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Laurie Penny: Why I despise the World Cup

Who cares about a bunch of misogynist jocks tossing a ball around? Football is commodified nationalism that excludes more than half the population.

Much as I hate to disagree with Gary Younge, I can't get on board with his utopian vision of the upcoming World Cup evoking a "collective sense of latent English identity . . . infused with positive energy".

I despise the World Cup. I will not be supporting England, nor any other team.

I refuse to get excited about some wealthy, misogynist jocks tossing a ball around in the name of patriotism and product endorsement. Mistrust of team sports as a fulcrum of social organisation comes naturally to me. I'm a proud, card-carrying member of the sensitive, wheezy, malcoordinated phalanx of the population for whom the word "football" still evokes painful memories of organised sadism and unspecified locker-room peril.

I'm a humourless, paranoid, liberal, feminist pansy who would prefer to spend the summer sitting in a dark room, contemplating the future of the British left and smoking myself into an early grave.

The fact remains, however, that there are more pressing things to worry about over the soccer season than the state of Frank Lampard's admittedly shapely calves. This country is in crisis. Young people are in crisis, poor people are in crisis, unemployment stands at 2.5 million, the labour movement is still leaderless and directionless, and there's a brutal train of Tory public-service cuts coming over the hill.

In short, the left has more important things to do than draw up worthy charts determining which Fifa team is worth supporting on the basis of global development indicators.The British left has an uneasy relationship with international sport.

Liberal alarm bells can't help but start ringing when a bunch of overpaid PE teachers get together to orchestrate a month of corporate-sponsored quasi-xenophobia; however, as soon as World Cup fever rolls around, members of the otherwise uninterested bourgeois left feel obliged to muster at least a sniffle of enthusiasm, sensing that not to do so is somehow elitist.

This is a misplaced notion: football is no longer the people's sport. Just look at the brutal contempt that the police reserve for fans, or count the number of working-class Britons who can afford to attend home matches, much less the festivities in South Africa. Then there's the uncomfortable fact that the World Cup is only and always about men.

Younge is right to celebrate that race is no longer an impediment to his young niece's and nephew's vision of football as a world "in which they have a reasonable chance of succeeding" -- but unfortunately, his niece can forget about it. Even if she were to make it to the big leagues, she would be forbidden to play in the World Cup: the women's league, held separately next year, garners barely a fraction of the media coverage devoted to proper football, where the only significant female figures are footballers' wives.

In South Africa itself, female players are lucky if they are merely dismissed -- barely two years ago, Eudy Simelane, star of the South African women's team, was raped and murdered for the crime of being a lesbian.

There is something suspect about a people's sport that violently excludes more than half the people, and boozy, borderline misogynist pseudo-nationalism is the last thing Britain needs to help foster a badly needed sense of community. George Orwell observed in 1941 that "in England all the boasting and flag-wagging, the 'Rule Britannia' stuff, is done by small minorities . . . The patriotism of the common people is not vocal or even conscious."

Britain itself is a shuffling, gloriously dissipated nation that also includes many people from Scotland, Ireland and Wales. By contrast, the kitsch, horn-honking vision of English identity associated with World Cup-EnglandTM is too easily co-opted by big business in an effort to get us to spend money on booze, branded sportswear and chocolate bars emblazoned with the England flag. B&Q, which expects to make a loss over the season, has even released a range of garden gnomes wearing the England strip, which rather sums up the twee consumer desperation of World Cup season.

Marketing strategists clearly envision the people of England drinking and shopping the summer away, safe in the knowledge that national pride is being guarded by a regiment of xenophobic pottery goblins. This cheery commoditised nationalism runs unnervingly close to the uglier face of engineered "English pride".

Of course, not everyone who displays an England flag is a fascist, but a few of the flags in circulation will undoubtedly be reused at the upcoming EDL rally in east London, which plans to process through the same streets where Oswald Mosley's Blackshirts marched in 1936.

As football season begins, England flags are once more emerging like a welter of giant sticking plasters where social injury is keenest, in areas where the coming cuts will be deepest.

Meanwhile, the left still has no coherent response to Britain's bricolage of troubles. The problem with footie as commodified nationalism is that it leaves the left wing entirely undefended.

The tacky, tribalistic, red-and-white bandage of cheesy national sentiment is already stifling the healing power of political expediency. And as the people gear up to root for EnglandTM, the left's best chance to reorganise and re-energise is deflating like a football, smashed against a wall by idiot children.

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Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.

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How the “conscience” objection for doctors is being used to threaten safe access to abortion

A new parliamentary report seeks to expand how far a doctor’s “conscientious objection” to providing abortion can stretch.

Getting an abortion in the UK is an exercise in hoop-jumping. You have to find a doctor willing to refer you (jump), convince them your case satisfies the conditions of the 1967 Abortion Act (jump), have a second doctor confirm this (jump), and get yourself to a clinic (jump). Given that the 1967 Abortion Act doesn’t apply in Northern Ireland, and provision varies by region depending on doctors’ expertise, jumping all these hoops will involve travelling hundreds of miles and spending hundreds of pounds for many women every year.

That, however, is still considered too much of an easy ride by the politicians and campaigners who’d like to close down women’s right to choose. With no prospect of achieving an end to legal abortion, anti-abortion activists have focused their efforts instead on tightening those hoops and adding a few more, in the hope that some women will get stuck on their way through. So far, they haven’t had any legislative success, but that hasn’t stopped them from trying.

In February 2015, Fiona Bruce tried to add an amendment to the serious crime bill to “make it clear that conducting or procuring an abortion on the grounds that the unborn child is a girl – or a boy (although this practice mainly affects girls) – is illegal”. It was, as the campaign group Abortion Rights (I’m on the executive committee) pointed out, a Trojan horse: using the pretext of a non-existent sex-selection problem, Bruce sought to reclassify the foetus in law as an “unborn child” and, by specifying that “procuring” an abortion should be illegal, implied that women who seek abortions for supposedly “bad” reasons should be criminalised.

Sensibly, Bruce walked back from the latter wording; thankfully, the amendment was defeated anyway. But she hasn’t given up, and now she’s back with a new hoop. Yesterday the All-Party Parliamentary Pro-Life Group, of which Bruce is a member, published its report on freedom of conscience in abortion provision. If the Trojan horse amendment was about restricting the remit of the 1967 Abortion Act, this new approach is about making it harder for women to find healthcare providers who will facilitate terminations at all.

Under the 1967 Act, medical staff can exercise a conscientious objection to involvement in “any treatment authorised by this Act”. The exemption is important – no doctor should be forced to act against their own conscience – and so is the specification that it applies directly to treatment. In 2014, two Glasgow midwives lost a case at the High Court in which they argued for an expanded interpretation that excluded them from delegating, supervising and supporting staff carrying out abortions: the court concluded that treatment meant only direct involvement in the procedure, and in doing so, protected women from incalculable interference in their ability to obtain abortions. This broader reading is a creeping, tendril-ish interpretation that would allow any anti-choice professional, however tangentially employed in the procedure, to obstruct it simply by making scheduling impossible.

Unsurprisingly, the All-Party Parliamentary Pro-Life Group would like this prohibitive reading of the law to stand. Among their recommendations are that “the Government should consider the feasibility of extending conscientious objection to indirect participation” and “no doctor who has a conscientious objection to abortion should be required to refer a patient to another practitioner”.

The general interpretation of the law now is that doctors with a conscientious objection to abortion should refer women to another practitioner who is able to consider the procedure. Without this convention, getting an abortion becomes a labyrinthine task for women, in which any path might turn out unexpectedly to become a dead-end. Retreat and start again. Count the time you have. Think about the other steps you have to get through. Think about how many more dead-ends there might be.

In the end, this will stop women from getting abortions. Not as surely as a ban would, but in its quiet way, it will ensure that some women who do not want to be pregnant are forced to remain pregnant because the first doctor they approach shuts the door on them. And that is immoral. The language of conscientious objection, as employed by the All-Party Parliamentary Pro-Life Group, assumes that morality is an exclusive property of those who object to abortion. This is incorrect.

Every day, practitioners perform abortions for women from the most deeply considered ethical reasons. Their training may well have dealt with this in detail (at UCL, for example, medical students explore the ethics of abortion in a series of seminars that introduce multiple perspectives). They do it because they know that denying women safe, legal abortion forces them to have recourse to unsafe, illegal means. They do it because they recognise that the actual life of a woman carries more weight than the prospective life of a foetus. They do it because they recognise that decisions about how a woman’s body is used are for her to make, and that to force an unwilling woman into maternity is a profound kind of violence.

Practitioners may recuse themselves from certain stages of the process. But an ethical medic does not prevent a woman from accessing the treatment she needs. And for those who can never be reconciled to the morality of abortion, there is a more definitive way out of involvement than conscientious objection: the UK government could simply remove abortion from criminal law, and treat it as healthcare.

There should be no more requirement for two doctors to authorise each procedure. No more unnecessary involvement of doctors in early-term abortions that could be safely overseen by a nurse or midwife. No more demand that women prove they are doing this for the “right” reasons. Just dismantle those hoops, and let women exercise their own consciences in concert with understanding doctors. Morality doesn’t belong solely to the authoritarian right, however much anti-choice campaigners would like that to be true. Matters of right and wrong direct all of us, and when it comes to abortion, the greatest wrong is for a woman to be denied the choice she makes for herself.

Sarah Ditum is a journalist who writes regularly for the Guardian, New Statesman and others. Her website is here.