Life of Brian: Inspiring what?

I nominated Caroline Lucas for the C4 political awards, but in their wisdom they choose not to have any green figures in this year where green issues have hit the headlines more than any year before it.

Brian Haw (who has set up a permanent anti-war camp outside Parliament, right) did make the grade however and you can vote for him if you want here. But, he says taking an extremely heretical pause, I wont be. I don't find him a particularly inspiring figure.

He doesn't remind me of those committed to peace and justice who also play a productive role in society as firefighters, nurses, cleaners and cooks. Nor does he embody a movement of diverse strands coming together in a democratic and united surge.

Brian Haw is one obdurate, stubborn man - principled, determined and in the right - but utterly alien at the same time. Perhaps a symbol of perseverance for many who oppose the war but of objectionable indolence to those yet to be persuaded. To hold up Haw as a symbol of our movement is, to those people, to push them away, making us appear to idolise someone they regard deep down as a shouty, homeless, loony (as we call them in the mental health trade) and that is not us.

I think for some in the movement he stands in the Gandhian tradition of "be the change you want to see" but unless you want to see a world where no one has a job, family life or hobbies he doesn't.

If he's an inspiring political figure what does he inspire you to do? Nothing much I bet, because unless you intend to sacrifice all your humanity in order to become a living bill board, a slogan that talks, then he purely acts as a way for lazy journalists to reinforce the idea that activists are somehow "other" and strange. Not at all normal. Activists need to become more involved in their communities not less.

I think the tendency to turn the largest movement this country has ever seen into a handful of celebrity egos is a mistake, although it's easy enough to see how it happens. It's a tendency that dumbs down debate, allowing us to stay in a comfort zone that avoids awkward questions - and we have no one to blame but ourselves if we let that happen.

Look at the art installation of Haw's banners (right). I guess I'm supposed to be happy that anti-war feeling has crept into Tate Britain, one of this country's foremost art galleries. But the idea of art as a semi-literate Guardian article is frankly shameful.

What does this work actually say about society, our lives, the things we love? Does it make me feel that I'm mortal, does it strip bare and tease out emotional responses? Does it say anything beyond the slogans daubed on the placards?

As art it is shit not because it's political, the greatest art has always had real political depth, it's shit because as politics it is trumped by the crudest Daily Mirror headline let alone the articles of ZNet, ISR or Monthly Review. As art it has no claim to nuance nor depth. There are no layers to peel, no flesh on the bone, no humorous twinkle in its eye.

It's the demon child of middle class elitism and Socialist Worker placards. It advocates ignorance over understanding and debases all around it. It has no redeeming aesthetic quality, humour or originality. It is, perhaps, the natural outcome of an artistic establishment dead on its feet and that section of the anti-war movement that are leftist Clucky Luckies whose repetitive squawks and zealotry mask an absence of humanity, sense of shade or anything to say beyond this week's rote learned headlines - that happen to be identical to last week's.

If we're going to make art out of this war let's do something challenging.

Give me the bullet riddled bodies of Iraqi policemen, the blood soaked clothing of Shia worshippers caught in a suicide bomb, a twisted and ripped piece of metal that once contained the precious head of someone's son. A tap that can't drip because there is no water. Damn well stretch our everyday common sense don't pander to it - in both art and politics. Flex the imagination.

We should demand art that cracks walnuts in its biceps, that takes us to places deep within ourselves. That wrestles with love, fear, pretension. Don't just drawl "Stop the War", give me the swinging cadaver of Tony Blair with his loyal henchman Prescott clinging to his ankles to ensure the neck breaks cleanly. Give me the snap of that moment in a note that penetrates right into the sternum.

Give me art that eats its enemies raw, and politics that digs to the kernel of how we live our lives. Brian Haw can only do that as a valuable part of a far wider debate where all those who oppose the war are engaged - and slogans masquerading as art are positively harmful. It compels us to be smug about our anger whilst turning a space that could have contained something of beauty or inspiration into a banal, dogmatic bark.

Art can grab your skull and ram long dirty fingers down your throat. It can stare into you blankly until that blankness consumes you. It can conjure up hot brothels, full of sensual curves and unsatisfying pleasures that bite you with their kisses. Asphyxiate me, horrify me, teach me, electrify me - but don't fucking bore me for Pete's sake.