayton and Cullingworth. Being a political animal himself, he could’ve mentioned this but his party have just gone from a strong second in a seat they wanted to win to a distant third, so I can understand his haste to sling mud.
The greater problem, in terms of numbers and spread of readers, is The New Statesman’s promulgation of these vile assertions. Bradford gets two types of press from the national media: bad and none. And now, in a truly mixed constituency which has consistently chosen to ignore race and religion, we are being accused of being racist and religiously fanatical. London, piss off! We don’t want what you’re selling. You know our stereotype, you come here (once in a blue moon) and see what you want to see, take your ‘proof’ home and peddle it back to us. In this instance, though, there was no proof: the assertions of voter racism are from the pen of Khan’s pen and imagination rather than the lips (and certainly not the actions) of Bradford West’s voters…
… because she came oop north, ate a curry and her interviewee walked out on her so she needed something to justify the train fare.
Voter in Khan and Cameron's Oxfordshire constituency?
If we look at Khan’s home, we can see that, maybe, she could learn a little about diversity and choosing people on personal accomplishment rather than their connections: she lives in the £15-50m Kiddington Hall in Oxfordshire. Her local MP is old-Etonian, Oxbridge, multi-millionaire, inheritor David Cameron. All the MPs in Oxfordshire are white; all except for one are men; all except one are Conservative. Mind you, the local curry house sounds different so maybe I’ll move there.
When did it become OK to lie and cheat and steal? When did it become OK to deceive people? When did our collective moral consciousness change so that people who get money by deception, misrepresentation or in underhand ways are no longer treated as pariahs?
Or… A blog about my naivety.
So, I’m really skint this month. Yes, most of it is my own doing: high living beyond my modest means (I went out with my mate a couple of Saturdays ago). But usually I could’ve afforded this quite easily, so what’s the difference? Well, the past few months have been quite a drain on my finances. There was a short break (very short as it turns out), there was my car going in for an MOT and never coming out the other end, and there was a trip to a second hand car dealer. All these were, in one way or another, firsts for me. Each one made me walk away significantly lighter in the pocket and with the feeling that someone somewhere was not my BFF. The former and the latter also made me question when it became OK to lie to people in order to get money.
A metaphor, not the real place
Firstly, during February half-term, we decided a little break was in order. We decided to miss the place we normally go, a beautiful apartment in a converted farmhouse in Swaledale, and head over to the Lake District for a couple of nights. Some nice food, some good walks and some great scenery were just the tonic we needed after our both having hectic times at work. But, what we needed most was a bit of rest in the middle of nowhere and to get away from it all. Unfortunately, we chose to stay at Hawkrigg Guest House in Bowness. If you want to know the full story, you can click on the previous link.
The owner’s mum, who helped with breakfast, was apologetic. She was shocked that “someone from the village” had left their dogs locked in the garden in freezing conditions. She promised to get to the bottom of it (yet didn’t need the number I’d been calling at 3 in the morning). She offered us a bacon sarnie and a bottle of cava. We declined. She said she’d spoken to the owner and we were promised – we were promised – our deposit back. So, tired and grumpy, we left, feeling far worse than we did when we’d arrived.
After a few days, I got in touch with booking.com, through whom we’d booked, asking where our refund was. They told me to call Hawkrigg – but Hawkrigg, it appears, no longer answer the phone. They said they’d look into it. They called me back to say that they couldn’t get through as no-one was answering the phone. A week later, we got an email. The owner was now saying she never promised us a refund: our refusal to pay was now her generous gesture of compensation. Unhappy, I contacted them again; the same reply. Again and again and again I went to booking.com who went to Hawkrigg who said I was lying. Finally, we got an email about 5 or 6 weeks after our disastrous stay: she would’ve refunded the deposit but we’d smoked in the room and the £50 was to cover ‘fumigation’ costs. I stopped emailing then. Not because I was guilty (yes, we smoke, but in non-smoking establishments we go outside, just like we do at friends’ houses and just as we do at home, choosing to not smoke in our own house), but because I was taken aback: how could someone lie like that? How can you reason with someone, how can you hold someone to account, how can you appeal to the better nature of someone who is willing to lie to get out of repaying money owed? It made me wonder: when did it become OK to lie, and when did it become OK to steal?
- 8 – Thou shalt not steal
- 9 – Thou shalt not bear false witness
You see, this blog is really about my naivety. Someone promised to return money and they lied and then they made up more lies. And I was shocked. I’m even invoking religion, which is pretty clear on this issue. That’s pretty naive. The last refuge of the desperate man. However, religions’ laws are simply natural laws (in my opinion) which are needed to move out of anarchy and into civilisation, and that’s why people made them up / gods gave them unto us. We’ve got to live by these rules or a small number of people get all the wealth, power and success and everyone else picks up crumbs with iron boots hanging above them like swords of Damocles, but which drop at the whim of the powerful few and not the powerful masses. By not giving me my money, by lying about our stay, by cheating us, Hawkrigg shocked me because the lies were so blatant, so in-your-face, so exasperatingly deceptive; it wasn’t a bending of the truth or something I could brush off as a misunderstanding: it was a lie. A lie created solely to deprive me of money. I know people behave like that, but I expect it from people who are on the breadline or on heroin. When a guesthouse owner behaves like a smack-head, something, surely, is wrong, isn’t it?
A few weeks back, my car failed its MoT. It couldn’t have failed more if it’d exploded and spread weaponised smallpox across the garage during the emissions test. It was gone, defunct, an ex-car. I had occasion to, for the first time in my life, go second hand car shopping. Now you’ll see why this blog is really a window into my naivety.
The first place we went, I took out a car for a test drive. After ½ a mile it overheated, ordered me to stop and wouldn’t go more than 300m without boiling. We ended up ditching it and walking back to the forecourt. We left.
The second place we went was Hillside Motorhouse near Wilsden. The bloke seemed great, seemed trustworthy and – oh my God, this is really how naive I am – when he said that he had a ‘great runner’, I believed him. The car was old but appeared to have been loved and taken care of, just as I’d been promised. I liked it; I bought it.
I filled it with petrol, drove it home and was pretty pleased with my first car (my last was a hand-me-down). The next morning, I set off for work. After 20 miles, it broke down. Badly.
The RAC man said that a poor repair job to the cooling system and a major oil leak, coupled with the disconnection of the oil and temperature lights, had ‘cooked the head’ (whatever that means). A tow to the garage later, with promises that it would all be sorted, a courtesy car whilst a replacement car for me could be sought, and satisfaction guaranteed.
I paid £25 changing the insurance; I paid £50 filling the first car; I paid £50 getting the tow to the garage; I paid £60 getting insurance for the courtesy (?) car.
A few days later, he’d found me a car. I drove it, it seemed fine but I was wary. However, I needed a car. It was better than other: a bit newer, in better nick and, I was promised – promised – a much more reliable car than the one that broke after 20 miles. Over a barrel, I said I’d take it. We went to do the paper work. He tried to charge me an extra £400. I refused. He got annoyed because he’d put a lot of time into finding me this car.
Grudgingly, he offered me my money back… for the car alone. The petrol, the insurance, the tow were nothing to do with him and I should stand that cost. I remonstrated with him but he became upset: I should feel sorry for him, it appeared, because he’d lost out on that first car.
This is how naive I am: a second hand car dealer who seemed genuinely nice was, in fact, just bothered about money and was happy to sell lemons as long as he made money off them. As I write this, I feel stupid. But what a horrible thing to feel sorry for. I feel sorry and ashamed and silly and foolish and stupid… because I trusted someone, because I believed someone, because I believed that I would and could be treated fairly.
Naive or not, there’s something wrong when I feel stupid for trusting someone, isn’t there?
And that’s the crux of the problem: it’s now OK to rip people off. I should feel stupid for trusting someone because, increasingly it seems to me, we live in a world where it’s OK to cheat and lie and steal, we live in a place where greed is good and everyone looks out for number 1. I feel stupid right now because I didn’t play by the rules: I expected someone to be better than thoroughly selfish. I feel stupid and naive because I expected decency and honesty; I am stupid and naive because I expect decency and honesty.
Has life always been like this? Has it always been the case that you simply can’t trust people? Do I dream of a Golden Age which has never truly existed and could never really exist?
Maybe I am, but I’m not so sure that it’s ever been OK, morally, legally or otherwise, to lie and cheat and steal so blatantly. I was a child of the 80s, so I didn’t understand Mrs T’s ‘greed is good’ era. Today, I read 
of cheats and liars and people doing anything for profit all the time: Craft buys Cadburys and closes factories; Vodaphone, Boots and many more set up tiny HQs in tax havens to avoid literally £billions in tax; government advisers sign royalties over to spouses to avoid tax or are paid 
through companies to avoid National Insurance; Walkers crisps is owned in Luxembourg and HP Sauce is made in Holland. All this, to me, is deception. Is Barclays’ tax avoidance (which may now be classed as evasion) by 
fiddling the books anything other than theft? Is Walkers crisps’ recipe being held abroad for tax purposes, so that every time a crisp in Leicester is made the majority of the profit is spirited away, anything other than lying?
So, if the little people are doing it and the big people are doing it, why aren’t I? I am stupid, naive and foolish because I expect to pay a fair price for a fair product and for the government to take a fair share of any transaction in order to look after me should I fall sick, fall victim to a crime or fall out of a job. I am stupid, foolish and naive because I expect more than the most base from others. I am foolish, naive and stupid because I expect to be treated with dignity, honesty and respect.
So, I left without more than a verbal promise of monies owed; I was sold a lemon by a second hand car dealer; I try to avoid British products from British companies which do more for the governments of Ireland, Holland, Luxembourg, the Cayman Islands or a thousand other places:… do you think me stupid? foolish? naive? Probably. But, on reflection, I’m happy with that. You see, I expect more of people and try my best to live up to my own expectations, rather than down to theirs. If you meet me, I hope you’ll find me honest, if stupid; trustworthy, if naive; and unselfish, if foolish. And I expect the same of you. Please, please, don’t let me down.
Those of you who follow me on Twitter know my proclivity for retweeting photos of Bradford in all its glory, and using the hashtag #hiddenBD.
The hashtag was thought up by the amazing @HiddenBradford team (one of my Bradford Cultural Pirates and an amazing bunch of tweeters). It’s there to highlight the hidden gems of Bradford & District, particularly photos of our wonderful area.
Marsha Singh, Bradford West’s long-serving MP, stood down earlier this month due to ill-health. It was met with sadness from some and relief from others. For one person, though, Singh’s resignation was seen as an opportunity: George Galloway.
Shortly after the news, Galloway tweeted “By-Election in Bradford. Interesting.” Without any real investigation or research into the ward itself, the problems facing the constituents or the issues he’d campaign on, Galloway seemed to have made up his mind. So, like him, I’ll do what most voters do: I’ll not research my prospective MP, picking up bits in the local rag and on the grapevine, read the campaign flyer, and make my mind up using the thoughts, opinions and feelings I have about the prospective MP and his party.
Galloway’s an interesting person. “Interesting.” A Labour stalwart, he left the government over the war in Iraq and began Respect: his party… with no seats. He moved from his Glasgow seat to fight for and win Bethnal Green and Bow in 2005, but was not elected to Poplar and Limehouse in 2010’s general election. But we know him most from his meeting with the “indefatigable” Saddam Hussein, in which he toadied and linguistically licked the brutal dictator, showering him with praise. His politics are proudly socialist and he is a consistent and vocal opponent of the right, be that the Tories or the right / centre flank of the Labour Party. He’s spoken out against the British and Falkland Islanders’ position on the Falkland Islands and supports giving them to Argentina – and has said so a lot, with my best recollection being totally outdone on “10 O’Clock Live” by a journalist and a comedian. Oversees, he is vehemently against the western involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan, was so against the support of rebels in the Arab Spring uprisings, and would be totally against any moves to against Iran, Syria or anywhere else. It’s here where I begin to struggle with Galloway’s “Interseting” remark.
Bradford is being asked “Why George Galloway for MP?” but maybe we should be asking “Why has George Galloway chosen Bradford West?” The swiftness of his response, without research, suggests he has some pre-conceived ideas about Bradford that would suit him and give him a reasonable chance of success. Bradford is a Labour stronghold, and the Independent Labour Party was started here. British Socialism was born and bred in the Industrial North. So, maybe, that’s why: he sees Bradford as a political and socialist breeding ground where the next movement can take hold and take off. However, Bradford has a high proportion of Muslims compared to other areas and cities. Muslims have been shown to be far more vocal in their opposition to the wars in the Middle-East, and there are groups based here in support of Palestine. George Galloway has been a vocal supporter of the Palestinian cause. Could it be that Galloway will campaign on foreign relations to garner the support of all Bradfordians who want to see our boys home, and on his position on Palestine? Yesterday, at the opening of the wonderful City Park, many of the prospective MPs’ campaigns were out in force; Galloway’s campaign team were flying the Palestinian flag. Galloway believes in the Palestinian cause and the Iraqis’ and Afghans’ right to self-determination, as do I and as do many, even most, people in Bradford; however, did he simply choose us because, without doing a second of research or asking a single question, pick Bradford because he assumed we’d be with him on this? Once he believed that he’d have support and a people who’d give him a voice on this / these complicated issues, did he jump headfirst into the mirror pool? The flip side, though, is to say, “A place with a large number of people who agree with my core beliefs is Bradford, ergo I’ll try to get elected in Bradford and represent a large number of people.” Maybe that’s not so wrong. But is he doing this for Bradfordians, doing it for Palestinians or doing it for himself?
He is, though, in touch with local issues, and his tirade against local, regional and national government incompetence over the Odeon forced the other candidates to take a stand. If you don’t know about the Odeon fiasco, read BORG’s report here. Finally, we have someone talking the Odeon up, and forcing other people to do so, too. He understands we’re poor and that we need jobs; he understands that we’re big but underfunded; he understands that we need investment. He’s making all the right noises about the local economy and the history and the people.
But what about George Galloway the person? Surely, the most dangerous place to be in Bradford at the moment is between Galloway and a camera. Is it unfair to suggest he’d do anything to get on TV? I don’t think so. He was one of the few people the media could dredge up to talk about the Falkland Islands from a pro-Argentine stance so got his oxygen there. He’s done the rounds on satirical TV numerous times, and I’ve never been impressed. The ’10 O’Clock Live’ performance was just the latest in a long line of his appearing to be an intellectual lightweight when it comes to heavy discussions. What I can’t abide, though, was his appearance on ‘Celebrity Big Brother’. Could there be a show that does more to highlight and celebrate the worst of TV and society? And for his complicity in that, and his paw-licking, vomit-inducing performance, he should be reviled. The motives of anyone who goes on CBB must be questioned, so I wonder why Galloway has come to Bradford. Surely, it must be for the benefit of Galloway himself.
If Galloway has come to Bradford to serve himself rather than to serve Bradford, he’s nothing more than a parasite: he latches on to a host, feeds on it, then disappears once he’s had his fill and the host can nourish him no more. And that’s what I worry about. Will George Galloway, MP for Bradford West, spend all his time on issues that don’t affect Bradfordians every day? Will George Galloway MP be in it entirely for George Galloway? Will George Galloway MP improve the reputation of Geroge Galloway, increase the amount of airtime given to George Galloway and allow George Galloway to become a bigger presence on the political stage whilst doing nothing for Bradford? It’s this that makes me worry.
If I’m not to vote for Galloway, then who should I vote for? The problem is in the opposition. A vote for George Galloway is a vote for someone you know, or t
hink you know: someone you’ve heard of. The alternative, though, is a vote for a party rather than an indivisual, because the other candidates are nobodies when compared to Gorgeous George. The Labour guy was born and bred in Bradford West, so in this Labour heartland, he’d seem a shoo-in; however, he’s ‘served’ on Bradford Council and this is no ringing endorsement, what with the derision with which our local government is held. The Tory is from Burley-in-Wharfedale, and you can’t get many areas as different to each other as Burley and Bradford West, so can she represent us? Labour and the Tories have done little for Bradford other than oversee its decline. We haven’t been as troubled by this recession only because we never got out of the last one, and the Con-Dem cuts are now starting to hurt us more than most because we’re so reliant on the public sector. The Democratic Nationalist looks like he’s stolen his manifesto from Al Murray and would cheerfully vote for The Pub Landlord for PM. The Lib-Dems? The Greens? UKIP? Pass.
So, can we vote for anyone except George Galloway? The person I’ve described above is a media-whore, a parasite, a self-interested career politician who bizarrely prefers the glare of the camera to the benches of Parliament. If you’ve read this far then you probably agree with me. George’s fans, I expect, will have sworn and moved on long ago. But they’ll miss this: I’m voting for George!
The other parties offer the same old rubbish tarted up with a different coloured rosette. Galloway offers us something far more important: the media. I worry that Galloway’s only in this for himself… but which politician isn’t? I don’t trust George Galloway… but I can’t trust any politician. The trick we have to pull off is to make the relationship less parasitic and more symbiotic. Galloway offers us a national platform. The media will listen to Galloway, or at least give him his on-screen high, more than they ever would Marsha Singh or any of the other candidates. He can put the spotlight back on Bradford. Even when we’ve had high-flying politicians, cabinet and shadow cabinet ministers in Bradford, none were as media-hungry as George, none were as likely to be wheeled out in front of the cameras as George, and none had the sharp elbows, sharp tongue or sharp, wolfish morals that George has. We just have to use them as much as he’s using us; we have to ensure that whatever George Galloway gets out of being our MP, we get as much.
So, what do I want from George Galloway, Member of Parliament for Bradford West? I want him to care more about Heaton, Manningham and Frizinghall than he does for Palestine, Iraq and Afghanistan; I want him to do more for the Odeon than he does for Syria; I want him to serve Bradford every bit as much as he serves himself; I want him to make a maiden speech on the troubles in our city centre rather than those in the West Bank. I want George Galloway to be my MP.
I started with a question: Is George Galloway gorgeous, gregarious or ghastly, and the truth is he’s all those things. The ghastly things I dislike, the media-hungry, self-serving, self-politicising desperation to be seen and heard, are exactly why Bradford could find him gorgeous. We need someone with a big mouth, and there are few mouths that can compare to Gorgeous George’s.
On Thursday, we have a chance to show the Tories and Labour and Lib-Dems that if they won’t do anything for us, we won’t do anything for them. On Thursday, I’m voting for George Galloway because he’s the only candidate that can give Bradford what it needs and deserves: a voice on the national stage.
With ‘Make Bradford British’, Channel 4 put a spotlight on Bradford and the whole country watched. Many people have given their opinions, and all the ones I’ve read have been more thoughtful, interesting and eloquent than mine. So, I won’t bother. What I will do, though, is ask: What’s next?
Channel 4 held up a mirror to Bradford and we looked. Did you like what you saw? Did you see yourself? Are you happy just to let it carry on? I’m not.
The council said there was ‘fury’ but, from most people I’ve spoken to, there was ‘Umm, yeah. That’s about right’. The first part of ‘Make Bradford British’ painted quite a true picture of what I see Bradford as being. There was a lack of understanding between different cultures; more striking was the lack of understanding between different ages, social classes and geographical areas. There was a lack of mixing between cultures and a lack of mixing between geographical areas and social classes. However, there was a desire to make things better, to understand and to try to do something: that’s the Bradford I know. That’s the Bradford that can come out after Channel 4 has gone and taken with it the gaze of a nation.
The problem is, I’m nobody. I’m not an elected official, a multi-millionaire, a community leader or a gifted writer. I’m just an ordinary Bradfordian, probably just like you. So, what can I do?
Twitter – #MakeBradfordBritish
The first thing I will try is to sell the city I love whilst we’re in the spotlight. During the second part, I’ll be trying to get people’s attention through Twitter. I’m going to use my twitterfeed to post pictures, stories and positive remarks about Bradford. And there’ll be people who scoff and people who make rude remarks, but I’ll ignore them. Why? Because I know how lucky I am to live here, to be here, to experience Bradford every day. I’ve got a great house at a great price with great neighbours; I’ve got top class sport, first class museums & galleries, and culture coming out of my ears; I can be in the middle of it all, in the middle of nowhere or the middle of a World Heritage site within minutes; I’ve got art, architecture and cuisine that’d make a hedonist blanche; I can be in the vibrant city in 5 minutes, in the beautiful country in 10 and, if I want, on a plane to another country in 20. And I already tell the world about it.
When the country gathers around the TV’s warming glow, and turns on its twitterfeed to create a written record of its inner monologue, it’ll find me, tapping away, pushing pictures and positive messages into its face, each one celebrating the city I love.
Word of Mouth
I’m ready: whenever I’m asked in the future, which I will be, to comment on the programme and how bad Bradford is, I’m ready to tell them how foolish they are to believe everything they see on TV. I’ll tell them of visits to the theatres, of the night-life, of the restaurants and wildlife, and all the things that other cities would give their right arms for. Will I convince them? Some, maybe, but I won’t let them walk away without me telling them exactly what I think of their ideas and how they’ve formed them based solely on bad jokes, purposefully bad shot selection by the media, and bad recollections of TV news of a riot that’s now a decade dead.
When people ask me where I’m from, I’ll tell them: I’m from Bradford and I love it! I’ll tell them of places, people and experiences they’ve never had and never will have if they sit slumped in their sleepy cities. I’ll tell them why I love my city. I’ll get ‘em telt!
Support Bradford’s Positive Influences
I wrote a post the other week about how I was impressed by Bradford’s people and organisations who were taking the bull by the horns and changing Bradford for the better. You can read it here. They’re the ones who are changing Bradford and are building it in to the city we all deserve. They’re the ones who’ll bring back the people from Bingley and Keighley to the city centre, who’ll attract people from Leeds and Manchester to the district, and people from all over to our little but lovely corner of the world. I’m going to support them, through spreading their messages, going to their events and giving them thanks & encouragement for their efforts. I don’t have their imagination, creativity or flair, so I can’t be one of them… but I can make sure that I let everyone I know that they are great, they are wonderful and they are Bradford.
Changing Me
I might be nobody, but I am Bradford. Bradford’s made up of people just like me and if I can change me, just a little bit, maybe others will too. I can make Bradford a little better, and so can you, and so can all of us. If we all change, just a little bit, the whole city, the whole district will change for the better.
I’m going to make sure I don’t shy away from meeting new people with a different heritage, culture or geography to mine. I’m going to ask them about them, and get to know the people with whom I share a home a little better. I’ll not assume that we have little to give each other because we wear different clothes, speak with different accents or in different languages, eat different foods, live in different places and live different lives. I’ll look for the similarities rather than the differences. I’ll make sure that I don’t choose to be segregated and that I do enjoy the company of others.
Channel 4 held up a mirror and, in some ways, I saw myself. I certainly saw my city in the reflection. I could’ve got angry and I could’ve got upset but where would that have left me? Unhappy and angry and in the same place I was a couple of weeks ago. I’d rather try something different and change the city I love, just a little bit, just a tiny bit, so it’ll get even better, even greater. I’ll change people’s perceptions of Bradford, whether they’re from Ilkley, Islington or Iceland, one person at a time, impressing upon them what a culturally rich, socially vibrant city it is. I’ll change me. I’ll make sure I’m a better neighbour and I’ll listen to the people who share my city, and I’ll share myself with them.
If you, me and everyone in Bradford changes just a little, imagine what a city we could be… together.
If you’d like to join me in changing, just a bit, to make Bradford better, just a bit, please leave a comment below and maybe a few more of us will follow your example.
Is Bradford turning a corner? Is it on its way up and away? Is Bradford changing and growing and becoming what’s been promised for too long? I believe so. Together, we can change people’s views of Bradford, we can change what people think of our city, and we can change Bradford into what we want and what we deserve our city to be.
The Bad
Ages ago I wrote how disappointed, angry and upset I was with Bradford, particularly the council (see Bradford – A Rudderless Ship Stuck in a Mire of Bad Publicity). A Joseph Rowntree Foundation report had just lambasted Bradford… particularly the council. The council’s response was uninspiring tosh, basically blaming the researchers for researching and publishing their findings. Crap! But I did what too many of us do, be we British, English or, especially, Bradfordian: I moaned. Did I have a right to? Yes. Did I offer solutions? Modestly, if at all. Well, I hope this might redress the balance, and it’s my fervent hope that you’ll go away after reading this post and do something, no matter how small, to support Bradford and the Bradfordians who are supporting our city. I want you to cheer for the mutineers, the pirates, who have taken over the ship and are turning it against the tide and towards a bright and sunny island.
Perhaps our biggest problem is getting people in the district to look closer to home. Bradford city centre has problems. Despite the wonderful City Park (which I shamefully rubbished – it is beautiful!) and attempts to enliven it with street performers and Fabric’s artists’ shop, people of Keighley, Bingley, Ilkley and the like could spend only slightly more money and time on the train to get to Leeds. And, let’s face it, why wouldn’t they? Particularly at the higher end, Leeds offers greater choice and better facilities, and we must act to stop people choosing Leeds over Bradford. Telling people how great Bradford is when we’re on holiday is one thing, but we also need to do it whilst at work and play, making sure we sell the city to our neighbours and friends who haven’t come into town for years.
The Ugly
I’ve admitted that what I said may have been justified but it wasn’t helpful. But I’m not the only one, and I’m by no means the worst. I’m tired and thoroughly sick of people talking Bradford down, and it hurts most when Bradfordians do it. Chieftains of these are the commenters on the Telegraph & Argus website: the blinkered, bigoted, pessimistic shit they shovel never ceases to amaze and disappoint; the swiftness with which they can turn a story on any subject, no matter how sanguine, into a diatribe on the contemptible state of my city never ceases to astound and dismay. Distressingly, I’m so angered I can’t even pity the sad fools who spend day after day, hour after hour, sat alone tippy-tapping, whinging and whining about a city they can’t love, won’t visit and shouldn’t be allowed to discuss. I could repeat their vile diatribes; I could repeat their invectives ad nauseum; I could, but I won’t. I refuse! I’ll do it my way and kill them with kindness by making sure, from now on, I comment on the T&A’s positive stories with positive reactions and, if you join me, we’ll be on our ship and sailing away whilst we leave them buggers to drown.
The Good
Maybe I’m just finding people who are and always have been pro-Bradford, but I believe there are more and more of us about… and, unlike me, they’re doing something tangible about it. In my search for culture, I’ve come across more and more and more of these people: they are the movers, the shakers and, above all, the do-ers of Bradford. They are here, they are wonderful, and they deserve our support.
Here’s a small selection of people you should seek out, pat on the back and say, ‘Thank you!’ My list is not exhaustive by any means, and if you or someone you know should be on here, then please – PLEASE – let me know and I’ll add them and get to know them and do what little I can to publicise the great work they’re doing for our city.
@HiddenBradford and #hiddenBD – For tweeters, this list and this account are must follows. “Sharing the hidden gems of the city and district”, @HiddenBradford share events, photos and stories which bathe our city in a warm, nourishing light. They began the #hiddenBD hashtag to allow others to tweet and retweet the jewels in our city’s crown to the world. If you do anything I suggest, please do this: pick one thing, one photo, one story which shows your love for our Bradford and share it using #hiddenBD.
Fabric – Fast becoming Bradford’s cultural engine room: they list events, provide courses, give artists a leg up and seek out new and exciting talent… and much, much more. Make sure you take a look at what’s on offer! If you want to make, see or experience art in Bradford, Fabric must be your first call!
Theatre in the Mill, Paper Zoo and Bradford Theatres– Theatre in the Mill is part of University of Bradford, and offers a huge and diverse range of performances with a more avant-garde bent. The performances they put on are exciting and unusual, but that shouldn’t put you off – visit their What’s On Guide and try something different for a change. I know you’ll find something you’ll be so glad you saw you’ll come back again and again. Paper Zoo theatre company was born and bred inBradford. Created by alumni ofBradfordCollege’s Acting BTEC back in 2005, they’ve gone from strength to strength. Now putting on up to three productions a year, and giving young actors their first taste of performing and touring, they were commissioned by the National Media Museum to stage Orwell’s 1984, and tempted John Hurt, who played Winston Smith on the big screen, to be Big Brother himself. Whilst I haven’t been to a production, a quick question to those who have reveal that Paper Zoo is a brilliantBradfordinstitution… and I’ll be seeing them this year! Bradford Theatres website brings together the council owned and run theatres in Bradford city centre: The Alhambra, St George’s Hall and The Studio. There’s loads on offer, from comedians and bands to plays and ballet. Don’t think you have to go far to see household names or up-and-coming talent: it’s right here on your doorstep.
How Do and Bradford Buzz – Both these titles are new and exciting. How Do is both paper and online, and is an exciting mix of forthcoming events, reviews and places to go in and around the city, with a smattering of poetry and the written word to delight readers. Bradford Buzz is online and brings together Bradford’s increasing number of bloggers, reviewers and thought-sharers who tell you just what they think of what’s going on in Bradford.
Positive Bradford – A collective of businesses, artists, web-aficionados and everyday lovers of Bradford who want to showcase and show off Bradford’s best. Their motto, “We know the real Bradford and we are proud of it,” resonates with those of us who love this city and want it to thrive. They organised 2011’s hugely successful Positive Bradford Day, and I’m sure 2012’s PDD will be even better.
National Media Museum – The most popular museum outside London and with a cornucopia of great reasons. The number of Bradfordians I’ve spoken to who have been to NMM – on a school trip decades ago and never since – is unbelievable. They haven’t stood still, you know! NMM is exciting, fascinating and enthralling in equal measure, and it needs our support lest we lose it to another city. And it’s not just the museum: the films they show range from current blockbusters (in very plush surroundings) to the greatest cinematic treats since Chaplain was a little boy. I’m not a great lover of going t’flicks, but seeing Batman and Harry Potter 3D in the IMAX just about changed my mind. The cost of a seat’s less than a multiplex and is ploughed straight back into improving, developing and enriching the museum.
Bradford Music Collective and Bradford Gig Listings – Music is the form of culture most people find most accessible, and the Bradford Music Collective brings together many of the city’s live music venues to showcase their wares and advertise their events. Bradford Gig Listings is a one-stop-shop of all the district’s live music events – if you want to hear a band, from a cappella to ZZ Top tribute, BGL’s the place to look.
Bradfordia and Bradford 365 – Bradfordia is a new blog solely commenting on Bradford city centre, especially retail, footfall and its look. If you are want to know how the city centre’s developing, what’s happening, and what should be done, Bradfordia’s the place to find out. Bradford 365 gives you reasons to love our city, mixing tales from the past, current events and photos of in and around Bradford. Showing Bradford’s best in 365 ways… and more.
The Council – OK, I may have suggested they couldn’t distinguish their arses from their elbows with a map, a diagram and a torch, but they do get some things right. The City Park is shaping up to be great and looks fantastic. As the memory of those months with a torn up city receding, it only gets better. And there’s more. The Council provides guided walks around our beautiful, exasperating scenery and the district’s bandstandsare in use all over the summer, with brass, classical and jazz singing out in the summer months. A highlight of last year was Jazz & Curry at Robert’s Park, and I hope I’ll see you there this year. There are also a cornucopia of museums and galleries in the district, each of which contains a vast number of treasures, and each one is free. Check out the Museums & Galleries page for what’s here and special events around the district.
100 Objects Bradford - a great project which shares some of the most special items in the University of Bradford’s Special Collections. If we’re to know where we’re going, we need to know from where we’ve come; 100 Objects Bradford is bringing Bradford’s past to the world, and working with special collections and archivists from around the world to improve the ways in which we look after and highlight the past. Follow their blog to catch up on their 100 Objects.
Bradford Eye and Loosely Bound– Bradford Eye brings together the most fantastic photos of our district, both contemporary and from yesteryear. A wonderful site which showcases Bradford and Bradfordians. Loosely Bound is a new, exciting collective on zine makers. Coming from all over Yorkshire, but based in Bradford, Loosely Bound formed at, and continue to work with, Fabric, and create personal, photographic, craft and visual arts zines. I’m excited about Loosely Bound’s Zine Extravaganza at Fabric’s art space on 24th March. Will I see you there?
If I’ve missed you or someone you think should be here, please leave me a comment and I’ll add them. It’s not a slight but an oversight which I’m very, very happy to correct.
I hope that I’ve inspired you to do something, to go somewhere and to see what’s on offer but, most of all, I hope I’ve inspired you to tell people from near and far that there’s more to Bradford than they think, that it’s beautiful and interesting and culturally rich, and that you love it!
What happens when cultures collide over the most innocent of things? How would you feel if someone refused your hand for religious reasons? How should I feel and what should I do in future? Your comments and advice are gratefully received.
We have a new family on the street and, as we’re a lovely bunch on our road, we’ve made sure to make them feel welcome, just as we did for our new nextdoor neighbour and our neighbours did for us. It makes me happy to instill in others the love and pride I have and we share for our little road.
We live in Shipley / Frizinghall, and it’s not the most salubrious of locations: the postcode, ward and constituency facts and figures show it’s an area of low income & low education and high-ish unemployment & high-ish crime, but it is, by no means, an awful place to live. Our road, though, is an oasis, as everyone comments when they come to visit or move on to the road. Despite living near three busy roads, our houses are sheltered from the hustle, bustle and noise that others just around the corner cannot escape, and our well-kept yards and cultivated gardens are a source of escape and pride. Another thing that’s at odds with those on other streets around us is that our new neighbours are only the second British-Asian family on the street.
I’ve seen the man of the house many times as he’s been carefully and diligently renovating the house, making it habitable for his young family, and I’ve often stopped to say hello and have a chat, as have many of my neighbours; indeed, he commented, tongue in cheek, the other day that he reckoned they’d have moved in a couple of months earlier if we hadn’t been so friendly. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his Bradford accent, pride for the area, and pedigree of living in houses within about three miles of here all his life showed that he’s a Bratfud lad, just like me.
His two daughters have been rushing up and down the street all summer, getting to know the other kids round here and loving that they can now ride and run and play without the worry or inconvenience of traffic. At first, they were scared of our dog, Jess. Jess is a Staffordshire bullterrier, so is victim of bad press – no-one seems to remember that they are nicknamed ‘the nanny dog’ for very, very good reason and love children (though she couldn’t eat a whole one –haha. Erm, actually, she could). So, patiently and over weeks, I spoke to them about Jess and they’ve moved on from fear, to saying hello, to patting her through the gate, to giving her treats. Now, they call for her to see if she’s playing out – I kid you not! – and we’ll hear them shouting for her by name whilst they have no idea what
we’re called.
OK – I suppose you know why I’ve told you all this. What these anecdotes show is that I am not racist; I welcome people on to our road no matter what their colour or creed; I treat all the kids, all the adults, all the people on our road the same. I’ve done it jovially, to show I’m a nice guy, and I’ve demonstrated that I havebeen nothing less than a good neighbour. Now we all know this, can I tell you about something that happened the other day?
The new guy (I’m purposefully not using his name and consciously not giving him a moniker) was in the street looking at his garden. It’s overgrown because whilst he’s been working on the house, they’ve been living elsewhere and, of course, the house came first. Now they’re in, they’re looking at what to do with the garden. I went up to see how they were getting on and he said he didn’t know what to do with the jungle he was staring at. I told him what the previous owner did, to give him an idea of what he could do, and offered to give him a bit of a tour of ourgarden, to give him ideas. He beamed! He beamed just as I had when a neighbour had done the same for us. He said, “My wife would love to grow some veg,” and, at that minute, out came his wife from the yard. I shoved my hand in her direction and grinned, “Hi, we’ve not met. I’m John,” as I stepped towards her. That’s when something odd happened:
I’m not sure she recoiled, but in my memory, maybe she did. She stepped back – is that recoiling? The guy jumped in and explained that, “My wife can’t shake your hand. It’s a religious thing.” He insisted I shook his hand to show we were friends and that it was not intended to cause offense, but a religious observance. I said I had no problem with it (I’m not sure that I was truthful; I was certainly confused) and we walked up and into my garden. The bloke and I chatted about veg and plants and weeds and greenhouses; his wife followed at a distance, and anything I said that might be of immediate interest to her, he raised his voce to repeat. She never spoke. She never spoke to me. She left after a bit of a wander without thanks or even acknowledgement.
Me and the guy carried on chatting for ages – about half an hour. I told them what we’d done with garden, how we’d planned it and why we’d done this and chosen not to do that. After a while, his daughters and nephews, after the girls had introduced the boy to Jess, wandered up and I showed them how to select and pick the best, ripest apples, which they ate straight from the tree (they are not observing Ramadan yet). When I could, I asked the bloke about his wife’s not shaking my hand, and wondered if it was just during the holy month, but no. He again reassured me that it was not me, was not intended to cause offence, was not personal, but ‘a religious thing’. He said that his wife would happily talk to Sharon, but not me. He seemed to want to close that part of the conversation and I felt it rude to press, but I had questions.
Anyway, we carried on talking about veg and, at that point, Sharon came out with a bag of apples, potatoes and courgettes from the garden. He beamed again. With Sharon, we talked of recipes and what to do with each, and told him that, anytime, he could take rosemary from our bush to roast with the potatoes, and told him, simply, see what you buy and try growing that. He grinned when we told him of our success growing coriander – “Great! If it’s not got coriander in it, it’s not a proper meal,” he said. We said our first or
second goodbyes (very British – why must we say goodbye 3 or 4 times before leaving) with an apology – “I’m so sorry. We’re talking about food and you must be starving!” He said it was no problem, and then I asked about how he was finding fasting in the summer. He told me of 4am feasts before getting back to bed with a full stomach, but of the joy of breaking the fast in the evening. So, two or three goodbyes later, and an offer to wander round the garden or inspect the herb patch any time, off he went.
So, I’ll get to the main reason for this, and I could’ve been quicker at getting to this point, but then you wouldn’t know what a good non-racist neighbour I am, and might have thought this was just to an Ooh, aren’t they weird? post which accompanies any and every article on the T&A website which mentions race. I hope it doesn’t come across like that!
How should I feel about the lady of the house refusing to shake my hand or speak to me?
Of course, I had an immediate reaction – I think I panicked and worried that I’d done something wrong; should I not have offered my hand in friendship? I also had later thoughts as I mulled it over. Is it wrong that she reacted like that? Whose ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ had been transgressed? Why can’t she speak to me? Is it because I’m not a Muslim? Does she see me as less than her? Is it because I’m a man? Does she see me as a threat? Does she see me as less than her or her as less than me? I think the main thing is, I was offended by her reaction and our cultures clashed. There is little that a civilized westerner can do that is worse than refusing an offered hand – think of how many times you’ve seen it on TV and in film, and how it jars, and how the would-be-shaker and refuser react, and how it sets up an entirely unequal relationship which is filled with animosity and screams These two are about to fight. The ‘hand of friendship’ is entwined in our language as a metaphor, based on the literal act of making welcome and introduction. To refuse it is, well, wrong. It’s rude. Refusing a handshake is designed to hurt. I know this because I’ve seen it so many times and I’ve been brought up to know that.
I know that her refusal was not intended to cause offence; I know that it is her religion and her culture which forbade her from shaking my hand. However, my culture says that we are equals and we cannot treat each other differently just because we are of different genders or religions or colurs; and my culture says it’s rude to refuse an offered hand.
So, what I’m saying is, how should I feel about this? I know some things. I know that I want to be friendly with them, but also that I don’t want to friendly with someone who thinks that I am less than them because of religion or more than them because of gender or inherently different to them for pretty much any reason dictated by mere geography or genetics. I know that, had the bloke refused to talk to Sharon or refused her hand, he’d have left my garden quickly and horizontally. I know that I want to understand why she couldn’t shake my hand, but I’m not sure I could agree with any reason for it. I know I’m
confused: I don’t really know what I think, what I should think or what’s ‘right’ and ‘wrong’.
Can you help me?
I’d be grateful for your thoughts here. I’d ask that you be gentle to me because I honestly don’t know.
Thanks Irna – :^)
