I Would Stab Your Mother, But I Definitely Wouldn't Mug You

13 September 2008

Today was probably the least uneventful day in the United Kingdom, relatively speaking. I rose early, and for only the second time in two weeks, I went to breakfast. Although the food wasn't anything too spectacular or too awful, it was pleasant to sit with Dwight and Ben and enjoy a meal together. Afterwards, I returned to my room, showered, trawled the Internet, and then Zack and I went to Subway for lunch. I know, I know that I'm in the United Kingdom and I should therefore spend my lunches at a English pub munching on bangers and mash, washing down the potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and Cumberland sausage with a pint of good English ale. Generally, I would be in agreement with you; and most days, I would greatly prefer such a repast. However, since today is a Sunday, most of the smaller local establishments are closed for the day.

Returning for a short while to the Arran House, Zack and I headed to Covent Garden where one of tour groups--in this case, our "politics and theatre" group which consisted of Meghan Blickman, Julieta, and Katie--was assembling before they began their tour. Their itinerary, I daresay, wasn't as ambitious as ours was yesterday; they stopped at five locations--the Royal Opera House, Drury Lane Theatre, Leicester Square, the Haymarket Theatre, and Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park--and for the first half, I think it safe to say that I really wasn't that impressed. Before the fourth (and penultimate) stop, the Haymarket Theatre, I was fully preparing to drop the hammer squarely on their skull. They tended to pause too long at their stops. They really didn't seem to divide the workload evenly among themselves. Julieta and Meghan dominated the conversation, and Katie seemed to accept whatever crumbs of "air time" she could get. I was irritated more than anything, feverishly scrawling notes in my moleskine just to make the time pass. It's definitely a weakness of mine, but if you don't impress me, I can't help it; I want to eviscerate you.

Fortunately, Meghan, Julieta, and Katie avoided such an unhappy fate, because at their final two stops, they really rallied together and seemed to address almost every grievance I had begun to nourish. The stops were not too long. They related things back to the topic matter with a greater degree of focus and clarity. Julieta and Meghan did not talk less than they had on the previous occasions, but Katie certainly contributed more to the dialogue. And of course, it didn't hurt that the final stop was Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park.

For the benefit of the uninitiated, the Speaker's Corner is an area at the northeastern corner of Hyde Park. It is near to the old site of the infamous "Tyburn Triangle," the site of hangings in London until the eighteenth century; and since 1855, it has been a place where practically any person may set up their soapbox--or their metal step ladder, as the case most commonly is nowadays--and declaim on any subject that they consider of importance. People of every creed, stripe, color, and political affiliation are represented. Walking from one end of the Corner to the other, you can hear the impassioned rhetoric of socialists, environmentalists, vegetarians, racists, Christian evangelicals, radical Muslims, secular humanists, conservatives, classical liberals, survivalists, anyone you can imagine.

Yet, it's remarkable not simply for the variety you see in the orators; as an American, it's fascinating because it is far more rough-and-tumble than your average cable news broadcast. Most speeches are punctuated with angry shouts of condemnation, feverish waving of the arms and hands, and profanity. Lots and lots of profanity. Audience members also will not hesitate to criticise anything to which they might take exception. For instance, we passed an elderly woman dressed rather like an Iowa housewife and with skin as white as the full moon who was declaring that God had accorded every race its respective homeland and that "useless foreigners" were risking His fiery judgment by coming to England, which, according to her, was reserved exclusively for the English nation. There was an extensive crowd standing before her, and most of them did not hesitate to lambaste every statement. I have to admit that I felt rather sorry for her, because most of her critics weren't interested in refuting her ideas--I presume, because they thought them so patently ridiculous--and were content to hurl insults at her. The old racialist tried to give as good as she got, but I'm ultimately glad to say that she met with limited success. The whole situation was far more confrontational in nature than we Americans are used to. It was far more direct, blunt, and visceral.

I have to own that it was also fascinating walking through Speaker's Corner and observing how many of the orators were Christian evangelicals. With the Scriptures raised aloft in their left hand, they were gesticulating as wildly and speaking as furiously as the Black Muslims to their left or the racist septugenarian across the way, declaring that the judgement of the Lord was drawing nigh. (Indeed, their rhetoric was so fierce and uncompromising that it would make John the Baptist, Savonarola, or even Jerry Falwell proud.) I say it was fascinating because it differed so radically from what I've seen of religion in the United Kingdom, which tends to far more sedate, intellectualised, and concerned with the crimes and outrages of the present life. Like a great hand had plucked them from the backhills of Tennessee, here they were foaming and frothing about Heaven and Hell, Christ the Everlasting Lord and Saviour, Judgement Day, and the evils of Islam. I don't want to say that it was something of a homecoming, because to do so would be to discredit so many men and women of faith whom I know also to be men and women of humanity; but it served to remind me that even in the midst of a profoundly secular society, there still was room for religious fanaticism.

Needless to say, I loved it and ending the tour there was a masterful stroke on the part of Julieta, Meghan, and Katie. I told them so after the fact, and I plan on repeating the compliment when I complete the evaluation form that Professor Rudalevige distributed at the beginning of the tour. Afterwards, I milled around the place with Dwight and Zack for a while before heading back to the Arran House. Dwight and I stopped along the way at the Sainsbury's Central on Tottenham Court Road where I bought a microwaveable dinner, two cans of Diet Coke, and a baton for three-pounds-forty-nine. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to congratulate myself on my thrift for too long because when we arrived back at the Hotel, Tamlyn informed us that due to the filthy condition of the kitchen this morning, our cooking privileges have been rescinded, which wouldn't be too tragic since we have a mere four days to go in London. But I'd hate it if I had to eat my money instead of the chilli con carne and rice I purchased tonight. Oh, well. There is hope, of course, as Tamlyn notified us that if we handed over the responsible parties, that would result in the restoration everybody else's privileges. We shall see if any of us can play stool pidgeon. Besides probably dining at a pub and working on journals then, there's not a great deal on the agenda tonight.

Oh, before I leave you all, I suppose that I should explain the title of this post. While we were walking through Speaker's Corner, Dwight and Zack heard an Afro-Carribean gentleman discussing the issue of racial violence. When the man was requested to provide an example by one of his audience members, he began to state, "Well, let's say if I was walking around and I was mugged by a Nigerian man..." Enter a very tall, very dark man from Nigeria. "What's going on?" He said (according to Zack and Dwight). The original man, of course, reiterated his main contention and then proceeded to resume his example of the Nigerian mugger. "I'm a Nigerian man," the newly arrived man interrupted soberly, "and I would stab your mother, but I definitely wouldn't mug you." Priceless. Absolutely priceless.