The Ragged Staff

My personal thoughts on the World and what's in it.

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  • State Secrets

    The Missing Piece in the British Curriculum

    When I was in school, a common complaint among my classmates was that all our hours spent before the board were unlikely to pay dividends in later life. I don’t support this argument in its entirety, though I’m willing to admit that it’s been a long time since I’ve had to factorise anything. For sixteen years I sat in classrooms, at a reasonably reputable school, and learnt to extract DNA using soap, to calculate the circumference of spheres and to name the chancellors of Margaret Thatcher. I believe that, had my life proceeded on a different route, these things may have been rendered useful at some time or other; alas, I instead became an adult, got jobs, left them, rented houses, voted in elections and put money aside for my eventual retirement, and no such opportunity arose to put those skills to use. In many ways, my choice to pursue a degree in Law, and my inborn interest in politics, economics and other areas of life which are conspicuously absent from the mainstream educational pathway have stood me in good stead to deal with many of the challenges which make up our daily lives. However, there are nevertheless times where, despite my relative expertise, I find myself having to devote further research to a question of law or fact which arises out of a mundane daily happening. It often occurs to me that, for the majority of the public, these issues would be something entirely new, requiring them to navigate a situation of great personal or financial significance without the benefit of prior knowledge, or even a familiarity with the relevant sources.

    I have long believed that the seedy, mistrusted reputation of the legal profession is a consequence of its relevance to the worst of human experiences. Most people will go through life without needing to instruct a lawyer, until the time comes when they face divorce, custody disputes, bereavement, dismissal from work, arrest or some other calamity, creating an indelible connection between these periods of misery and the professionals who step in to guide the ship (admittedly at a high rate of return to themselves). It’s only natural that a person who has paid over the odds to have their messy divorce mediated would carry a lasting, negative impression of the person who was enriched for merely sitting around the table. This, in the popular imagination, extends to the whole legal field, and to the very law itself, which is predominantly understood to be the reserve of snooty, pampered bureaucrats who lack a common language with the general population and live a life far removed from the average brit. There are doubtless cases where this reputation is deserved, but I would make the case that most people, through a failure of education, are not getting the full picture.

    Whether we realise it or not, the law is a pervasive thing; whether at the shops, at work, at school or in the voting booth, its reach extends far beyond courtrooms and police cells, and it underpins the very fabric of society. As much as divorce is associated in the public consciousness with the law and those who practice it, the act of marriage is fundamentally a legal procedure, the act of entering into a contract which requires consideration of each party’s position and the application of a set of legal rules. Doing the weekly shop is similarly an exercise in contract law, we sign legal documents throughout our lives without giving it a second thought. Even the relationships we have with neighbours and strangers are regulated by legal rules which are too often overlooked until the time has come where we must call in the lawyers. The purchasers of a house rely on professional conveyancers to warn them of issues which, down the line, will rear their head in the form of lasting disputes with next door; working, or being unable to work, both rest on a combination of contractual and legal rules which seem tedious until your livelihood is put at risk by them.

    My point here is that, despite the ubiquity of legal principles in daily life, the basic sources and operation of those rules is not well understood. Many times have I fielded questions from relatives and friends as to whether they have committed a crime, or can sue their employer for missed pay, or what their best course of action against a deadbeat landlord might be. We all have to grapple with these questions at some point in our lives, and yet most people reach that point with a base of knowledge on the subject which is worryingly limited. It’s often the case that the resources available to the general public are so limited, so confusing or so little known that they leave people with more questions than answers, especially given that, in reality, every case is going to differ from the boilerplate advice available online. So why is it, when that is the reality of modern life, that we make such little effort to lay the foundations of the required understanding at an early age?

    The issue of educating young people about taxes is so well trodden as to have become cliché, however I would expand this point to include also the basics of contract law, the constitution and employment and housing rights, all necessary subjects for a competent resident of our society. It’s true that some of these issues are given some face time through the ‘PSHE’, ‘Citizenship’ and ‘General Studies’ syllabi, but both the time spent, and the level of detail remain seriously lacking, and the level of consistency across the system is so poor as to render the whole exercise wasted. I personally, was taught a citizenship syllabus which mentioned, over the course of 3 or 4 hour long sessions, the basic premise of managing finances, the Westminster political system and applying for jobs. The same course, though, muddied the water by also being expected to cover issues like bullying, animal welfare, religion and other undoubtedly important issues, but no further detail on what it actually means to participate in political or economic life. This created an atmosphere within the classroom that the whole affair was an exercise in paying lip service to some minor areas of interest which, though potentially cropping up in the pub quiz, shouldn’t be taken too seriously. Consequently, we behaved poorly throughout and learnt even less than was actually being offered. Speaking to others of my generation, I can say with anecdotal confidence that much the same experience is being shared by the greater part of the comprehensive school population.

    Having since elected to study these areas in the detail they deserve, it truly alarms me that the basic provision being made by our schools is so frighteningly poor. These are issues of fundamental importance to each and every adult member of the system, and we are sending our children out into the world without a proper grounding in them. Of course, there are elective qualifications available in Law, Politics, Economics and others, particularly at A-Level, but these are not universally taught and, even in the schools where they can be taken, the number of students who choose them is relatively low. I would make a guess that this is, at least in part, because they have never been represented as being as important to future success as the sciences or languages. I concede that an A-Level in law has relatively little value on one’s CV, however school is supposed to be about more than mere grades on paper- this knowledge will be useful from our first jobs till it comes time to write wills, and after.

    The area of life which, I find, shows the folly most clearly, is when it comes to polling day. In (or before) 2029, we will step out to vote in probably the most consequential election in living memory, between a field of candidates with an unusually broad range of contradictory views, to decide the future of the country for a generation, one way or another. It is not unusual for the electorate to choose a candidate with big ideas, only for their policies to backfire unpredictably and leave people worse off than where they started. Look to Thatcher’s deregulatory zeal, Johnson’s manic approach to making deals, or the mission to nowhere which the SNP has hopelessly eked out over a generation. Taking part in democracy then, can be said to be innately something of a gamble, an act of faith that our decision will be a good one, and that if we appease the machinating gods of public discourse we might get to live in relative peace for another cycle. This, after all, is what most people truly want: a quiet life, where they can trust in the system to absorb their hard work and spit out low inflation and a healthy pension pot. The fact, though, is that our schooling routinely renders this seismic decision not merely a shot in the dark, but a wild swing at the pinata with one hand behind our backs, blindfolded in the dark with pins littered round our feet.

    It is not often necessary for people to truly understand the nature of the British constitution; in fact it is often said that nobody ever really can- it operates like a machine, fuelled by consensus and polite charm, and earth-shattering new ideas deeply unsteady it. I do not, therefore, expect the secondary school system to spit out class after class of Bagehot reading political theorists, but expecting people to hear out a class of professional advocate arguing their case for fiscal controls, immigration reform and tweaking the House of Lords, and make an informed, policy-centric choice requires that the listener have a grasp of what the slogans really mean. I would not expect a person who went through the same educational system as I did to be confident in their selection, so it’s no wonder that our system increasingly rewards a new, flashy sort of politics based more on media management and vibes than proposals for sound governance. The average person sadly is not enthused by electoral reform, because their education simply does not communicate that this is important.

    I am willing to accept, of course, that there are issues of greater and more immediate significance than public legal education, and that to most schoolchildren (and likely many adults) the whole idea would be groan-inducing.  I stand by the point, though, that a healthy step towards a strong democracy, a more engaged class of voter and a more trusting relationship to the invisible structures of power which influence our lives, can be taken by the introduction of a standardised, mandatory new syllabus, dedicated expressly to law, politics and democratic citizenship. Throw in some taxes as well, if you like.

  • The Search for Beauty

    Churchill, Van Gogh and My Walks with the Black Dog


    In most parts of life, familiarity is a precursor to confident expression. I have devoted my life up to this point to the study of law, politics and many minor incidentally interesting things which have come across my way. My passion for learning and inborn aptitude for holding such ideas in my mind has lent itself to eagerly sharing endless little details and long, complex stories which have bored my friends and family to no end. Having these long years of quiet reading and solitary thinking inside creates an unceasing need to get them out, to put them into the world and show that yes, I have thoughts on most any topic which might come up in the Great British Pub Chat, or that stumps the poor sweating game show finalist on Saturday night TV. A passion for knowing simply goes hand in hand with a passion for being known. 


    One of the most captivating things which has consumed my precious time to little real benefit has been the application of uniquely 21st Century medical diagnoses to major historical figures. A fraught exercise to be sure but one which, in my experience, can make some of the most impenetrably visionary minds of our collective past seem more human, more relatable. The idea that da Vinci might have had some combination of autistic spectrum disorder and ADHD makes more sense to me than the thought of a purely genius mind driven to frustration by the limitations of his time and unable to complete his great works only out of the mundane distraction of daily life. But who can say? Perhaps our tendency to label the genius of the past as neurodivergence is nothing more than a response to our own inferiority, our own incredulity that a person, living in a time of religious fanaticism and working against the tide of mainstream power politics could possibly produce something which even now, inspires more strong feelings than the computer- assisted masterpieces of our time. Putting aside the sceptic’s beige- coloured glasses for a heartbeat, I encourage the reader to think of their own struggles. I find that, anecdotally at least, some of my greatest inspirations have hit me at times of real darkness in my life. Perhaps the same is true for you; certainly a pattern emerges which connects suffering to beauty. 


    It might well be that there is no causal reality to base that claim on, it’s not something that I’ve tried to verify, because to me the idea in itself is satisfying. Before I moved to London I visited the National Gallery for a day with my partner, and while many great pieces left something of an impression, the crowd was thickest around one painting in particular: Sunflowers. One of the most famous works of art in all of humanity’s long history, this is not my favourite Van Gogh, but it’s one of only a handful which I’ve seen in person, and it resonates with me. There are many qualities which have allowed it to hold the public’s attention in such a strange and enduring way, but to me the biggest draw is the story behind it, and behind the poor man’s whole body of work. The idea of a truly tortured soul, alone in a world which would not understand him, putting forth his vision in a form which is simplistic, yet so otherworldly, darkly comedic and often haunting, before surrendering to, as he perceived, powers greater than the purely terrestrial, is the stuff of Shakespeare. The fact that he would, within a century be regarded as a central figure in the human creative canon makes his pained life an unspeakable tragedy, and that fact hangs over his every work, it’s there to see in each exaggerated brushstroke and every splash of shocking colour. 


    So much mystery still surrounds the life, and indeed death, of Van Gogh, but there’s no question that despite the beauty it inspired, his torment was a curse which eventually got the better of him, and I both pity and admire him for it. Others, in contrast, have lived with some strange spectre and presented an outwardly contented face to posterity; think of William Blake and his visions, a positive and comforting force throughout his life, but sure evidence to us that something was amiss with his senses. What this shows is that, firstly, we all experience these mental abnormalities in our own way, and the outcomes will vary for infinite small, but consequential reasons. I tend to believe, however, that there’s a deeper symbolism to be found here, some fact of the universe, or norm- defying tendency of the modern human condition that rewards, or even requires a person to slip the bounds of the straightforwardly healthy and cooperative mind in order to reach out for the truly novel creative experience. I have no illusions that this is not, in itself, anything new. The idea that ‘madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin’ is so commonplace in entertainment today as to have become cliche, and in truth the whole premise that a slightly unbalanced edge is a bona fide necessity for artistic achievement is a little too deterministic to be convincing anyway. The point I had in mind at the outset of this exercise was more along the lines that, in times of great difficulty for me, I’ve often found it comforting to remember those great minds to have come before me that have shown signs of similar trouble, and gone on regardless to accomplish great, important things. 


    I began by explaining that I often enjoy talking about things which interest me, and with which I am most familiar. This, as aptly demonstrated by the whole rest of the above, is generally true, but the thing about which I am most expert by experience alone, is the exception to this habit. The one fact which has followed me from the cradle to the airy bedroom where I’m writing this, which has to a greater or lesser degree occupied my every waking moment is the subject which I have never felt able or willing to discuss openly: my mental health. I have spoken at times to friends about the fact that I, like some of the men and women who have entertained and fascinated me, have struggled with my relationship with myself, but none have ever known the full extent. My partner knows that at times I get so down I can barely speak, or eat, or sleep, but I’ve concealed the fact that even on the good days, I often cannot push myself to smile and mean it. My closest friends know that I think I’m depressed, but they think that this is a more recent problem, rather than something which I’ve carried for as long as I can remember. Even now, with the mixed blessing of anonymity, I feel a reluctance to share the grisly details, and nor will I explain why, in too many years of adult life, I’ve defaulted in my responsibility to seek proper care and attention. It’s not the place, nor the time for that. 


    I find that writing is the one creative exercise which I’ve ever shown a natural aptitude for, though I lack real imagination and often get carried away with halfway irrelevant asides and rarely like the end result. I can sit at my laptop and the words come easily enough, when a chance atom of inspiration makes it down from the skies to strike me at the right time. It helps to put my thoughts in order, though an unfamiliar reader may be misled by the chaotic meander which they will find themselves being carried along with. So, when I’m faced with a problem, a knot of abstract ideas which I can’t unpick, I’ll often sit and pour them out on the page to see where they take me, but the one thing that’s never come out, until now, is the hope that all this numbness in my head has some slim chance at meaning something. 


    Winston Churchill often said that he was hounded by a black dog, a periodic misery which since his youth had left him, at his worst, unable to function normally. For all his many faults, and the valid criticisms which I would make of his character, that phrase has stuck with me since I first heard it; an ominous creature has more agency than the mere dark manifestations of one’s own troubled mind, more capacity to harm, and it offers an escape from responsibility when being overtaken by it. Those who idealise Churchill now will often downplay his mental illness, they will claim that he was only being metaphorical, or his mood swings were only to be expected from a brooding genius, and had no greater significance. I find that interpretation insulting. Despite not being a particularly nice person, Churchill undoubtedly showed great talent at certain pursuits; he was a passable painter, a more than passable writer and his efforts at statesmanship are well documented. To put such a figure on a pedestal and suggest that he was, in fact, a completely healthy and functioning overachiever discredits his other display of strength and drive. To relentlessly work and achieve while carrying the weight of episodes of great suffering is far more impressive to me, than persisting against only the mundane types of worldly struggles which draw the most attention. 


    The relevance of all of this to my own sad story is tentative at best. I am not an artist; I can’t draw well, or make pretty music; I’m not a statesman or a great speaker and while I enjoy writing, I don’t pretend it to be particularly pleasant or easy to read. The comfort that these idle thoughts affords me is based on the notion that, if such a string of notables can influence the way in which we view the world, and reflect their own, perhaps distorted visions forwards through to us, it might not be the end of the world, if an otherwise unnoticed, uninteresting person from an anonymous place in an upsetting time has faced a burden which those others might recognise. Because while there have been times when the very ordinariness of daily life has become far too much to bear, and the black dog that haunts me from day to day has wrapped its jaws around me, there are glimpses of sudden clarity which pierce the veil and reach me, unravelling the many uncertainties which plague me and show me a clearer path. I used to dream, as many do, of leaving behind a legacy which would inspire and astound, but as I’ve grown older and come to understand myself better, I’ve realised that the greatest accomplishment is to face the truths of your own heart and overcome the obstacles you put in your own way, because these will, in most cases, be far more intimidating than anything the real world can show you.