Rendering Apples to Caesar

My friend Jurg asked me to write something about the EU Commission’s decision that Ireland had given unfair advantage to Apple through the provision of tax loopholes this week. The chat in Ireland is all about what we should do with the €13 billion that the lads in Brussels have told us to take; a tunnel to Wales or a 100-metre-tall golden statue of Michael Flatley seem to be the best ideas at the moment.

Now the bosses in Apple are like you and me. They like to get good value. And if they bring their colossal profits back to California, where arguably they originate, the American tax-man will take 35%. The Apple bosses are concerned with their shareholders’ value. In fact, as the law is currently interpreted, that concern outweighs practically all the other concerns. So they are holding on to about $230 billion in reserves, waiting for the US to revise its tax code and lower that repatriation rate.

They are basically waiting for the sales.

So whatever way you slice this cake, it appears to be a move by the European Commission to call a halt to the waiting game. The scoundrel Irish government will appeal and will surely be successful and will therefore have done the unthinkable: spent money to avoid receiving money.


Apple is run by good people. Or at least, let’s assume it is. Why don’t they want to pay tax? The reason is the same reason you don’t want to pay tax. Why would you want to! That money is better in your pocket than in the taxman’s, right? The only certainties in life are death, taxes, and the irrefutably straightforward decision to avoid tax you don’t have to pay.


A tax haven is a tricky thing to define. One man’s tax haven in another man’s Singapore, miracle of capitalism and shining beacon of entrepreneurship. Sure, the New York Times referred to Dublin as the “wild west of finance” because the size and the scale of its tax loopholes are large enough to fit Steve Jobs’ ego and €200,000,000,000 with space to spare, but someone else might say it’s the cost of doing business in a competitive global economy.

Nicholas Shaxson, in his book Treasure Islands writes:

Nobody agrees exactly what a tax haven is, but I will offer a loose description here: It is a place that seeks to attract money by offering politically stable facilities to help people or entities get around the rules, laws, and regulations of jurisdictions elsewhere.

Let’s stick with that for the moment.


It’s not that the bosses in Apple are bad people. They are just doing what you would want them to do if you owned shares in Apple. They are maximising the return on investment. They are ensuring profitability. They are returning value. They are being good stewards. They are hoarding gold like a dragon in its untouchable lair while children are homeless on the streets of Cork, but you shouldn’t complain because they give jobs to people.

And you can be sure those people pay tax.


Apple, and Amazon, Starbucks, and the rest of them, are walking miracles. Let us call them Schrodinger’s Corporations. When the market opportunity arises, they are alive and well and on hand to do business. But go looking for them when it comes time for tax and suddenly they are gone.

This serves the dividend pay-outs of the shareholders, and for all I know, that’s you and your parents. And it serves the value of your pension fund. So the executives will keep searching for the next loophole and the politicians will keep spouting noise about Ireland being open for business and none of them will pay their taxes because taxes get paid by people who aren’t smart enough to get the absurd joke. The rich are secure and get more secure the more at risk they make the poor.


Only the rich get to use tax havens. That’s actually a pretty good rule of thumb to figure out if you are rich: do you know the difference between tax avoidance and tax evasion? The things we pay for with taxes are the things we need that we can’t guarantee provision for if every man was left for himself. Fire trucks, hospitals, libraries, maternity cover, old-age pensions, street-lights, deaf interpreters in the court service; these are the sorts of things that get de-funded when you ask your accountant to find a way to be more tax efficient. Sure, you spend that extra money on a new flat screen tv and that helps keep a fella in a job in Currys, but that’s not quite the same thing as emergency relief for victims of flooding.


And that’s the great tragedy in the tax evasion conversation. The bosses in Apple are probably morally virtuous in ways you don’t imagine. They probably give a lot to charity and they really care about the progressive causes their firm supports and they may even wake at night in a cold sweat about the conditions in the Foxconn factories. They are doing the best they can when they avoid that tax, for you, the shareholder, whose pension is invested in Apple.

The tragedy, of course, is that they aren’t doing the best thing for you. The best thing for you is for everyone to pay their tax. Because the money you spend on tax is the best value money you spend. Every single year you should tally up your tax spend and celebrate it. It helped 5 year olds to learn to read and it allowed mothers to take a break from working, so their babies could sleep in peace on their shoulders for the first few months of their life. If you were left to fund libraries and ambulance services and prisons from your own devices, you’d end up with crappy services and it would take all your time. Your tax spend is more convenient than Uber and better value than Aldi.


Apple will eventually pay its tax, at a much lower rate than you or me, in America or here or elsewhere. But when they do, they are adding shareholder value, even if the share price doesn’t reflect that. It is in the shareholder’s interest to make society equitable and fair and just. The innovation that they get so aroused by comes about most effectively when people don’t have to scrabble around in precarious jobs to just make ends meet. Taken to its logical conclusion, a culture of tax evasion is an existential threat to a society because the poor will only tolerate being mocked by the rich for so long before they rise up and decide to mock the order that the rich rely on.


Apple has been trading in Ireland longer than I’ve been alive and I’m almost officially middle-aged. They employ 6000 people. They make glossy products that people love. They are not to blame for Ireland’s economic catastrophe and neither are they the solution. But the impossibility of us imagining that straightforward justice would be done – that Apple and their ilk would post profits where they make them and pay tax on them there too, at the same time – reveals the fragility at the heart of our democratic order.

Why do people vote against their interest and back Drumpf or #brexit? Surely that mystery is solved when we consider this absurdist farce. The people who have been entrusted with the collective good can now longer even discern it. People legitimately wonder, “How could Theresa May be worse?” and people coherently ponder, “If the system is genuinely crazy, maybe it would help to put a wig-wearing loon in the driving seat?”

1989 was just the most recent point when history reminded us that even the most extensive societies will collapse if they disconnect from reality. The collective purse being funded by the poorest while the richest get to scarper is unreal. So whatever happens with this particular instance, let me suggest that what we see here is a fracture that is much more serious than Michael Noonan and Tim Cook thinks it is. And between now and the time the fracture gets fixed or grows too big, let me further suggest that you should pay your taxes with glee. All of them. On time. It’s the best money you get to spend.

Your Correspondent, Who needs money when he’s got feathers?

On Byron Burgers and Consumer Boycotts

Tim Maly on how globalisation implicates us:

Something that journalists sometimes do is publish a disclosure statement. It’s sort of like an About Me page except it’s a listing of all their conflicts of interest—all the areas of coverage where you might have good reason to think they should not be trusted. It’ll say things like I once worked at Google or I’m married to an employee of Microsoft.

I have never written one of these but I have fantasies about doing a comprehensive one. It would be the length of a novel, I think. An endless and yet incomplete litany of all the blood, privilege, history, and compromise on my hands.

I am training to be a Christian ethicist. That is a kind of theologian that Christians (used to?) like to have around to tell them what to do so that they can always feel like they are doing the right thing, or at least not doing the wrong thing. It should come as no surprise to Christians that Christian ethicists cannot do this; we cannot tell right from wrong. Surely that’s one of the most interesting things that Christianity claims about the world. As the prophets, the Psalms and Paul, not to mention Jesus and 50 Cent remind us, only God can judge that.

So one of the reasons I think Christians believe they can get by just fine without theology is how unsatisfyingly “vague” are the outputs of all these ethicists at work. All the church wants to know is: “Whether communion is just a meal or does something hocus-pocus-y happen at it?”, and “Can gay people get married and if they do, can they be on the flower rota?”, and most importantly, “Where can I go to stock up on my Autumn wardrobe that is both on fleek and ethical?” We’ve been busily toiling away in the TheoLab for three years now and we do not yet have straightforward answers to any of those questions.

What even is the point?

When I say I do Christian ethics, people think that I write footnotes that validate what they think is right, or wrong, or stupid. But what I actually do is description, not prescription. I don’t produce answers. Rather, at best, I refine questions. This is very valuable work, even if it isn’t valued much. It has a use-value, even if it (currently) has a low exchange-value. But the one thing it doesn’t do is make things simpler. It doesn’t tell us the one true way to proceed. At this point it is important to remember that if the Gospel is true, we are as lost in our virtue as in our vice (See: Jesus of Nazareth, Parable of the Two Lost Sons, Bethany: Dr. Luke Publications, 30AD.) so even if I was able to tell you what is the right thing to do with the Christmas bonus that is still sitting in your bank account, it would be only a little more valuable in the eternal stakes than some bozo accountant encouraging you to invest it in East Asian online gambling firms.

I have many Christian friends who are troubled by the ethics of the things they consume. They want to have a phone that wasn’t made by slave labour and eat meat that wasn’t bred in torture and go on holidays with carbon offsets for the plane ride. I do not intend to malign such efforts, but as the Tim Maly quotation at the top of this piece reminds us, there will be no end to the deliberations involved in buying things rightly, and one thing I am pretty sure is a dead-end is spending your life deliberating about your purchases. The slippy, trickiness of sin means that even our concern for others and for justice and creation-care folds in on itself and we end up navel-gazing about adding possessions more effectively to our store of treasures.

I encountered this problem last week when I heard about the Byron Burger scandals. Byron Burger opened earlier in the year in Aberdeen and it was a cheap(-ish) place to eat a good meal. Such small events can matter when you live in a small city like Aberdeen. The restaurant was directly across from the cinema and so we fairly often found ourselves coming out of Fastly Furiousing 12 starvacious and Byron ended up as our culinary destination.

But it turns out that Byron are cruel employers. They had some staff in London, some of whom had worked for the company for years, who had come to Britain on falsified documents. When the British authorities notified them of this, Byron agreed to organise a staff in-service day which was actually just an ambush. Their employees showed up to learn new ways to wash their hands or to refresh their manual handling skills and instead they were directed into a room where they were arrested and then deported.

Now as my non-EU friends in Aberdeen will tell you, British immigration services are surely among the most obnoxious in the world. And they can prosecute companies that employ “illegals” and fine them up to £20,000! But Byron don’t actually have to go so far as to collude with the political regime. When this news broke, there were protests outside Byron restaurants and people declared their commitment to boycott the company in the future. In accordance to the Newtonian laws of contemporary discourse, when news of that outrage broke, a counter-outrage erupted which declared that Byron were doing the right thing in getting rid of “illegals” and that the leftie-hippy posers who thought that they were fighting for the rights of the oppressed were actually systemically embroiled in denying their ordinary, decent, unemployed British neighbours a chance at a job.

So who is right and who is wrong?

This problem is like every other problem in that it isn’t tractable in that way. And my point is that Christians should know this and even revel in it.

Let us describe the problem. There is language of “illegals” that we would need to consider. Christians, informed by the monumental Biblical teaching on the Stranger would query how someone can be illegal. Acts are illegal, people aren’t. We are invested in using words rightly so we might want to put a big question mark over the rhetoric upon which the broader culture constructs this problem.

There is the question of sin on the personal level, which is the angle Christians are most likely to go to first. This question takes the form of “What about the people who forged documents – weren’t they lying?” This is true and lying is wrong. But it is funny how the obvious companion sentence never appears: “What about the managers who said that it was a training day – weren’t they lying?” Also, how unfortunate are Byron? This one little company ends up with as many as 200 staff with faked papers in just 15 of their restaurants! Those conniving immigrants are obviously running an extraordinarily sophisticated con-job to pull the wool over the eyes of the HR department so successfully! Surely their cunning would have been paired with loftier criminal aims than earning the right to sweat in kitchens?

But the question of counterfeit documents brings up the question of why people from Brasil would ever want to flip burgers in London. Pondering whether or not to avoid a burger joint quickly presses us up against the profound inequalities that mark the global economy. People risk deportation and engage in illegality to work exhausting hours for minimum wage in the back of a London eatery. More than that, they leave their families and friends and cultures behind them to do this half a world away. What sort of insane system have we constructed that means that mothers in Sao Paulo say goodbye for good to their sons just so I can have a quick bite after Minions IV: The Minions Rise?

But before we are entirely swallowed up in the cavernous abyss that is thinking hard about simple issues (a restaurant boycott), we remember that this entire scenario is created by laws that are written by British civil servants and legislators. Britain is a sort of democracy (albeit with a monarchy, no constitution, a hereditary parliament and various other “historical quirks”) so those laws are made by the people voted into power by British people. Britain needs foreigners (to flip their burgers and to negotiate their trade deals now that they are leaving the EU) but Britain sort of hates foreigners. Even the British (notionally) left wing party thinks immigrants need to be “controlled”. How do you convict Byron Burgers of wrong-doing when they are part of a culture that is arguably sick with fear? They needed to avoid the fines that could come their way! What could they do? (Potential better answer: Normalise the working arrangements of their loyal staff.)

Labour immigration mug

This is to say nothing of the issue of eating animal flesh at all. In a world enduring catastrophic climate-change, our continued consumption of beef needs to be scrutinised. It is not unlikely that our grandchildren will stand agog when they hear of how happily we munched on burgers while methane-fuelled climate change flooded Bangladesh. Telling them that we were too excited by George Clooney’s turn in “Prognosis: Dinosaur” to think about what we were doing is unlikely to win us much credit.

How do we navigate our way through this morass? What thread do we pick up that helps us make sense of a mess that we know is a mess, but for the life of us we cannot put into a neat order. Christian ethicists describe the problem and in so doing, when we are lucky (read: providentially appointed), we end up with a perspective that allows us to see the possibility of a better way of doing or saying the things we are trying to do or say.

The staff who were employed by Byron on dodgy permits paid tax. The documents got them in the door, but they also got them in the system. Byron Burger, however, it appears, did not pay their tax in the same way.

The people who own Byron own companies in Luxembourg, a tax haven. Those companies lend money to Byron and charge interest rates above the market level. Byron pays back those loans in a fashion that most effectively minimises their tax burden in the UK.

The people who were deported had no aid to call upon. The people who arranged their deportation have all the aid they need. The people who were deported did not avoid investing in the common fund. The people who arranged their deportation did avoid investing in the common fund.

The people who own Byron broke no laws and the people who were deported did. After describing the situation, that sentence is loaded with surprising ethical significance.

When we describe the situation, we very often find the situation is different from what we imagined. There are problems with the language of “illegals” and there are problems with counterfeiting documents and there are problems with global inequalities and there are problems with societal xenophobia and there are problems with meat. But if we pull on the thread of the entitlement that allows one group of people to dance around the moral responsibility of paying tax – in the light of the deportations and the protests and the counter-protests – we begin to spy a way to make sense of the mess.

The people who own Byron think that the money that straightforwardly would go to pay for schools and streetlights and immigration officers is better off in their pockets (albeit in trousers hung in a wardrobe in Luxembourg). The people who own Byron have money that has freedom to travel. They can dispatch it to a tax haven over there or an investment over here without reference to permits or visas or fear of immigration control. The human beings whose labour generated that money do not have that freedom. They do not live without fear.

I am boycotting Byron and wrote a letter to the manager of the local branch to explain to them why. I am not just boycotting them because of their humiliating treatment of their loyal staff. I am not just boycotting them because I am a migrant who feels solidarity with the plight of migrants less privileged than I am. I am boycotting them because if the practices of Byron Burger were the norm, this society would be royally screwed. I’ll pack sandwiches when I go see Leaving Las Vegas II: The Return to Las Vegas.

We can’t make ourselves ethically right. But we can do what we can to make things less wrong.

Your Correspondent, Just back from Bible Camp where he was learning to be more judgemental

Nice Frames

I am currently a scholarship student at Institut Catholique de Paris, which sounds very impressive, but it actually means that courtesy of the Scottish Catholic Church, I spend the morning failing to learn how to count in French and I spend my afternoons reading Karl Barth in the shade at the Luxembourg Gardens.

Life can be very hard.

I eat an inordinate amount of bread and cheese and am regularly scandalized by how expensive everything is, how hot it gets, and by how friendly the locals are. I stay in a tiny little one room flat so that it feels like I go to sleep on the footpath every night. I am in class with nuns from Iraq and priests from Korea and undergraduates from America and for some reason I set the alarms off in the library simply by walking through the front door.

I wasn’t in France when the tragic attack occurred in Nice on Bastille Day. And Aberdeen is only a few hundred kilometres further from Paris than Paris is from Nice, but everyone I have had small talk with from cab drivers to airplane companions to colleagues in Aberdeen have gently raised the topic of terrorism’s threat with me. No one is actually frightened for my safety but most people now seem to equate France with threat.


I live here on a little lane-way between two main avenues, close to the metro and bustling bistros and a parish church that cultivates its gardens so that it becomes a little ad-hoc park for the locals. There is splendid street art adorning the walls and directly across from my front door is an entrance to an art college where, for centuries, the weaving and printing of fabrics has been slowly perfected. The staff in the boulangerie already recognise me and get in the way of my learning by using me to practice their broken English, much closer to being all-together than my fragmentary French. Paris is a lovely place to live.

You could live here a long time and never realise that France was approaching its 15th year occupying Afghanistan. You could probably be a tourist here every year of your life and no one would ever mention to you that French military forces are currently engaged in Mali and the Central African Republic. You probably know that France is one of several Western powers who regularly bomb targets in Syria and Iraq from supersonic jets that can fire missiles into houses from 800 miles away. France is a dangerous enemy to have.

It would knock me off balance if a cab driver framed “France” and “threat” in these terms.


When my niece heard about the Nice attack her instinctive reaction was to lament the fact that the police shot the driver instead of arresting him. We shake our heads and with a tone of quiet gratitude for her naive innocence we feel a need to interpret those words away. “She doesn’t understand yet.”

She knows more about the attacks than I do because I don’t listen to radio and I don’t buy newspapers and I don’t watch the television and I curate Twitter so that it is mostly about weird jokes and I only have a Facebook account so that I can see what’s happening on the Aberdeen Divinity page and when the dust settles on horrible things, I go back and read about the things that seem important. I patched this approach to media together after reading how the great 20th Century Catholic mystic Thomas Merton only ever read newspapers that were weeks and weeks old. The news is mostly noise. The staleness of old news allows whatever truth remains to rise to the surface.

When I told one dear friend who was expressing concern that I only vaguely knew what had happened in Nice, she was slightly appalled. Did I not think that to follow the news was a moral responsibility? I told her I found the news confused me and when it doesn’t confuse me, it either enrages me or terrifies me. Increasingly, it does all three at the same time.

My niece knows very little really. She can tinkle away at a piano and she can do some Irish dancing and she is learning how to play camogie but she would be lost with a calculus problem and she doesn’t know how to navigate a job search and she’s never been dumped and she can’t cook and her understanding of the philosophical roots of parliamentary democracy is rudimentary at best. She doesn’t subscribe to the Economist and she listens to no podcasts. She understands, however, that every human life that is brought to an end is a tragedy. She hasn’t learned enough to discard that. Sure, she doesn’t even understand what she knows, but who does. Who knows the weight of such tragedy?


Tomorrow, after school, I’m going to the Louvre. I’ll pay particular attention, as I always do, to the frames. The frame determines the piece. The edge of the canvas is the limit that gives meaning to what is inside the painting. When we frame things in certain ways, it makes certain creations possible and rules others out. You can’t establish a triptych in the same setup as a landscape.

How we frame the world limits what we think is possible. In a very concrete sense (far from Richard Dawkins asshattery) if you believe in God there are horizons available to you that are impossible to the most sincere atheist. If you insist that the world is plenteous, and not scarce, opportunities present themselves that otherwise cannot be conceived. If you make space to lament the death of the terrorist and his victims, your frame has allowed you to grasp something about reality that is too often excluded. If you make the space away from the data and the noise of news you can very quickly begin to imagine the families in Syria and Iraq and Afghanistan and the Sahel who were killed by stray French bombs or assaulted by exhausted, dehydrated French soldiers.

You can even begin to imagine the plight of the soldier who finds himself afraid and tired and stressed and somehow bashing a door in and punching a young mother in the face. You’ve never flown a jet, but you can empathise with the pilot who sweats at night considering whether that missile did in fact go astray.

And once you have stood in those shoes, it will be a short and inevitable walk to consider the people who decide to kill families celebrating Bastille Day or murder music fans while they listen to rock music. Remember, to imagine those reasons and inhabit them temporarily is not the same thing as condoning them or licensing them or validating them. It just means that ISIS are indeed your neighbours, in ways that will both terrify and console you.

You can see yourself in them and still love Paris and still mourn with France and still cry when you see the footage of the grieving families but you will remember all the grieving families that never get shown on your television and never get prayed for in your church and never get photographed for the front pages of your newspapers and like a little child you will stand baffled at how things could go so far that they couldn’t somehow talk it out.

If you practice this strange habit of framing things wide, you’ll soon fear more how Rupert Murdoch can make you scared than you will fear for friends living in France. This won’t stop terrorism or even stop the war on terrorism. It may not even dent the profits of Rupert Murdoch. But this patient business of holding complicated truths in tension will generate communities where bakers welcome Irishmen and landlords leave up beautiful graffiti and people from all over the world can live on the same street and be neighbours.

Your Correspondent, Puts anti-freeze in the wine

The Lord’s Prayer Advertised in Cinemas

This weekend, we saw yet again the depressingly common sight of Christians a-flutter in the British media over mis-treatment. In this instance, it wasn’t red cups, gay cakes, or cross necklaces that were drawing attention but an advert. For prayer.

Admittedly, it’s a fairly brilliant ad.

The Church of England intended to air it in cinemas across the land before Star Wars. But the advertising agency that distributes advertisements has a policy that says they turn down political and religious ads in all instances.

Since this is a prayer in which those who say it pledge allegiance to the world’s true King, it is both religious and political and Digital Cinema Media said no thanks.

They may regret that decision now as David Cameron, the humanoid in charge of England said that the move was ridiculous. I doubt he’d think it ridiculous if UKIP had an ad blocked under the same policy. A body called the Equality and Human Rights Commission weighed in and said freedom to hold a religion and express ideas were “essential British values.” When Britons find that Jesus despises self righteous pomposity, those who advocate for “British values” will be much slower to speak. Even the moderator of my own church, the Presbyterian Church in Ireland, has decided to weigh in on the dreadful ban. He said “undoubtedly many Christians will be dismayed by this decision.”

I am dismayed by many things, petty, tiny silly things. About 5 months ago I got an email from a university administrator informing me that air heaters were not permitted in our offices. I never owned an air heater and never wanted to but I was dismayed by this silly little email. I still regularly bring it up with my wife, to remind her of the suffering I bear.

I am not making this up.

But still, I am not dismayed that a company has policies that occasionally get revealed as a touch narrow and impolitic. That’s the problem with policies and principles and guidelines. They keep being confronted with complex reality and they fall to pieces. Like that ban on air heaters after I spent £1500 buying a truckload of them and distributing them willy nilly around the campus. I am not dismayed that a corporation run for profit in the entertainment industry wants to avoid getting into conversations about politics and religion. They have sexy ice-cream and efficiency wristwatches to sell. No one wants to be troubled by thoughts of forgiveness right before they go to see the latest revenge-fascism hit starring Denzel Washington. In England today, people go hungry because of austerity politics. Britain is currently engaged in at least four wars, none of which can be justified by any stretching of the Christian tradition. The Church of England is an established church, operating under the auspices of the theocrat Elizabeth II. There are many things for British Christians to be doing. Threatening to sue because us nerds dressed up as Ewoks don’t get to see an ad for prayer before being utterly devastated by the crapness of the new Star Wars is not one of them. If the Christian God is so loving, how could he have allowed Jar Jar Binks into the world? That’s a question the Church of England might as well be debating.

On the Twitter machine I commented that this little distraction would be an opportunity for British Christians to “finally see how talk of ‘secular agendas’ & ‘rights’ is an avoidance of engaging capitalism.” My friend Richie asked me to unpack that a little bit, so that’s why I am writing now, as Wife-unit plays old Oasis tunes and I dream of my leaba.

Whenever you see Christians crying about the difficulty of being Christian – whether it is bakers in Belfast or bishops in Canterbury – notice that the common thread that links these public outrages is the market. Asher’s were selling cakes. The British Airways woman was at work. The red Starbucks cup is nothing but a spasm of market worship crudely camouflaged as a Christian conversation. Here too, we do not have a pure question of free speech but a pure example of purchased speech. That’s what advertising is. Google might let you have an AdWord campaign gratis when you sign up, but that’s true of all drug pushers. The first one is always free.

The Church of England was attempting to purchase space in a cinema broadcast, alongside Hagen Dazs and the iWatch, to peddle its wares. Since you are watching your waistline, try Coke Zero and since you are the kind of person who feels a spiritual lack, try praying. That was the previous slogan of this ongoing advertising campaign. Try praying.

What we see in each of these little media-framed controversies is the capitalist captivity of the church. We cannot understand a way of being without consumption. We cannot conceive of practices that aren’t utterly overwhelmed by marketing. We position our cakes as Biblical and our air hostesses as pious and our coffee cups as festive and now in the worst mistake of all, we present prayer as product. It is the worst mistake because the other controversies were half-baked (so to speak) by fringe groups – parachurches and solitary, devoted evangelicals. This one is the freaking Church of England.

Even more critical, no one thinks opposition to gay marriage or the ability to wear crosses on the job or the design of our coffee cups to be central to the Christian faith. But that’s exactly what the Lord’s Prayer is. It is absolutely central. It is the crux of the faith, so to speak. We can define Christians as people who pray the Our Father. We can define Christians as people who call out to the Lord. If we think it is missional to suggest Try praying we are fooling ourselves about how hard it is to make disciples. It is literally so hard, only God can do it.

Prayer is not a product. It should not be advertised. Christianity is not a brand. It should not be commodified. Our practices shape what we believe. If we continue to confuse being effective salespeople and ethical consumers with faithfulness we will soon no longer remember what it is we believe.

Your Correspondent, Hopes Spock kills Frodo in this new Star Wars

Insufficiently Christian Coffee Cups

It is over a week since I read an article on a dreadful website about how Starbucks’ Christmas-themed coffee cups had, this year, offended Christian groups. When I was last back home someone asked me why I didn’t blog anymore and the honest answer is that usually I am too busy working on a PhD. A subsidiary answer, that’s also true, is that I have become really good at not clicking links. So I rarely get caught up in the discussions that prompt blogging. This time I am in though. I kept meaning to go over to Starbucks and buy a coffee so I could take it back to my office and scrawl something unChristian on the side.

It’s a sunny Saturday morning and I am drinking coffee from a mug my dear friend Gillian bought us. It is turquoise and in block capitals stretching around its walls one reads the letters “OMG”. It’s a little private joke that means a lot to us in the way that tokens of friendship represent much more than the token itself. I never asked myself if my “ohmygod” mug was sufficiently Christian. No Christian who has ever visited my house have been served tea in and mused about whether it was God-honouring or God-mocking. It seems that no one really cares.


And the mock outrage that I read on that dreadful website has been widely mocked by Christians since it was published. So many tweets and facebook posts and blogs were published about how the Starbucks coffee cups aren’t offensive that they together constituted an expression of internet outrage. We are outraged that someone thinks we could be outraged about something like a coffee cup.

Of course, on one level, the silly little kerfuffle allows us to reflect on a critical aspect of Christian discipleship. 1 Corinthians 13, that famous love-chapter that you have heard read a million times at weddings, says that love takes no offence. Jesus did not get offended easily. He got righteously furious. He burned with a sense of injustice at the oppression of the downtrodden and the sacrilege of holy space. But he took a fair vicious few insults with a shrug of the shoulder and an honest response. In an age of internet mobs and tabloid newspapers and tv dedicated to making you feel fear and offence, the Starbucks nonsense reminds us that we are called to exhibit winsome patience with those who insult us.

And then on a devotional level, the silly little kerfuffle does remind us that Christmas is not the primary Christian festival. Christians are Easter people. Christmas is an annunciation about the coming reconciliation of all things. And in that, a red cup is visually symbolic in a way that something covered with snowmen and Santa can never be.

And on an ethical level, the silly little kerfuffle brings to mind the fact that we are almost all addicted to this bean-drink, which depending on the week is the most traded commodity in the world. And the trade in that commodity is full of deeply disturbing excesses; excess profits and excess agriculture and excess hardship for those who actually cultivate the plants. Why does a copy-and-paste cafe from Seattle end up having such a global cultural weight? These are old questions, but we should keep asking them.

And then on a historical level, this silly little kerfuffle might prompt thoughts about how if Easter is the festival Christians look towards, Christmas is the festival that capitalists shape their year around. For long centuries, Christmas wasn’t even celebrated in the country I live in. The Scottish Presbyterian impulse towards ascetic austerity finds a partner in the much-maligned American puritans, who in a complicated way made capitalist Christmas possible by tolerating it on the grounds that it need not be imbued with religious significance. Christians sometimes fret about Hallowe’en, but it is Christmas that can actually be spiritually toxic.

I am sure there are other angles that other people, who like me are foolish enough to write about this, have spotted. But here is the real place where our thoughts should turn: politics.

If you go back to the original article, the reason I clicked on the link initially was because I wondered, “What Christian group has the time to offer an opinion on such nonsense?” It couldn’t have been the Church of England or the Catholic church and I doubt that the website would consult with any of the massive but basically invisible Pentecostal churches that are changing the face of urban Christianity in Britain. Then I read through the article and found the answer: The Christian Institute.

The Christian Institute is a lobbying group that:

exists for “the furtherance and promotion of the Christian religion in the United Kingdom” and “the advancement of education”.

I love how the scare quotes around furtherance of Christian religion and the advancement of education make it seem as if they are being sarcastic. This is a political charity that has no authority structure connected to actual churches, that seeks to insert itself into the political conversation at every opportunity. My first encounter with them was about 7 years ago, when I received an uninvited group email from them while I worked for a church in Dublin asking for my support in their efforts to oppose the Irish government’s civil union legislation. I sent an email back asking them why, in the light of centuries of imperialism, would a British political group think it can start lobbying over Irish legislation. I got no response.

In fairness, I also got no further emails.

Whenever you look for a Won’t somebody think of the children! response from Christians in the media, you find the Christian Institute. When Christians allegedly boycotted Tesco because one of their staff members called Christians evil on their personal Flickr profile page, it was the Christian Institute. The Christian Institute got nationwide coverage in the UK when it told the shocking story of a British Airways staff member who lost her job because she wore a necklace with a cross on it. When the Employment Tribunal published its report, the story was rather different. In their brave confrontation of the secularist agenda, the Christian Institute claimed that a long-running British soap-opera had covered up a cross while filming a wedding scene in a church. This got widespread attention. When the producers explained that they had not intended to cover up the cross, that prior scripts had the characters discussing how important a religious wedding was to them, that shooting in a 14th Century church is not a cost-effective means of screening Christianity out of a new secular Britain and that the scenes in question did actually feature crosses, it did not get extensive coverage. The Christian Institute did not even graciously acknowledge it.

Coffee cup and supermarkets, airlines and soap-operas: the architects of this secular agenda sure do pick the strangest places to attack Christianity.

Starbucks are tax avoiders, but a search for the Christian Institute’s comment on tax avoidance shows up nothing. Tesco pay unlivable wages, but a search for the Christian Institute’s comment on people being able to live based on the work they do shows up nothing. British Airways are part of an industry that accelerates climate change. A search of the Christian Institute’s comment on climate change is a passing reference to the need to protect the right of teachers making jokes about “man made climate change as a concept.” Soap-operas represent a fascinating form of shared cultural enjoyment but a search of the Christian Institute’s comment on the theology of culture yields no results. If you tinker with the searches however, you find many references to Christian heritage and our culture close together. “Christian”. “Heritage”. “Our”. “Culture”. Each of those four words need to be carefully considered by thoughtful Christians.

I could go on. The Christian Institute was heavily involved in the Ashers’ Bakery case in Belfast. They have links to Creationist groups. They have a history of opposing sex education in schools. But the triviality and paranoia that is combined in this approach to public life has hopefully been demonstrated. This red Christmas cup nonsense is not an emission of the American religious right. It is not a parody perpetrated by the Onion. It is a pernicious form of politics advanced by an “Institute” from the north east of England that declares itself “Christian”. Even on their own terms, if this is the threat that the Christian Institute is guarding us against, we have nothing to fear. The Gospel of Jesus primes us to see the threat facing Christians in this modern age to be Christians. Christians who are selfish and self-deluded, violent and petty.

Much more forcefully, the Gospel of Jesus primes us to face the world in all our complexity and confusion, our sinfulness and our selfishness, our red coffee cups and our gay-agenda promoting soap-operas without fear.

Buy your coffee from Starbucks or buy your coffee from a kiosk at the petrol station. Celebrate Christmas in all it’s tinsel tackiness or stand apart in reflective quiet. But please stop letting the boring and tedious politics of outrage mark Christian witness on this side of the globe. There never was a war on Christmas. But even if there was, Christians don’t fight wars. We break bread. We welcome the outcast. We sing because Creation is beautiful. When we follow the path of these lobby groups, it is not the coffee cups that are insufficiently Christians, it’s the Christians.

Your Correspondent, Building a Noah’s Ark for flat-earth advocates

The Meat of David Cameron’s Porcine Problem

Sufficient time should now have passed from #piggate for me to write about it without being caught up in the hysteria that naturally flowed from finding an episode of Black Mirror (the crappiest episode of all, to be honest) break out into reality.

The claims may well not be true. In the august pages of the London Review of Books, a former president of the society in question certainly suggested that by the time he took the reins, the parties were more about lsd and old fashioned sex with other humans. But then again, it may just as well be true. The Rubberbandits seem to have been sharper than all other commentary in their brief description of why the story matters:


That’s pretty much all that needs to be said.

But Wife-unit and I were talking about this (again!) on the way to church on Sunday and I think there is one angle that needs to be more deeply considered. Surprise surprise, considering that I am writing: It is the religious aspect.

The nations of Western Europe are at the moment embroiled in an interminable conversation about their “values” because brown human beings from south of here are fleeing war, climate change and grinding poverty and would very much like to get a little flat in Greece or Germany or Wales and a chance to raise their kids without fear of chemical weapons. As we deliberate about whether or not this “migrant swarm” has a right to such lofty claims, a subtext in the conversation about multiculturalism is our ability to tolerate their religion. See, many of these brown people are Muslim.

So #piggate arrives at a time when Europe’s Islamophobia is unusually on display. The powers of Europe have spent the last 14 years either actively bombing, shooting and spying on massive Muslim populations in their own countries or have been supporting those so engaged. The rhetoric in newspapers and the protests on the streets are just a new layer on this deep conflict. If there is a clash of civilizations, Europe is firmly on the side that is starting the fight.

Now, let me ask you to imagine a version of yourself that lives in the Middle East. There is a person just like you in Aden or Amman or some other regionally significant city. They are thoughtful like you are. They are as empathetic as you. They appreciate poetry and love to unwind at the weekend by slowly and carefully preparing a delicious and intricate meal and they probably know more about coffee than you do. The only reason you beat them in the hipster stakes is that your purchasing power is higher than theirs. Even so, their outfit is on fleek in ways you can appreciate.

Now this Arab version of you opens up Twitter on a Sunday evening and reads about this strange story that David Cameron had intimate contact with a pig carcass. What does this Jordanian version of you conclude?

David Cameron has used robots in the sky to kill people who look like you, even when they have British passports. David Cameron has military force deployed openly and secretly in practically every country in your region. David Cameron has his government sell weapons to the tyrants who terrorize people who live near you. David Cameron is the leader of a country that has claimed land where you live as colony and outpost and oil production zone for centuries and has never thought it ever needed to say sorry.

How can this parallel version of you, this person who would be your friend if they lived in your city instead of their city, think anything except that David Cameron has defiled himself in a way that is fitting with the desolation he brings to everything he touches? Whether the story is factually true or not is almost irrelevant. The optics of it render it as a myth. This is a leader whose government screws everything it encounters. Why wouldn’t it screw a dead pig?

I apologise if my language strays outside the typical boundaries of Christian speech, but I am doing my best to talk around this point. It is critical because it is so profane. To many subjects of the British crown who are Jewish and Muslim, this story is not merely a regrettable case of college high-jinks. It is a profoundly revealing illustration of the hellish death that flows from the nihilism of Empire.

And this is where Wife-unit’s reflections, shared with me as I walked into our sun-filled sanctuary to hear John Swinton preach on the love chapter of 1 Corinthians 13 hit the ground. If this story is true, it was absolutely certain that there was no point before the dreadful act when Cameron weighed the possible actions that lay before him and decided that, on reflection, he should defile himself by profaning this creature’s corpse in this way. Cameron’s presence in that room means that he had no choice but to act in that way.

At some point, early in his life or late in the day, Cameron resolved to be a winner in the big game of life. He determined to do whatever it took to get ahead. And with that decision made, the rest flowed as surely as ginger ale placed in front of me disappears. He decided he would be someone and to achieve that he went to these parties and joined these clubs and found himself in these situations. He decided he wanted power and so he ended up doing vacuous public relations work in the City of London and palling around with an intellectually bankrupt Conservative party and running for office and then talking more commonly in front of cameras and eventually winning at the game so well that he had the power to drop waves of fire from the sky on wedding parties and force disabled people to work themselves to death.

Whether the story is true or not, the meat of Cameron’s problem is that at some point along the way he decided what success was and has been happy to defile himself ever since then.

So as we arrived at the door of the church, my wife confessed she pitied him. And I have reflected on that in the days since. I wonder if the Amman or Aden version of me can bring themselves to pity this sad man.

Your Correspondent, He’s got franks and pork and beans, always bust the new routines

What Can Be Bought?

I have become a master of asserting my consumer rights. Every time the courier delivers something late they get an angry email. Every time I buy an apple that is crumbly I take it back to the shop and throw it in the manager’s face. Every time I get called a thief at the cinema, I drop whatever life-sized cut-out I’m carrying and give them a piece of my mind.

People often ask me, in reverential awe, “How are you so laid back all the time?” And I answer them, sagely and with appropriate humility, “I am not laid back all the time. I complain whenever my choices aren’t respected.”


I have written elsewhere about the problem with rights language. Human rights as a concept has many benefits. For one thing, as the Sri Lankan theologian Vinoth Ramachandra reminds us, human rights is one of the few tools by which the developing world can hold the west to account. But the fundamental problem with rights go deeper than our tendency to demand them in trivial settings like when we want a train ticket exchanged or some identification document stamped. Human rights, as things we possess, are almost bound to get hijacked by the logic of capitalism.


Is it not significant that the rights that you most commonly defend are your consumer rights? My email-flinging, apple-pitching, tantrum-throwing ways may be the sign of a life that is too comfortable. I don’t have real problems to get upset about so instead I complain for hours to my bank about changes to their website’s login procedures. But that analysis is too thin. Consumer rights are not just the rights to which we most commonly attend. They are also the form to which all other rights get reduced. In America, your right to bear arms involves possessing weaponry. You have to buy them first. The rights are rights about the ability to own. In Ireland, your right to religion involves tax-back on donations. The law doesn’t care if you are Trinitarian or Unitarian, Shia or Sunni. It cares if you give your money to the priest though. Even the A-grade rights – the right to life for example – are inextricably tied up with commerce. Many death sentences are commuted because the legal defence team was found to be incompetent. That is a high stakes form of consumer law. Your refund is considerably larger than the compensation I get from Lidl if my usb powered heated coaster malfunctions.

Only rights can stop the wrongs


This summer, Amnesty International has been in fierce debate and have decided that sex workers’ rights are human rights. They are calling for the decriminalisation of prostitution. They have arrived at this position after 2 years of consultation, which was not some desk-bound academic exercise but involved widespread consultation, primarily listening to the people most directly affected – sex workers. Proponents of this view argue that decriminalisation is not the same as legalisation. And indeed, most of life as we live it exists in that grey zone between decriminalised and legalized. Selling computers was never decriminalised and it is legalised (hence you get asked by Dell to tick a box promising you won’t use your PC for terrorism), but when I empty out the contents of my computer, fill the box with soil, and plant daffodils the law has very little to say about it one way or another. It might step in when I process those flowers into a powder and sell is as “digital medicine” that cures autism, cancer and dampness. Then it will be criminalised. If, after a time, it turns out my cure works, it might then be decriminalised and legalised. But Amnesty’s call, on the face of it, is to liberate the oldest profession, one way or another, from the oversight of law. The police won’t hassle the working girls. But the working girls won’t be paying social insurance tax any time soon.



The real beneficiaries of this proposal, critics argue, will be the pimps. That the police won’t hassle the working girls means the managers of the prostitution rings will suddenly benefit from a productivity efficiency. You don’t need to be an economist to know that this will increase profits. Amnesty’s position is proposed in direct defiance of what has come to be known as the “Swedish model”, whereby being a prostitute is decriminalised but being a buyer is punished severely. Amnesty argues that this has left prostitutes exposed to police violence. Their approach removes police entirely and so makes the sex worker safer.

Critics argue that the structure of prostitution is inherently violent and that this policy basically calls evil good, freeing pimps to have unmitigated control over the lives of the (overwhelmingly female, immigrant, and disadvantaged) employees that would be created by these proposals.


This might be an admirable attempt to develop policies that reduce harm, if it wasn’t such an incoherent mess. After all, the claim that the choice to engage in sex work is a right means that you are already claiming something far more than decriminalisation. Rights are, by definition, legal entities. They require laws to enshrine them, to protect them, to enforce them. Without the oversight of law, your rights are just rhetoric. To claim rights involves admitting that you are claiming laws need to be passed. You can’t merely decriminalise. You have to thoroughly normalise it. And in that making-rights-normal you end up implicating all the other rights-holders. Rights are bound up in responsibilities. If you have a right, that makes me responsible for it. They stretch with universal effect. They are, necessarily, communal.

What looks like an audacious libertarian move to radically reform a market so that the active players can determine their own futures folds in on itself by simultaneously demanding a massive legislative agenda that would integrate that market into the regulated world of other products and services. Farm labourers aren’t set free when the EU regulates agri-business. The guys who run the agriculture industry benefit. Why would we assume that the pimps who become the executives of the newly legitimised adult companionship industry wouldn’t similarly benefit at the expense of the sex workers?


But the problem runs so much more deeply than that. My facetious opening about consumer rights takes on a dark and sombre tone when we consider what is actually proposed when we imagine sex work as a way of life as likely to flourish as working on a farm. This is not a liberating move by Amnesty. It is the surrender of Amnesty to neo-liberalism. This is not emancipation for sex workers. It is a new chapter in our collective captivity to our obsession with ownership.

The sex work advocates (who are often the pimps) declare that it is their bodies, their choice, their rights. Implicit in that argument is the admission that the very flesh of the human is the machine for profit. The sweat of the prostitute is different from the sweat of the farm hand, because the product being purchased is quite literally the body of the prostitute. The rhetoric of capitalism has been inexorably grasping at more and more of our lives, ever-reducing the space and time that is not commodified. Our love letters are surveilled and harvested for tips on how best to advertise at us. Our steps are counted and tabulated in the name of cheaper health insurance premiums. Our entire national economies are painfully re-orientated to win the confidence of markets. In countless visible and invisible ways, you are massaged towards being a more productive consumer. The emancipated prostitute is a logical triumph of this savage capitalism. The consumer consumes the fellow consumer, the person is the product, all of history’s antagonism against women of the street evaporating under the late-modern miracle of tax credits, labour law, and individualism.

James Park of FitBit, making Wall Street and the world more efficient
James Park of FitBit, making Wall Street and the world more efficient


I can choose crummy crumbly apples, and often do. I can choose to pilfer my way around the local cinema and send verbose missives to the postman when my book comes crinkled. I can choose to buy a train ticket and choose to insist on my right to change the ticket, loudly, even though there is a stressed queue behind me waiting for their turn to shout at the poor person behind the bulletproof glass.

These are simple, mundane choices.

It is utterly incoherent to suggest that the choice to engage in sex work is equivalent to my choice to buy a gadget at Lidl. Choice is an insufficient, redundant, trivial category for so serious a conversation. Consent is barely better. No one chooses to do sex work like they choose to spend a few weeks temping in an office. Sealing envelopes and selling sex are not equivalences. My body is rendered as a possible product by the fact that your body has been so rendered. The pimp harms me when he harms you in a way that the recruitment firm never does. I am my body. I am not a product. The substance of what it means to live, all of us, together, starts to crumble when we move from acknowledging that tragically bodies are sometimes sold to forgetting to name the tragedy.

That prostitutes tend to be women, tend to be immigrants, tend to come from the majority world, tend to already be poor, tend to be under-educated, under-nourished, and under-loved is not a consequence of absent law or insufficient policy. It goes so much deeper. It cannot be disconnected from the fact that the users of prostitutes tend to be men, tend to be citizens, tend to come from the western world, tend to be well off and well educated and well fed and well respected. They use prostitutes. They pretend that sex is a right, a need, a biological imperative and they use this pretence to turn the human being in front of them into a tool.

Harm reduction matters. With that we forcefully agree with Amnesty. Making life better for sex workers matters. That’s why the sex worker should not be subject to punishment. The pimps and the johns are the problem. Amnesty avoids that. But even better again would be a world where there wasn’t a market for bodies. Human flesh, living or dead, in part or in whole should not be sold.


If “the Left” exists for anything, it exists to politically represent the view that the best things in life are not to be bought. They are too valuable. The Amnesty policy is liberal in the purest sense, in that it is anti-humanist. It imagines a world of isolated, alienated, atomised human beings all out to carve whatever they can from a hostile universe. I know my Christian readers – many of whom have an in-depth knowledge of sex work far finer than mine because of how common serious ministry to prostitutes is in urban churches – will have heard this news and instinctively sensed there was something wrong with it. I hope I have helped to put flesh on that suspicion. Christian humanism declares that the truth of this world is that we are all in the boat together, bound by DNA and language and culture and space and there is more than enough for all our needs if we make sure to give when we hear the call. The Christian humanist and the hard Marxist agree: alienation is illusion. But I plead with my readers on the Left to consider how futile this Amnesty policy is, how sold out to the markets it is, how brutally calculated it is for the sake of profit.

Your Correspondent, Remembers that the place everyone wants to be in the brothel is not in the bed, but at the till

The Word That Best Describes Me Is Migrant

This is a list, three years old, of the 17306 human beings seeking refuge who up to that point had died as a result of Europe’s border militarisation, asylum laws, accommodation, detention policy and deportations. This is a form of the file made before the Lampedusa disaster, before the civilized powers stopped running rescue missions, before the human lives were transformed by doublespeak into “migrants”.

17306 names


The immigrants into the Roman Empire did not have histories written in their honour. Rome had some virtues, but they had no Howard Zinns. No statues were cast of a blacksmith who arrived from what we now arbitrarily call Spain. No poet penned songs to immortalise the repeated labours of a woman who raised a gaggle of children before dying early of a disease we now would call cancer. The poor in Rome are mostly anonymous to us.

And yet these nameless dead speak nonetheless. Anthropologists and archaeologists can now study the grave sites that sometimes get turned up when a developer wants to build apartments in the suburbs of Rome or some other Italian city and from these skeletons (especially their teeth) we can gather that the immigrants to the Imperial City typically achieved a standard of living comparable to their more established neighbours. On average they died slightly younger, but they ate largely the same food and were buried in the same way and lived side by side with the people who were born in what was then the centre of the world.

The savage Roman Empire might have something to teach the civilised European Union.


Citizen. Student. Migrant.

Three seven-letter words accurately describe me.

I renewed my driving licence yesterday. My old Irish one is on a pink piece of paper, so easily counterfeited that it alone speaks to the profound complacency that comes with being part of the elite. The process of getting a British licence was simple. I filled in a form that was a front-and-back piece of A4 paper, attached one photo and dispatched them with my outgoing licence and my passport. My passport is maroon. It is the best passport to have because I can go anywhere with it. People smile when they see the harp on the front. Because I got born where I got born, I get credit where I was not born. Queuing to see a border guard, the most pressing thing on my mind is a range of small talk topics. I am a citizen of the Irish Republic, and for no good reason at all, that makes life easy.

I am more than that. I am a citizen who is a student. So I get a special council tax rate and discounts at the barbers and when I do have to talk to someone in officialdom here in the UK I never have to worry about small talk topics. My thesis will be their small talk. They will feign interest, or be interested, but no one ever asks me to account for myself. Why should I be here, in a foreign country, taking up a place that a Scot could have, with 44 books out on loan from one library and three from another and a GP and a dermatology consultant and tax-free allowance for the little job I got because I sent an email to a stranger and they thought, “Yeah he seems cool”.


Daily Express doesn't get it

But in this summer when Britain is all a flutter with a “migrant crisis” and the European sea is filled with human beings seeking refuge, the best word to describe me is certainly migrant.

There are Theology departments on my island. I could have studied at home. There is a real job waiting for me as a minister. I didn’t need to do a PhD. I am in Scotland because Scotland has something to offer me. Two bearded Texans, to be precise, who have agreed to be my supervisors. When I am done, I will leave. Wham, bam, thank you hen. I am going back to Ireland. Like a particularly unfortunate flightless swallow, I have come over here for a season before going back to sunnier climes.

That’s what a migrant is – someone who chooses to go to a place for a period of time without ever intending to put down roots there. A migrant is not someone whose psychopathic President uses chemical weapons against his people in the hope that he might knock out a few ISIS fighters in the process. Syrians aren’t migrants. A migrant is not someone who has trekked across half of Asia, boarded ship and boat and dinghy from Turkey to Cyprus and across Greece to try to find a place to live and work and earn enough to send some money home. Afghans aren’t migrants.

My American friends who come to Aberdeen and make friends and chat with the police when they want directions and have babies for free on the NHS – they are migrants. The Japanese guys in our programme who preach in local churches and buy cars without credit checks and get offered jobs when they go to visit sushi restaurants – they are migrants. The people who sit out in the sun (on the rare days it shines) on the lawn outside the King’s College and get photographed by a passing journalist and have their picture in the paper the next day – they are migrants. We are swarming all over the place. The government welcomes us in and we steal college places and medical attention and resources.

We get away with it because we are citizens and we are students.


The dead immigrants of Rome still tell their story. The truth unremembered by the powerful lay dormant in their gums. Our Dead will tell the story of our Empire. Those thousands upon thousands who need refuge and instead meet barbarity will have their voice heard. Future generations will find ingenious ways to expose our crimes in the Mediterranean and Calais and Irish “Direct Provision” centres. And God, who counts the hair on their head will not need to carbon test their teeth. He will turn to us and mimic our question back to us: “Who then is your neighbour?” And in our silence, the glory of our European Union Empire will be deafening.

Your Correspondent, He thought the highway loved him, but she beat him like a drum