Monthly Archives: May 2011

The unsavoury sneering at Obama’s Irish roots

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Barack Obama visited Ireland last week, and celebrated his Irish ancestry with a pint of Guinness. His great-great-great grandfather left the village of Moneygall in 1850 in search of a better life. This was a cue for much sneering from right-wing commentators, on Twitter and on the Graham Norton show (!)

For example, James Delingpole in the Telegraph blogs section spewed forth a rant entitled ‘O’bama? Oh Puh-lease!’. The main thrust of the argument seemed to be that Obama embraced whatever side of his cultural background dependent on where he was. What seems to be hard for twits like Delingpole to understand is that a person of mixed race can embrace all aspects of their identity. It’s not rocket science.

President John F Kennedy made a similar pilgrammage to his Irish roots back in 1963. His great-grandfather left County Wexford in 1848 to escape the ravages of the potato famine. I wasn’t around in 1963, but you can bet that Kennedy’s Irish ancestry was not subject to the sneering that Obama’s did last week.

The undercurrent to me seems to be that because Obama has a brown face, celebrating white European roots is somehow inauthentic. The caricature above says it all: ‘isn’t that strange! A brown person wearing a leprechaun hat!’

Coincidentally, a family member sent me some genealogy, tracing a branch of our family through six generations – all in the Manchester / Cheshire area – all the way back to the early 1800s to a chap called John Johnson who was a tailor in the Parish of Rostherne, Cheshire.

Of course this all meant nothing to the racists in the youth who told me to ‘go home’. It meant nothing to the salesman in the posh car dealership I visited recently. When I showed enthusiasm towards a car on display, he enquired whether I could afford it. I was smartly dressed at the time, so I can only assume that he came to this conclusion as he subconsciously concluded that ‘black person = poor’. I bought an identical car from a different dealer.

For most mixed race African/European people our European ancestry means nothing to overt racists, casual racists and the plain ignorant. So while we accept we are ‘black’ in the political sense of the world, we should celebrate and embrace our European roots as much as possible. Not only is it giving the finger to the racists, but it’s also recognition of the fact that without those roots, we wouldn’t be here.

The blatant racism of the Daily Express

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This week the Daily Express printed a front page splash entitled ’40% rise in ethnic numbers’. Not the Express’ usual scare-mongering about levels of immigration, but instead more concerned with the fact that more British people have brown faces.

“The huge rise over just eight years means more than nine million people in England and Wales – equivalent to one in six of the population – are now from a “non-white” background”

After detailing the increased numbers of Asian, Chinese and African people in the UK, it takes several paragraphs for the Express to point out the:

“The biggest increase over the period – a total of 553,000 people – is among the “other white” group which includes people from Eastern Europe, as well as citizens of New Zealand, Australia and South Africa’

So the biggest increase was in the “other White” category – which would include their cover girl Dannii Minogue. But the focus of the article is on the brown people, with quotes from the odious Andrew Green of the scaremongering Migrationwatch:

“This rise is part of Labour’s legacy. Whether they meant to or not, they changed the face of Britain forever.”

That’s right, the face. I don’t think they can be any more overtly racist than that. My family has traced a branch of my English ancestry back to a tailor called John Johnson who lived in Cheshire 200 years ago. But because I have a brown face, that means nothing to the Daily Express. I am a problem.

I would complain – except the Express has removed itself from the jurisdiction of the already toothless Press Complaints Commission, so it can continue to spew its vile racist bile without censure.

Restaurant Review – The Gilbert Scott, St Pancras

The newly refurbished St Pancras Renaissance hotel – a building world famous for pretending to be King’s Cross in the Harry Potter movies – is the perfect place for nostalgic dining, and sure enough the surroundings of the Gilbert Scott definitely evoke a certain romance.

The loving and painstaking refurbishment of the building is inspirational, and the restaurant itself with its booths and retro lamps has the charming feel of an early 20th century VIP station dining room. It seems ideal for a brief encounter with someone you shouldn’t be seen with, before they guiltily depart on a steam train.

In keeping with the nostalgic theme, the menu is largely hearty, traditional fare, but with a modern approach to seasoning and presentation. I expected my crab salad starter to be the usual refreshing but slightly drab crab affair – but instead, flavours made my tastebuds sing in a glorious three-part harmony.

A pigeon main course was complimented astonishingly well with the intense sweetness of prune, and a taste of my husband’s rabbit and prawn pie revealed the kind of perfectly judged pastry British matriarchs were famed for making a couple of generations ago.

Even the side dishes – a weak point in many restaurants – were carefully prepared, with roast potatoes to die for and a cauliflower cheese that warmed the cockles of your heart.

One pet hate of mine as a non-drinker is when restaurants lace desserts with alcohol to make them more ‘grown-up’. Here, although alcohol was listed in many of the desserts, it was always subtle, and you don’t get less grown up than selections such as Manchester Tart, Jaffa Cake and Kendal Mint cake. These school dinner staples were assembled in a modern, intricate fashion. My Kendal mint cake choc ice zinged with fresh mint while still managing to evoke childhood memories.

It would have been faultless culinary experience – if the service hadn’t been so haphazard. Staff didn’t keep track of our booking and direct our group to the right place as they arrived. Having to wait an age to order your food then having to ask to order is never good news. Side orders were missed and mixed up, drinks didn’t arrive. Despite the standard 2-hour sitting, we were there for close to four hours and not by design, though in truth we didn’t seem to notice until we left.

The evening was saved with free cocktails for the drinkers and extra desserts to try, and a tour of the kitchen where we said hello to chef Marcus Wareing. But being apologised to once is acceptable, hearing it several times on the course of an evening becomes, well, wearing.

Hopefully the Gilbert Scott will address these issues which I shall put down to teething trouble. They only served to make astonishingly good cooking into a merely good overall dining experience. For now I shall just shut my eyes and remember how it all tasted. Great Scott, it was amazing.