Originally, this image had “my son’s autism” where the blank exists, however, I think it works perfectly with a blank there too. It’s 2008, yet still, the world over people are persecuted solely for who they are, what they believe in, the color of their skin, the gender they choose to represent - or lack of -, their sexuality, their disability, …. The list is endless. Humanity fears what it does not understand, and persecutes what it fears to abate that fear. We as a species are, if anything, more abhorrant than any other species on Earth. For all our ability to think for ourselves, for everything that makes us ’special’, and ‘brilliant’, we seem to strive to hurt each other; hell, we even seem to enjoy hurting others. I put it to you to show me another creature that shares that trait. It’s 2008, the technology we have today has connected people together in ways 50 years ago no-one could have imagined in their wildest dreams; the internet is a borderless faceless nameless society, where you are free to be whoever and whatever you choose, without risk of coming into contact with humanities hateful ways. Sure, that’s a slightly rose colored view of the internet - if you take into consideration the groups of people who go around griefing people, however, in 99% of cases, their targets initiated the whole affair, and for the most part, everyone just leaves each other alone to get on with their lives.

So, on the one hand, we have this almost utopian ecosystem, where everyone lives together in a modicum of harmony, yet this is so far removed from real life. In the real world, there are people being murdered or beaten up simply because they’re attracted to members of their own gender, or because they do not conform to societies construct of the gender associated with the physical sex that their genes gave them. There are STILL wars being fought over things as ridiculous as religion. America’s borders are under lock down, because of ‘terrorism’. Every news article is pumping fear down the throats of those who read/watch/listen to it. In London, using the tube is like walking into a real life version of half-life 2, public service announcements requesting that everyone be vigilant, report suspicious people. Muslim clerics preach hate in backstreet temples. Non-muslims preach hate in their living rooms. No-one is equal.

The worst of it is, it’s not getting any better. If something doesn’t change fast, the real world is quickly going to descend into dystopian anarchy, each group targeting the groups it inherently fears, and really, when it gets to that point, what are we? Nothing more than tribes, tribes with the technology to wipe countries off the map. Thus the cycle continues, a collective few survive, their numbers increase, they fork, they fight, the hate is perpetuated. Do I feel proud to be human? Not terribly.

Many years ago, when I was very young, my grandma and I would go to the local auction each weekend, looking for interesting bargains - basically, it was a place that sold off the contents of dead people’s houses. Invariably, I’d find many many things that I wanted to buy, and bid on them for 50 pence; usually, I’d win, and my grandad would end up having to come out with the car to collect us, and all the junk that I’d won. Some of it was useful, old computer gear, stereos, that kind of thing, most of it was absolute trash and went straight into the bin - after discovering that it didn’t work, then taking it apart and failing to repair it, usually due to losing interest.

One such purchase I made, was a 1960’s era portable record player, made by fidelity; the picture on the left is, bar a few slight differences, exactly the same as the one I bought for around 50 pence. Upon getting it back home, I plugged it in to see if it work, and it did, quite spectacularly. My grandma went rooting around in her bedroom, and came back with about 60 gramophone records, dating from between 1940 and ~1960, which we proceeded to play. She then promised to give them to me if she could use the record player to transfer them onto cd. This was duly agreed, and I’ve been hulking about 1/2 a tonne of shellac around with me since I began living on my own.

While tidying my room, which invariably looks like a bomb has hit it with clothes strewn everywhere, I came across the box of records, and spent the afternoon listening to them. There’s something about the way the music sounds emenating from the one mono speaker that the record player has, combined with the scratchiness of the needle. It’s raw, full of emotion, completely unlike the music of today. I think I’d happily trade places with someone living in the 40’s just on the basis of the music they had. Yes, the music only plays for 4 minutes before you have to change the record, but that makes it extra special, you’re involved in the sound itself, not a mere observer.