Guy Fawkes Night

For the fellow Yanks who've seen "V for Vendetta" you will have a little idea of who Guy Fawkes is and what Guy Fawkes/Bonfire Night is ...
"Remember remember
the 5th of November
the gunpowder, treason, and plot
I can think of no reason
the gunpowder treason
should ever be forgot."
Guy Fawkes was born April 13, 1570 in York--he converted to Catholicism at a time when there was repression and prejudice toward Catholics in Protestant England (in the year he converted Mary Clitherow (the Pearl of York) was executed by being crushed to death for harboring Catholic priests in her home). In 1605 he became involved in what came to be known as the Gunpowder Plot -- a plan to blow up the Houses of Parliament on the day of the State Opening when the King, most of the royal family, members of Parliament, and heads of state would be present. (Think of it as if someone blew up Congress on State of the Union night). If the plot had succeeded it would have effectively destroyed most of the power elite in one act. On November 5th Guy Fawkes was caught (someone had sent an anonymous warning note to the authorities) in the basement of parliament with 1800 pounds of gunpowder. He was taken to the Tower and tortured but only divulged the names of conspirators who were either already dead or had already been caught. On January 31 1606 he was taken to be executed.

On the night of Nov 5th Londoners were encouraged to celebrate the Kings escape by lighting bonfires throughout the city. And so every 5th November since 1605 (think of that oh young nation, 404 years of 5th Novembers) in England Guy Fawkes Night is celebrated with bonfires, fireworks, and the burning of the "Guy". A celebration of the survival of the state against a terrorist plot.

Of course in later years certain groups came to think of Guy Fawkes differently--Anarchists hailed him as, "The only man ever to enter the Houses of Parliament with honest intentions." And even as a villian he inspired a lot of poetry, including Milton's very famous Satan in Paradise Lost. He's recently made it to lists of the top 100 British people in history and even has some islands in the Galapagos named after him ....

So there's the background ....

So last night Christien and I wandered out into the streets, making our way down to the beach near the Cricket fields. Throngs swarming the roads, the parks, the beach all up and down the Bay. Bonfires large and small all along the sand, and people with firecrackers, sparklers. Explosions and whines. The smell of cordite and woodsmoke. Then the fireworks displays started all up and down the coast--from our perch on the dunes could see the pop of red, white, green, purple lights from the other side of the peninsula, out in Mumbles, down in Black Pill and around in Port Talbot. And then the display at the Cricket fields started to music that ranged from Carmena Barrana dramatic to soft pop to the theme from Doctor Who. College kids, teens, parents with little kids, elderly--all milling through the sand, with the waves coming in closer to the walls, lights and smoke, the smell of beer. I thought, "It's like the 4th of July but without the unpleasant associations (for me)." Shower of sparks in the sky like the bloom of fireflies into stars. No pushing or violence, a few beery songs, everyone bundled in the chill sea air.

Lovely. And so very not American, for all its familiarity.

And so then we wandered in our stateless state (strangers in a strange and yet familiar land) up to the Mozart pub where there was an open mic poetry reading and book launch (ah the poets in their goth and black, punk and skulls). One of the open mic readers read a poem called, "Guy Fawkes Night":

"How very British, to celebrate a failure ... Guy Fawkes failed to kill the king, failed to blow up parliament. Hurrah!"

And then the headliner was an expat American reading from his new book -- all about what america means to him as an expat, his love and hope for the country....So fresh from this place he called "America" we had a hard time matching the words to the place that we know, but all the same, perhaps America is as much a place as it is a state of mind?

State. State of Mind. Stranger and stranger. You can leave your country, but it might not leave you.

And Guy Fawkes the villianous Catholic terrorist becomes in 400 years a (if somewhat dubious) heroic martyr. Time. Geography. Fireworks. Shifts of state. And today the rain is softly falling, grey on grey, on all the sand and charcoal remnants of 5th November.