Colin Ward's Blog, page 5

Stigmata and Sweets

(From the page “Lies and Injustice: A True Diary of a False Allegation”)

Monday, 17th April 2017

It’s been a month since I last posted. It’s like counting up the milestones. Another Easter has passed. I can’t believe how long this is all taking. Worse still, there seems no way to speed it up — at all. I can’t grow in confidence about it as time goes on because, in truth, the length of time it takes means nothing — it just means the CPS haven’t pulled their finger out.

Easter made me think about it in a different way. Morbidly of course. Crucifixion — horrendous way to die. Designed to be public and painful. Nails through the hands, wrists tied to stop the weight of the body ripping the hands off the nails. The body tries to hold upright to breathe, but eventually it slumps, slowly suffocating the … well, I want to say victim because with that torture, what other word is there?

It’s now nearly an entire year of my life I feel like I have lost. I’ll never get that back. And from everything I have heard, I’ll never get my 100% innocence back either. Always be that stigma. Oh, that’s a word often used to describe the holes in the hands of a crucified person. How ironic that thought came this weekend.

I wonder if this is the tactic when there is no evidence. Leave us on bail so long we lose the strength to defend ourselves. Apparently, if I get charged, the system suddenly moves into hyper drive and I could end up with a matter of weeks to build a defence. But out of what? I didn’t do it. How do you prove you DIDN’T do something? Like sticking a kid in one of those old sweet shops with the jars for 5 minutes alone, then taking them outside and saying: “PROVE you didn’t steal anything.

Now, they have no proof you DID, but hey — you’re a kid in a sweet shop, so you MUST have done it. So prove you didn’t. Had I know the allegation was going to happen I would have set cameras up in the sweet shop to record the fact I didn’t touch a single jar. But who goes into a sweet shop assuming they will be accused of stealing?

I fucking well will for the rest of my life. That’s for sure.

Rick

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Stigmata and Sweets was originally published in In As Many Words on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

It’s Good to Talk

…to the person in front of you…

It’s Good to Talk was originally published in In As Many Words on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Brexit Hacker? Cyber Attacker? Or just a System Cracker?

I like a good conspiracy theory — usually more for amusement than to take seriously. Surely if there was any possible truth behind a Brexit Hacker story we’d have to wonder why no-one mentioned it a little bit sooner.

Perhaps…before Article 50 was triggered?

True to form in the UK, there had to be a protracted inquiry costing huge amounts of tax payer money, and producing a document that only those immune from jargon-induced comas would be bothered to read. And the net result is little more than a shrug of the shoulders and a mild — but quite pertinent — stab at the resignation of David Cameron.

After the accusations that Russia had interfered with the US Presidential elections I have only managed to muster up an apathetic sigh at this attempt to scream “fix” from the “Remain” side. It seems a little too much like children in a playground complaining about severe bullying, only to have a quiet voice echoing from behind the accusers saying: “yeh, and he called me a snot-face, too!”

Brexit Hacker — Social Slacker?

However, we must be careful not to mock the concept of hacking and potential of cyber-attacks to cause genuine, massive disruption. According to a report in the Guardian in February, there had been 188 high-level cyber attacks on the UK in the previous three months that posed a threat to national security. Of course they won’t give details on these, but it is a chilling thought to remember that we are always under attack. It might be less obvious than a physical attack, but it is no less potentially damaging.

Our entire social infrastructure is almost entirely reliant on the digital networks we live by. Even one leading bank being hit can lead to chaos, and we often underestimate the knock-on effect that one attack can have. Just one phone network brought down could disable payment and ordering systems right across our business and personal lives. Security systems can fail; financial and commercial; travel and infrastructure; all of these and much more can fall victim.

When the internet first came into existence it was something that only scientists used to communicate. Then it became increasingly central to our lives to the point that 89% of UK households now have the internet, and the majority of remaining 11% are mostly pensioners. Now over 70% of adults can access the internet regularly on their smartphone. So, cyber-attacks on any aspect of the internet have the potential to massively affect the vast majority of the UK.

( ONS statistics on internet use .)

Did the Referendum Hackers send our Democracy Crackers?

No.

Firstly, let’s not forget that there is a constant team of investigating officers whose job is dedicated to protecting our interests on the internet. We don’t know about each attack, and we don’t need to know. The problem with the EU voter registry was minor — Brexit Hackers or not — and was rectified quickly, and weeks before the actual voting day.

More importantly, if an individual was already on the electoral roll they would have received a polling card sent to their address — just like any other election. There was plenty of time to register for the EU referendum well before the deadline if someone wasn’t yet on the electoral roll. So, if the Brexit Hacker problem did affect anyone and prevented them from registering to vote, then that really was their own fault for leaving it so late.

The only people to blame for apathy are those who are apathetic. Those who say: “I don’t vote because my vote means nothing” are right. Their vote does mean nothing, when they didn’t even submit one. Whatever the excuse might be to have not registered at all, or not registered earlier, the simple fact is that one Brexit Hacker attack on 7th June (or any other prior failed attempts) only affected those who weren’t exactly being proactive in their part in the democratic process.

I wrote at length about the “democracy” of the referendum and how the process developed from history in our blog ‘Why a Second Referendum Could Just Repeat the Same Mistake’. However, in the end, what democracy really boils down to is an individual’s responsibility to uphold their role in democratic due process.

Even if there were Brexit Hackers performing some kind of cyber-attack — presumably with the intention of undermining our democracy — we’d have to be crackers to even think that such an attack had any effect on the result.

So, conspiracy theorists around the UK can sit comfortably in their armchair at home, sipping their tea; or order another over-priced corporate coffee as they bash away at their laptop in full public view. The “leave” side still got more votes than “remain.”

As for who “won” the referendum: that remains to be seen.

You can read more of our blog  HERE .

Brexit Hacker? Cyber Attacker? Or just a System Cracker? was originally published in In As Many Words on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A love letter to my mother

Dear Mum,

It’s Mother’s Day and I haven’t seen you in three months. You’re currently five hundred miles away from me and this year will be the fourth in a row where I can’t kiss your cheeks, or buy you flowers, or take you breakfast in the morning; a cluttered tray of overly-enthusiastic jam on toast, spilt coffee and a sticky card sealed with love.

This year I feel different, because last year I could have lost you. One uploaded photograph along with the rest of them on my timeline doesn’t do the strongest woman I am honoured to know any justice.

When you told me that you had breast cancer, the first thing that you said to me was that you didn’t want me to worry, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. A mother’s love is so selfless, so pure and unconditional, that even in what was one of the scariest moments of your life, you thought of me and how I would process this disease that had just invaded your body.

But I don’t want to talk about all that now. We talk about it enough, and I see in your voice and your strength that slowly, your recovery is starting to show.

I want to talk about you.

I want to write about you, whilst you’re most likely pottering around the house with Dad as I type, I’m sat a country and a sea away from you. I can imagine your scent, soapy and fruity, your smile, your hands, the curls in your hair, the way you sit and fold your legs and how you bring your coffee up to your lips (quite a bit of milk, hot, no sugar). I think about how I will never be able to do anything to repay you for everything you have ever done for me. I will never be able to show to you how much I love you and it frustrates me, but believe me that I do. From carrying me in your body to bringing me into this world, you have given me everything you have, from the food on your plate to the capacity in your ears to listen.

I can’t imagine how hard being a mother is, especially being a woman like you, so hard working, clever, creative, innovative, focused, progress-driven.

As I had barely left your womb, you were back in the office. Even if it meant that you would sit and sob in your company car, the one that they took off you when you were on maternity leave, because your breasts were swollen and you wanted to be with your new baby but you couldn’t because you had to go back to work. I see that now, and I don’t know what to say to you, other than you are simply incredible.

I can’t imagine my life without you, but you can imagine yours without me, because you saw a world for thirty-four years that didn’t have me in it, and I just want you to know how in awe I am of you. Every second I have known you, you have thought of me, you have put me first.

Growing up, my memory is filled with fields and flowers, laughter, happiness, you. You found yourself responsible for a little girl with a mind of her own, and you allowed me to grow, guiding me but never forcing me into anything that I didn’t want to do, giving me the choice and loving me so much you celebrated anything that I celebrated. You navigated the choppy seas of my teenage years as best as you could, making me see the importance of self-discipline but also giving me space to breathe, the freedom to make mistakes, and the stability of being there when things went wrong. You are forever there at the end of the phone, a safe space, the only palm I want pressed against my face when someone makes me cry.

You see mum, I’ve always loved you, but it’s only when I’m far away from you, and as I move on in my life away from you, into the world made for adults and not children, I see everything you do, have done, and will continue to do for me, until the world separates us only in physical terms, and I realise more than ever how important you are to me.

I don’t want to say that I can’t survive without you (although it’s true), because you have taught me so much about how to be independent. You’ve taught me how to be strong, how to seize the obstacles in front of me head on, and to never cower when afraid or lost. You have taught me how to love myself, how to stand up for myself, how to move on from things that hurt me, how to forgive others, how to love others, and never feel hatred or anger towards anyone. Such important lessons that take people lifetimes to understand, your guidance and wisdom has allowed me to explore these notions, and even when I’ve not fully understood, you’ve been there, ready to help me process and digest.

You support me, love me, and understand me better than anyone else in the world. You see my weaknesses, my flaws, my strengths, my being, and you accept me for who I am, you support everything I do, and wish only that I am happy and healthy.

You put me first all the time, and I think when I see you next, we need to talk about how you need now to start putting yourself first, and stop worrying so much about us and how we are and start thinking about you and how you are.

I will never be able to repay you for the beautiful life you have given me, but as we move into the next chapter of our lives together, mother and daughter, I can only promise to try and rival the love you have provided so selflessly for me.

Mum, I love you very much, and I miss you every day of my life.

A love letter to my mother was originally published in In As Many Words on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.