The Vanguard

I was linked to a column by Julia Baird on twitter about silence and why we need it, and it got me thinking. Finally, I know, right? Because I’ve neglected this place a little — too much work for uni, not enough brain space to generate more than a couple of cynical paragraphs about refugee wank and how I’m totally over it.

I’ve had a thought for quite some time now that I would probably cope quite well if I was a nun. I don’t seem to have the same issues with silence that other people do; in fact, given a choice between a noisy party and a quiet home, I’ll take the quiet home kthnx. Why? I don’t like being in noisy places. I can’t think clearly and it makes me withdraw somewhat.

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This post isn’t necessarily about one incident or one religion or whatever. It’s more of a general post about a variety of things that I’ve observed, mostly within pagan groups. It’s just annoying me at the moment, and it’s all I can think about to post here, since I neglected to post last weekend. Sorry! Was very busy. >.<

(As an aside, I’m also posting this over at Per Sebek, due to relevance.)

Now, I know religion can be a touchy subject for some, and for those who are Pagan of some sort, it can be a subject they are unwilling to talk about due to a fear of harrassment. I get it. However, I don’t think that can really justify the notion that all these little pagan groups need to cut themselves off from anyone who doesn’t agree with them, as if somehow an alternative experience or view point might be the cause of the apocalypse.

‘They’re just a troll, ignore them’. I find this excuse somewhat pathetic. Sure, some might be genuine trolls, and fair enough, if they’re genuine trolls, so be it. But if it’s more of an issue of someone saying something you don’t like, or maybe expressing a belief that’s not necessarily one you hold, I am not inclined to call troll. I don’t think cutting yourself off from alternative perspectives helps anyone, and I think it gives the perception of a closed community, one that is conformist and not accepting of differing views.
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I’ve been thinking a lot about community and identity lately; blame uni for this – one of my units started banging on about ideas of community and nationhood, and as you’d expect, it’s kinda stuck in my mind. I’ve never really given my ancestry as much importance as perhaps others might’ve. For most of my life, I’ve considered myself Australian. As I’ve gotten older, and fallen more in love with Britain and the UK and learnt more about where my family comes from, other than Australia, I’ve had a growing sense that ‘Australian’ just doesn’t quite complete me. My British ancestry isn’t from, say, three generations ago. It comes straight from my mother. I can get a British passport because my mother was born in Liverpool.

I still remember her telling me once to go home, home meaning the UK. I’ve never forgotten that, and I suppose that’s when I had this dawning sense of being half-English. Okay, if I’m honest, a third Australian, a third British, and a third Welsh. Mum’s mother’s family are Welsh, and Granddad carried a Welsh flag when he used to march with the Normandy vets in the ANZAC Day marches.
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