Gregory Yates: thoughts, theses and collected theologies.

Government taxation amounts to theft.

I do not believe that at any point I gave consent to pay British ’Value Added Tax’ in addition to the base price of products I regularly purchase; yet, the government collects this sum from me. I did not vote for this policy on a party manifesto, either, as I did not vote this current Labour party into government. This collection of tax from me is therefore unmandated and non-consensual - effectively theft.

I refuse to accept that my continued living in England equates to consent, either; I’ll tackle this idea another time, when I can get my thoughts together.

Government makes us ‘less good’ as individuals.

This is not as ambiguous as it sounds.

There is an old adage that a good deed undertaken with forced hand is not a good deed at all; in layman’s terms: if somebody makes you do a good thing, you can’t be credited as a good person for doing it. If a Big Issue seller drew a pistol and forced members of the public to donate to their cause, the victims could hardly be called generous or liberal. It was not their choice.

Government taxation represents exactly this. Let us assume that, perhaps, every twenty pence in every pound I am taxed goes to the poorer families of my state - and that this taxation, like all taxation, carries a penalty for evasion. When I pay my taxes, and thus provide for these low-income households, I am attempting to avoid reprecussions such as a fine, community service or jailtime. Though the money is going to good ends, I am effectively being intimidated into paying it; ergo, the act is not undertaken out of compassion but out of fear of reprehension.

This is not a good act! This is government blackmail.

Now, given a chance, the public may well have decided to give this sum of money to a just cause. They may equally not have done so; this is immaterial, as the point of the matter lies in their free choice to do so. I may not have enough money to pay both taxes and give to whichever interest my moral compass indicates - so I am left with merely the forced deed. The best I can do is give my taxes willingly and happily, convincing myself that I really did it for the greater good and not because I feared the penalties for neglect.

An anarchist state insists upon no form of taxation, thus allowing for the individual to redistribute their wealth and resources as they deem appropriate, and thus allowing others to respect their free choice, and thus their goodness - rather than have it marred by state control.

Anarchists destroy the model of government simply by wishing it…

The concept of democratic government hinges upon the tenuous ideal that my views can be represented in policy.

I support the abolition of all government.

This will, obviously, never be represented in the House of Commons, as no government could support ‘abolition of government’.

I am therefore not represented and never can be. The government has failed its fundamental role.

It follows that the more anarchists there are, the more the theory of democratic government falters simply by anarchists willing it to be so.

Referring to my previous post: Democracy - A two way failing…

Everyone ought to take a ‘British Government’ exam before they are allowed to vote. This would ascertain whether or not they are capable of making an informed decision; this would ascertain, essentially, whether they are politically illiterate, as most are.

Impractical, yes, but so is government.

I advocate anarchy. Seems much simpler than all this election crap.

I hate urinals. I’m not quite sure at which point the men of Western society decided that it was, in fact, perfectly acceptable to urinate communally, much of the time with complete strangers, but I do know that I have not sufficiently made the evolutionary leap that would allow me to do so. I get nervous if there’s somebody next to me when I’m attempting to use the toilet; this makes it difficult to complete the process, more difficult still to start, which must give off the impression that I have some problems in that department - which is untrue! I’m perfectly healthy. I just don’t like urinals.

Last night, unfortunately, I had to use one. I’m quite sure a man looked at my penis.

This is where my trouble began. The urinals were the typical archetype: about half a foot apart, fixed to the wall, etc. This meant that there was a man directly to the right of me, close enough, had he looked, to see my penis. There was no concealing it; this is the nature of urinating. My private parts were at the mercy of his roving eyes. I was thoroughly vulnerable.

Now, let us look at the situation in a little more depth. At the time, I was convinced that I had seen this man, at the edge of my vision, glancing sidelong at my penis. This brought about puzzling logical connotations. I could either do nothing, or check to see if my suspicions were true by sneaking a peek at him.

Whilst the former course of action may seem the most appropriate, there are risks involved. If I neglect to act, my antagonist may assume, reasonably, that I am not aware of his intrusion, and continue. This would make me uncomfortable. Worse still, he may assume that I am aware of his intrusion and seek to do nothing about it - thus consenting his lascivious behaviour, and provoking  lewd action of a more serious kind. Perhaps I would even offend him? After all, as aforementioned, I am generally unused to urinals. This could have been some form of ettiquette: observe my penis, I will observe yours, we are men, and we are content to be so. Did I appear uncouth? Perhaps ashamed of my body?

The obvious action seemed to be to return the favour. This way, I could quickly ascertain whether my penis was being scrutinised or not and put paid to my frantic worrying. The peril of this route is obvious: if this man was not, in fact, looking at my penis, I have committed a terrible faux pas. If this man is so inclined, he may think I am attempting to elicit sexual behaviour from him, which could lead to disastrous results: either a beating, or a misunderstood sexual exploit, depending on his preference.

The thread of inquiry continues. If he is of a similar disposition to me, he may well catch a glimpse of my investigation, and go through the same thought process - in which I have made him uncomfortable if he neglects to look, and me uncomfortable if he looks. I could interpret that second look as certain sexual intent, and act rashly based off this!

There is literally no correct way to act in that situation.

This is why I avoid urinals.

Democracy is, on the whole, an inappropriate system for 21st century politics. I will explain why, using an example I conceived whilst watching the latest episode of X Factor.

Let us propose for a moment that this year’s Nobel Prize for Literature is being decided, through some colossal error on the part of the administration, by a group of judges that cannot read. They have simply never bothered to learn - and despite their miraculous opportunity to partake in such a prestigious award ceremony, they are not about to any time soon. Yet, no prize can be awarded until they have come to an agreement on which author’s work is worthy of such a decoration. They will, perhaps to the dejection of many, determine the outcome.

There are a number of ways they could go about this. For a start, they could look at the authors themselves; are they neat and tidy, or do they look a little rough around the edges? Are they well-dressed, or are they going for a ‘bag lady’ chic tonight? Slightly more discursively, these incompetent judges could look to the way the authors presented their work. Did they speak well? Did they sound convinced that they ought to win the Nobel Prize? Finally, they could attempt to judge the competition by the reputation of the author, checking various sources for past scandals and dirty secrets.

Common sense tells us that this is presposterous; the Nobel Prize ought to be awarded to the best work of literature, after all! These superficial observations could, and probably would, given the eclectic tastes of some authors, lead to a wholly inappropriate choice. The judges are simply not qualified to make an educated decision in this situation.

I should posit that the electorate of most democracies are no different.

Suppose we replace ‘judges’ with ‘voters’, ‘author’ with ‘politician’, ‘literature’ with ‘policy’ - and ‘ability to read’ with ‘ability to understand their respective political system’. The analogy reveals itself to be a worrying parallel to our current political climate. Voters are akin to the blind judges in the sense that they, on the whole, have at best a rudimentary knowledge of how their political system operates, whether this be the conventional intricacies of the British Houses of Parliament, the checks and balances present within the U.S Congress or the legislative function of the Japanese ‘Diet’. The majority certainly do not have enough knowledge to accurately select a politician who is able to enact positive change in the state; it is unreasonable to suggest that they ought to, as the majority of the workings of, say, the British House of Lords are entirely irrelevant to the average British subject’s working life.

This ignorance, though it is understandable, maintains to be a problem. Just like the illiterate judges, one can observe the electorate instating politicians for their ability to speak confidently, as we British have seen with Tony Blair in ‘97 and are currently experiencing ex adverso with the ‘flash’ camera antics of David Cameron, or even for such superficial reasons as the aforementioned dress sense - as with the unfortunate result for Michael Foot and his ‘donkey jacket’ fiasco in the early ’80s. As for scandals… well, take your pick; the sensationalist media need only a few grimy secrets to ruin a politician’s approval rating. John Prescott’s continued abuse at the hands of the newspapers is fair evidence of that.

The sting in the tail here is that none of this essentially matters. Policy is more important than personality. It doesn’t matter how verbose and charismatic a politician is; if the policy is impractical, it is impractical. Ambitious, radical ideas are all well and good, naturally, but if the support is not there, it is dead weight as far as the House of Commons is concerned. The Liberal Democrats, the ‘Real Alternative’ are a regrettably notorious example of this. The abolition of student top-up fees, a policy made clear on their manifesto in 2005, is a noble idea, but actually one that hurts the demographic it attempts to support: students. In every state devoid of fee-paying universities, the quality of higher education is lower; this is because the money paid by students helps them to be competitive (offer the best service possible for the price) and able to expand at a rate according to their quality - unlike the Liberal Democrat utopia in which the government keeps all universities at equal standing. Whilst this would, granted, revive the lower echelon of education, it would also ruin the upper counterpart. If one caters for the worst, one alienates the finest; this is the nature of welfare. Though the abolition of top-up fees, prima facie, appears to benefit students, it would actually leave them with academically weak degrees that would mean less than they do now. Yet, this does not stop students, even those at the highest levels of University education, voting for the Liberal Democrats!

The analogy becomes frighteningly accurate. A little knowledge may be a dangerous thing, but a lack of it is by far the greater of two evils. Why?

Let us return to the example of the judges, but from a different point of view. Assume you are a candidate in the literature award, desperate to win the prize - but you are painfully aware of the illiterate panel. You face a dilemma: do you devote your time and attention to writing a masterpiece that is worthy of the prize, or tailor your image, countenance, oratory and personality to the competition and hand over any old rubbish? The latter carries with it a greater chance of winning, but the former actually makes you worthy of repute within your profession. A difficult choice, one should think.

Modern politicians seem to have already made their minds up - the ones that win elections, anyway. They have opted for the politically cheap latter; why else would Tony Blair appear on the Catherine Tate show? Why else would Gordon Brown discuss his love of the ‘Arctic Monkeys’ in an interview? Why else would David Cameron devote precious time and resources to maintaining a Facebook account? These publicity stunts are as politically viable as lewd jokes are a respectable form of humour, but they keep going on. Party manifestos are not nearly as important to the public as the highlights of Prime Minister’s Question Time on the news - so why bother with them! The majority of the electorate probably do not understand what an Act of Parliament is, anyway.

The British political scene seems to be locked in a vicious cycle that, by general ignorance, is irreperable. The public, because of their lack of knowledge of the fundamental system that governs their country, are vastly unqualified to make a choice, and thus the political parties lower themselves to this childish level to gain support. Decent policy is increasingly buried in meaningless rhetoric and overshadowed by image.

For this reason, democracy is a bilateral failure.

I’ll muse upon a solution.