New revelations about the death of Ian Tomlinson highlight the benefits of this media-saturated society, while Bob Quick’s embarrasing mistake shows its dangers.

When a man died at the anti-G20 protests in London at the beginning of this month, it seemed an open and shut case. Ian Tomlinson died of a heart attack; police had done their best to assist him when he fell to the ground. The Independent Police Complaints Commission let the London police conduct their own investigation, and didn’t look into things much further.

If it hadn’t been for the media doing their own research, that’s where things would have ended.

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Bisher al-Rawi was a UK-based informant for the MI5. As a way of saying thanks for all the hard work he put into liaising with and providing information on people under watch, the agency forwarded incorrect information to the CIA, and al-Rawi was kidnapped, put in nappies and a blindfold, strapped to a stretcher, and flown to Guantánamo bay. For a bit of variety the CIA threw in a three month stopover in a “Dark Prison” in Afghanistan where the only light he saw was the occasional dim beam from the guard’s torch and it was so cold he could feel ice crystals forming in his drinks.

We’ve heard about the horrors of Guantánamo Bay and the CIA’s black sites, but the level of official complicity seen in al-Rawi’s case is astounding. al-Rawi’s arrest was due to the MI5 deliberately passing on completely false information to the CIA, according to the Observer article which broke the story on Sunday. Read the rest of this article »

I’m seeing London through new eyes since I’ve been back. The thing that has struck me the most is the omnipresent environmental awareness: it almost makes me feel a little out-hippied at times.

Carbon footprints and organics are not topics left for soap-dodging Marxist vegetarians to rant about – environmental affairs are so mainstream that huge companies like Marks and Spencers or Sky Television advertise their commitment to ecological principles. Seeing the packaging-heavy programme for the recent Diana tribute concert, a genuinely concerned Prince Harry leaned over to an aide and asked: “What happened to saving the planet?”

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I use public transport often when I have the option of using a car, try to use locally produced goods, don’t eat meat, am careful to switch off lights, use heaters only when really necessary, and despise air conditioning. Yet in the last few months I have been responsible for over three tonnes of carbon dioxide being added to our already polluted atmosphere, just through air travel, according to Climate Care. Three tonnes!

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I’ve come to find the clunk and whirr of closed circuit tv cameras turning to follow my movements as I walk to and from work quite reassuring. It seems sometimes like I’m stepping into Orwell’s Big Brother world every time I leave the house, and more than finding it frightening, I find it comforting.

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How far are we to take the unwritten London Commandment, Thou shalt ignore thine fellow tube passengers?

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I’ve studiously ignored recent media speculation around when Tony Blair might stand down as British Prime Minister – it’s all seemed rather academic, uninformed, and boring. Now there’s some movement, which brings to mind The Big Lebowski’s dancing landlord – painfully clumsy.

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No longer do Adbusters need to generate spoof advertisements to make a political statement – it seems that Land Rover is doing it on its own. Their latest ad campaign features a super-sized SUV parked in the middle of a generic “Arab-looking” market.

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The train back to London had only just left Cardiff when we stopped in a tunnel. For about 40 minutes. No-one was impressed. Smoke from the engine seeped into the carriage, and everyone’s mobile phone conversations were louder without the low rumble of the wheels on the track to drown them out. A welsh girl ranting loudly about her day from hell. Aw, ye just wouldn’t believe it beeb, am telling ya. Lots of calls home. Gunna be ome late, still sat in this fuckin tunnel. A strange twenty minute domestic from a sweaty young man temporarily sitting across the aisle. Ah no, Sareh, listen tor meh. Ah aint… Am tellin ya… Ah cant say cuz… cuz… Ahm on the treeen, wave all splat up… Nor… Ahm not wath tham.

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A very quiet, closed-up Sunday afternoon, in a very quiet, closed-up town near Cardiff. My intentions were to hire a mountain bike and enjoy the sunshine, but I apparently for the less actively inclined it would seem like a good time for a piss up.

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