So as a token gesture I'm reproducing the lyrics from CRASS's Reality Asylum below, a band whose views I dont necessarily agree with 100% but who got me thinking and reading and discussing and eventually forming my own conclusions as a young man. A longer version appears in Shibboleth: My Revolting Life by Penny Rimbaud, a very enjoyable read and highly recommended (link is to Amazon, don't fret I'm not on AdSense).
The economy has collapsed. The world is on the brink of disaster. The country is bankrupt. So what do you think our government is devoting its energies to?
Blasphemy, that’s what.
As part of the Defamation Bill, the minister for justice has seen fit to introduce the crime of blasphemous libel.
According to the bill, A person who publishes or utters blasphemous matter shall be guilty of an offence and shall be liable upon conviction on indictment to a fine not exceeding €100,000.
And what exactly is blasphemous matter?
It’s anything grossly abusive or insulting in relation to matters held sacred by any religion, thereby causing outrage among a substantial number of the adherents of that religion; and he or she intends, by the publication of the matter concerned, to cause such outrage.
If you cause outrage among a substantial number of adherents of a religion, you can be fined up to €100,000 for committing blasphemous libel.
We don’t know what a substantial number is. We don’t know what outrage means. We don’t even know what a religion is.
But still, if you say something that pisses off a bunch of religious lunatics, no matter how crazy they are, you can be found guilty of blasphemy.
If you laugh at Scientologists, and they feel outraged, you’re a criminal. Or to put it another way, your guilt or innocence depends on how sensitive some lunatic is.
If nobody is offended, you’re not a criminal. If some bunch of nutcases get worked up about what you said, then you are a criminal. It all depends what the nutters think.
A charter for fucking maniacs to rule the country.
If you say that the Prophet shouldn’t have been having sex with a seven-year-old girl, and a substantial number of Muslims are outraged by your opinion, you’re a criminal.
If you say, No. An alien from Venus doesn’t live inside your head, and enough Scientologists complain, you’re a criminal.
If you say Jesus doesn’t turn into a biscuit, and some bunch of ultra-right nutbags complain, then you’re a criminal.
National Blasphemy Day
Happy National Blasphemy Day!
Just over 30 years ago the masters of the seminal CRASS EP Feeding of the 5000 arrived at a pressing plant somewhere in Ireland. The staff at the plant downed tools and refused to press the record because of the 'blasphemous' nature of the opening song asylum, eventually the record was released with a silent opening track titled the sound of free speech. The song was to be eventually released a year later with the b side shaved women.
30 years later where are we? from Bock The Robber:
I am no feeble Christ, not me
He hangs in glib delight upon his cross, upon his cross,
Above my body, lowly me
Christ forgive, forgive?
Holy He, He holy, He holy?
Shit He forgives, Forgive? Forgive?
I? I? Me? I? I vomit for you Jesu
Puke upon your papal throne
Wrapped I am in the muddy cloud
Of hellish genocide
I have suffered for you
Where you have never known me
I too must die
Will you be shadowed in the arrogance of my death?
Your valley truth
What light pass those pious heights?
What passing bells for these in their trucks?
For you lord.
You are the flag-bearer of these nations
One against the other that die in the mud
No piety. No deity
Is that your forgiveness?
Saint. Martyr. Goat. Billy.
Forgive? Shit he forgives
He hangs upon his cross
In self-righteous judgment
Hangs in crucified delight
Nailed to the extend of His vision
His cross. His manhood. His violence. Guilt. Sin.
He would nail my body upon his cross
As if I might have waited for him in the garden
As if I might have perfumed His body
Washed those bloody feet
This woman that he seeks
Suicide visionary. Death reveller. Rake. Rapist.
Gravedigger. Earthmover. Lifefucker. Jesu.
You scooped the pits of Auschwitz
The soil of Treblinka is rich in your guilt
The sorrow of your tradition
Your stupid humility is the crown of thorn we all must wear.
For you. Ha. Master. Master of gore. Enigma. Stigma. Stigmata. Errata. Eraser.
The cross is the mast of our oppression.
You fly there, vain flag.
You carry it, wear it on your back, Lord. Your back.
Enola is your gaiety.
Suffer little children (to come unto me)
Suffer in that horror. Hirohorror. Hirrohiro. Hiroshimmer. Shimmerhiro.
Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima.
The bodies are your delight
The incandescent flame is the spirit of it
They come to you Jesu. To you
The nails are the only trinity
Hold them in your corpsey gracelessness
The image that I have had to suffer
These nails at my temple
The cross is the virgin body of womanhood
That you defile
In your guilt you turn your back
Nailed to that body
Lame-arse Jesus calls me sister
There are no words for my contempt
Every woman is a cross in filthy theology
He turns His back on me in His fear
His vain delight is that pain I bear
Alone He hangs. His choice. His choice
Alone. Alone. His voice. His voice
He shares nothing, this Christ
Sterile. Impotent. Fucklove prophet of death
He's the ultimate pornography
He. He. Hear us Jesus
You sigh alone in your cockfear
You lie alone in your cuntfear.
You cry alone in your womanfear.
You die alone in you manfear.
Alone Jesu, alone
In your cockfear. Cuntfear. Womanfear. Manfear.
Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear.
Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear.
Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare.
Jesus died for his own sins. Not mine.