Fluxistan

We Made These Beds... Part II

2009-08-30T15:38:00.002+03:00

I dedicate this genius piece of writing to our sad little species... I hope those who read it get the point.

And now it seems
as if we're used to the chagrin
We made our beds
and now we hate where these beds be
Took nothing at all to part this Red Sea
I'm a shackled child
singing the good song of Freedom

They've got no pride
they interrupt our grieving
Tear drop dropping
for the pain of the world

My best friend dies
when she was just a young girl
Left me here, to fend for myself
Now the pain never leaves
We just learn to cope

so when the devil needs hanging
will you tie up the rope and shout PULL!?
Let's put an end to this bull
zen thing
How many years
before we practice what we preach?
How many years
before we truly clinch the peak?
Only to find that
there is no honey on the moon
Official goon
with the unofficial croon

I'm All Things to All Men
All of the Women
All the Children
Just say when
and I'll take you to my Tardis
Who's the Hardest?
Who's the Hardest?

16 bar cycles
heart felt recital
from the wacky blacky man
they should have called me Michael
Look at the monster you make
look at the monster you pay
But you claim no responsibility
cause it's each to his self
in these times that we live

Does God have a sense of humour?
Then the joke's on us
Cause we're chasing our tails
for how long?
The tussle makes us how strong?
vintage poor people fun
If we could ease up on these booze and fags
then, just maybe
life wouldn't be so mad

Be a man my dad said
but what the hell he know?
he lost his dreams
he lost his flow
And I don't wanna be alone

I'm born King
so where's my throne?
I'm too intense
I'm too deep
I'm too nice for life
So what makes this place so nervous?

I'm All Things to All Men
All of the Women
All the Children
Just say when
and I'll take you to my Tardis
Who's the Hardest?
Who's the Hardest?

Look at the monster you make
look at the monster you pay
But you claim no responsibility
but you claim none
We're searching for Jesus
but I'll be damned
if I'll be crucified by 10,000 spies
compulsive lies

They Hate Me
They Love Me
They Hate Me
Cause I'm All Things to All Men, All of the Women, All the Children
Just say when and I'll take you to my Tardis
Who's the Hardest, Who's the Hardest?

Lyrics: Roots Manuva, Music: The Cinematic Orchestra

We Made These Beds...

2009-08-30T14:42:00.007+03:00

To anyone who still strays past here, if any at all my apologies for the long break in posting.

Since my last posting the world has changed some more (what a surprise!) and I've been getting older (!) and events have become even less easy to unravel and decipher.

We are in the middle of a major crash, some say an invention of those who would benefit most from it (my how many surprises can one mind take in one day?). Vast and obscene atrocities continue to be committed in the name of all the usual suspects, war on terror, the prodding of one dangerous loony dictator and the cuddling of another continue unabated. Our freedoms have taken a few more severe knocks, and our world is a little closer to the brink of utter catastrophe.

And yet we still hanker after the same tired gains no matter how small, no matter how puny. While our cultures become poorer every day with an ever growing diet of absolute dross on our media. The spinners go on spinning and the broadcasters go on pocketing profit from our foolishness and our lack of gumption. Our health and education systems failed a long time ago yet we cared none and did even less to save them. Our basic democratic rights have been almost entirely wiped out, yet we smile for the cameras and allow ourselves to believe it's for our own good!

We cheered when finally someone who looked really worth voting for became the president of the most powerful nation in history, yet we see little real change. I never did expect change to be fast, but patience is a fragile virtue. After that it sinks into the black hole of despair. And maybe we are all in despair right now, maybe that is why we are so inactive. I wish this was the case but we have been inactive for a long time.

As an Iranian I thought I saw the seeds of counter-revolution germinating in my country in the lead up to the placebo elections there recently. I thought I saw the same patterns as the original revolution of 78-79 unfolding. Yet still nothing. The king is back in his castle and all is business as usual. My countrymen are still tortured and left to rot in Evin and how many other secret or not so secret political prisons. The so called president continues to bully support out of a sniveling, sycophantic clergy. The youth, our last best hope seem to have slowly shrunk back into their little underground scenes and the rest live under the same oppressive paternalistic government as if they have given up hope. News from Iran has lost its bite so the media no longer look at it for us, for what little worth they have when they do. And here we are again, back at starting point wondering where the revolution went.

Still also worrying about our planet and doing less than zero for it. Letting the politicians and big business of every colour and shape feed us the opium of reassurance so we can go on for a bit longer destroying, wasting and bleeding our planet dry. Hoping that the ice caps won't really melt and destroy every coastal settlement we ever built, hoping that the rain forests will somehow manage to survive and that the fish in the sea will magically revive and be plentiful again. Anything, any last straw we can clutch at to make us believe we didn't really fuck up as badly as all that. Making ourselves accept thinly disguised lies, transparent to a babe in arms comfort us, so we can keep driving those huge 4x4's and keep wasting water as if the rains will somehow miraculously replace the billions of cubic tons of irreplaceable water that we waste and pollute annually. As if!

And so it goes. Appeasement rather than solution, ignorance rather than clear-eyed analysis, chatter rather than communication and reality shows instead of reality. Even our definitions, my old bug bear, keep shifting so that torture is now unashamedly referred to as "Enhanced Interrogation" and we do not feel so bad anymore. "Oh no we did not spend the last years since 9/11 torturing random bastards and destroy their lives for good, we questioned them using enhanced interrogation methods to get to the intell we need to defend ourselves! I heard it from the mouth of our former Secretary of State, so it must be true. You bet ya!". We made friends of monsters in order to fight other monsters we ourselves invented and empowered. We got in bed with oppressors from one place to help take out oppressors from another, all the while ignoring genocide, starvation, growing fascism world wide. We let the Communists wear suit and tie and become "democratic" so that a Putin can carry on the work where Stalin left off. All the while convincing ourselves that selling Russia by the pound to the ex-party members who are now devout gangsters was allowing the people express their freedom.

In Iran the Shah's organ of primary terror, the SAVAK is still in place, with hardly a step missed, unchanged, unpunished and unrepentant continuing the hard work of enhanced interrogation for the good of yet another bastard dictator. What changed except a few touches of powder and rouge? Nothing of any significance, except of course we are that many inches closer to the final disaster, that many years nearer the precipice of mass suicide.

This stupid, blind species of cave gargoyles we call human is still where it was a million years ago except that it is now equipped with a mobile phone, GPS, PDA and a 4x4 and no where to go.

Time Will Come...

2006-09-13T23:51:00.000+03:00

When the moment hatches in time's womb there will be no art talk,
The only poem you will hear will be the spearpoint pivoted in the punctured marrow of the villain....
Therefore we are the last poets of the world.

a line from a poem by South African poet Willie Kgositsile

Small token of respect to the Last Poets.

Hibakusha

2006-08-09T18:00:00.000+03:00

(Hibakusha is the term widely used in Japan referring to victims of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki)

Sunday, August the 6th was the 61st anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima.

Once more the thought of what that day brought upon not just Japan, but the rest of history is a sharp thorn that continues to draw blood from our collective vein.

Yet right now in the Middle East we're witnessing a situation being pushed towards the inevitable. That Lebanon is being laid waste is in and of itself tragic and lunatic enough, but that that apparently local dispute can lead to new Hiroshimas of far greater scale and destruction is immeasurably more chilling. While any criticism of Israeli action is being shouted down as yet another expression of the rest of the world's anti-Semitism, Western governments are sitting on their hands and trying hard to ignore the ramifications of an expanding Middle Eastern war. Escalating an explosive situation such as we know exists in the Middle East is short sighted to say the least.

The foolishness of the Arab world in still clinging to the idea that Israel can, or indeed should be removed, and Israeli bullishness in defence of its perceived territory, coupled with Western insistence on not understanding that freedom means different things to different cultures, and that the exercise of Democracy is not necessarily the only route to creating a free nation, at least not the American brand of that philosophy, has put us on a path whose only destination can be disaster and annihilation. The evangelism of the US leadership, the wrong-headedness of the notion that there is only one model for freedom, and the hypocritical example being set daily that tells us that if we do not agree with American policy then we shall have it bombed into us, and the implied license that this mode of operation grants to all nations is a heady mix on its own. Add to that the growing belligerence of Islamic doctrine, the deliberate misrepresentation of Islamic belief and its coercion into a narrow tool for the furtherance of political ambitions in the Middle East, the continual misguiding of the Muslim populace into more and more extreme modes of so called Fundamental Islamism, and you have perhaps one of the most potent explosive mixtures we have seen since the Cold War supposedly ended.

Garrulous and rampant US and British Hawkishness is supplying an effective fast-burning fuse to blow this mix sky high.

There is a purported gathering of opposition in the ranks of the Western nations against the various policies and actions that are taking shape in Middle East. The symptoms of this present disaster were already fully detectable from the moment those two aircraft shattered the twin towers. The West chose a gloves-off policy and propaganda that could only lead us to a scenario closely resembling the action we see unfolding today. The tacit licensing of Israeli over-reaction, the correct degree of pressure to push an already ailing and alienated Muslim World into a vortex of paranoia and enmity, the encouragement of Iran towards more and more extreme forms of government, the barely unspoken go-ahead to Pakistan to see hope in its territorial ambitions towards India, and the uncountable other minor and major resurrections of territorial disputes and secessionist ideologies being reborn across the globe, are all disasters that could have been avoided, if the correct form of diplomacy had been applied to the handling of these sensitive and highly predictable situations. Yet the US still insists on crippling any attempt towards calming the situation down, by simply obfuscating the issues, and refusing to take a decisive hand in correcting its own mistakes and mishandling of the events now taking place. The UN, once a great and hopeful potential force for the rule of reason in world politics, has been limping badly for years and is now fully hobbled by the insertion of a US ambassador transparently hostile to the entire institution, whose sole aim seems to be using the already fabulously over-used US power of veto, with the result of making that flawed organisation appear even more superfluous than ever.

What of the much vaunted axis forming between Iran, Syria and Hizbollah? Is there any truth in the awesome capacities of this alliance? I honestly doubt that in the event of an attack by Israel on Syria, Iran will be able to send any significant military help or indeed any help at all, except perhaps its good will, to help Syria. Consider the geography. There is a huge, US controlled land and air space separating the two main arms of this axis. For Iran to significantly send support to Syria, she has first to fight her way through Iraq, thereby engaging itself in full combat with the US, on land and in the air. Meanwhile Syria, deeply accessible to Israel will find itself effectively crippled in a short space of time, if the example of the Six Day War is anything to go by. I have heard that one route of access for Iran is through Turkey. But the Turkish-Iranian border is well protected by US troop reserves stationed there, from what I understand. At any rate at this time Turkey is trying to join the European Union and would certainly think hard and deep about alienating its prospective allies by helping Iran. Given all that, and even believing the alliance between Iran and Syria not to be at best bravado and at worst a sham, I personally can see no effective way for Iran being a contender against Israel except in empty threats and theatrical chest thumping.

Israel on the other hand has made its intentions perfectly clear, its desire to create a wide no-man's land, a de-militarised buffer zone about its perimeter, by simply laying waste to its neighbouring countries, is a classically simple and effective form of preventative defence strategy. With all of Iran and Syria's bluster, if Israel decides to carry its present action to its logical conclusion it can not fail to succeed in removing all effective opposition from about its national boundaries. With the US keeping its back safe, Israel can in a matter of months, establish a massive safe zone around itself, thereby creating a core of safety inside its present borders, that would ultimately be an impenetrable fortress against all comers. And short of serious and massive long-range capability on the part of its enemies, it would fully control the entire region as the sole military might, capable of setting all the rules in the Middle East. In case it has missed anyone's notice, Israel at present is the only nation in the region capable of reducing even far away Iran to rubble, with the massive arsenal of weapons of mass destruction supplied to it by the US and her Allies, not to mention its own formidable capacity in weapons manufacture.

Thus neutralised the Arab alliances will not do very much but crumble in the face insurmountable odds. Arab alliances have historically been shaky at the best of times, and a factor that habitually gets overlooked in Western propaganda is that the Arabs have been no better at keeping a united front amongst themselves than the rest of the world has. At the slightest sign of trouble they are likely to quietly back out of any vows of union they have apparently made between themselves. The Arab world is far more tribal in structure still than the West likes to give them credit for. It serves Western propaganda well to present the Muslim world as a monolithic union of fanatical adherence, but this is at best a misunderstanding of the dynamics extant in that world, and at worst the meanest of scare tactics employed to de-humanise the entire Arab world, in order to gain popular support for holding them to ransom by an increasingly resource hungry West.

Looking back on what I've written above something struck me. It reads like the description of events from an older epoch, a positively Medieval flavour. Speaking in 2006 of conquest and intrigue, I feel a definite thrum of familiarity run through me, like reading back an essay on the history of a lost period, when knights battled over control of European feudal lands, of political marriages, of false treaties and deals struck in a bid for gaining the upper hand. Somehow it seemed that the Second World War had put an end to all that. But if there is a shred of truth in my analysis above then we have certainly not changed in the least, except perhaps in the scope of our ambitions, and in the power of our destruction.

I am sure I will get comments asking me to propose a solution to the problems I've outlined here. Very well I can only express the most obvious solution, since it is shiningly clear what the solution is, and has always been. Truth, telling it like it is, disseminating the actual facts of the situation and letting Justice take its course is the only true solution. That Israel must exist, but an Israel that does not abuse its power, an Israel that will be a just friend to the people it has displaced and finally allow them the full rights of citizenship and equality it has so long denied them. A Palestine that is willing to lay down arms and forget the injustices of the past and allow a cleansing of the bad blood that has been generated since their lands were given over to the nascent state of Israel. A Muslim world, that is allowed to shed its fanatic element and to be given the chance to rediscover the more positive and peaceful aspects of its common religion. A Muslim world that finally understands what its warlike ancestors understood better by far. That there is a time for aggression and there a time for pause and for thought. That there will be no flowering of knowledge and science and progress if it insists on regarding the world from the ever narrowing Judas window of fundamentalism. It requires a US leadership that is mature and responsible and at least partly able to take on the role it has sought since WWII, that of World leadership and the Policeman of the World. A US that has learned the art of international diplomacy. It requires a Europe no longer held in thrall of American power and supremacy, and can act once more as a confident world leader. An England that is lead by those who are able to see that the long term interest of the UK is not to disappear ever further into the pocket of a bullying US administration. It takes the loud and clear voices of Muslims, Jews and Christians, demanding equilibrium and peace, demanding unwaveringly that we be told the truth, in order to find a way to live together in equality, balance, peace and mutual respect. It takes careful and exacting examination of our potential leaders, and voting for those who will rule with at least a good percentage of our interests and well-being in mind. A leadership that understands the fragility of our planet and the staggeringly dangerous stage it has reached. We need a real operable plan for how the world will be, not just tomorrow, but once our precious resources are finally exhausted. A leadership that finally behaves as if they have really understood what it means for there not to be any more reserves of oil and coal and fossil fuels. A world that is, albeit belatedly preparing, post haste for the time of fundamental and root change that is so close at hand. We are a single generation away from having none of the resources we have based our modern world on left to draw from. Yet our leaders are still fighting wars of conquest as if by taking control of the sources of these resources they would delay their ending, as if ownership of these would prolong their availability. Incredible that seemingly the entire world is suffering from a clinical case of denial.

Are my proposed solutions the impossible pipe dreams of an idealist? Is what I propose impracticable? Impossible? Then I can only respond in one way. My belief is firmly that we have reached a pivotal point in our history where the only possible solutions are sweepingly dramatic and wide-ranging ones requiring every ounce of our imagination and intellectual capacity. No other solutions are feasible, none other, drastic enough to be of any use. It is my belief that today we stand at a point of history where all other doors have closed and the only way forward is immediate and lasting peace, and a totally united effort in finding exact and workable solutions to the root problems that have pushed us to the very edge of euthanasia. Perhaps the end of our species is inevitable, perhaps we have been moving ever faster towards our logical biological end-cycle, but in our position at the top of the food chain coupled with our immense capacity for problem solving surely we must be able to prolong our survival somehow, surely our innovation can come to our rescue now when we need it more than ever in our two million plus years of evolution. If not then let's gracefully bend over and kiss our collective arses goodbye.

No Doubt?

2006-08-01T20:43:00.000+03:00

Here we are again trying to work out the rights and wrongs of a situation that is transparently wrong. Here again is a situation that your average conspiracy theorist would have a field day with. And it all comes down to definitions.

What does self-defence mean? What does Limited Military Action mean? What qualifies Israeli action as self-defence and Arab action as terrorism? What do collateral damage, peaceful action, terrorism, retaliation, justifiable cause, or any of the multitude other euphemisms we hear daily mean? I for one no longer understand the distinctions. What is happening is that one of the most powerful military states in history is systematically destroying one of its neighbours. And the majority of its casualties are non-combatants. Lebanon, that troubled and damaged nation, is being reduced to rubble.

Were the Israeli soldiers 'Kidnapped" or were they captured while illegally entering sovereign foreign territory as "Infiltrators"?

Is Hezbollah the target for Israeli attacks in this officially undeclared war, or is the real target or aim of these attacks to strike fear into the Arab neighbours of Israel, to put on a demonstration of fire-power, and will-power on the part of Israel as a warning to the Muslim World? Or is this in fact what it looks like, namely Israel jumping at a good enough excuse to bomb the crap out of its neighbours, and get the job done that it started years ago?

What will happen if any of the Arab countries strike back? Is anyone going to say they are responding to an unjustified and destructive threat against them, or are we going to see a shift of opinion back to support for Israel as the victim of Arab violence?

Is UN going to actually make a stand against Israeli aggression, once and for all, or is it going once more to take the soft option of falling in with the barely unspoken policy of the US, in supporting any act of Israeli militarism?

Are we, the rest of the world going to take the statement by Ms Rice that Israel is blameless in this situation at face value and not face up to the fact that theirs is an illegal and unilateral act of extreme aggression with the single aim of destroying the social and political infrastructure of another sovereign nation?

Is Israel giving vent to its long standing desire for "Living Room" (ominously reminiscent of Hitler's policies in the 30's)? Or is Israel laying waste its bordering country, thus creating a de-militrarised "buffer" zone as a means of controlling and expanding its physical, geographical sphere of influence in the region?

What does the rest of the World intend to do about it?

A friend of mine just sent me some photos of Israeli children writing messages on bombs destined for Lebanon! Well what can any sane person say?

Perhaps the most important question right now in this context is, what will the Muslim world do now? And how will the rest of the world react if it decides to fight back? Will they be given the right to strike back, or will they face the usual media and international braying of how they are justifying Israeli acts of violence?

No doubt I will be accused of being an anti-Israeli, an anti-semite, a Jew Hater, a Muslim Lover. No doubt. We live in a world that shirks from criticising Israel on any account. If anyone reading this, reads the rest of this blog, I hope they are intelligent enough to distinguish where I stand on the issue of racism. If not then you will no doubt waste my time with comments accusing me of it. No doubt.

A New Home!

2006-06-11T01:45:00.000+03:00

Well dear readers

Flux has gone the way of DD.

I now have an "intellectually inclined" (don't laugh) blog to supplement this one at wordpress. I have named it FLUXISTAN, because it was just too much bother to think up a new name. So there are now two States in the control of the greedy megalomaniac that you know as FLUX. Tomorrow the World, hein?!

The Giant of Fukujima (Part 3)

2006-06-05T23:54:00.000+03:00

Where were we, ah yes. After fleeing to the Sea of Grass, in his anger and grief, his spirit became mad. But though he was at his wits end, his life was by no means nearing its end. At this time he was a mere sixty years of age, nowhere close to senility for one of the Dragon line. But in his madness he had forgotten his true identity.

So it was that on a fresh and sunny day in late summer, the local villagers caught their first sight of the creature that was to become known as the Terrible Giant of Fukujima. On that day was to begin four years of great terror for the inhabitants of the island. In no time at all the rumour spread far and wide, and as is the usual way of people, some began to think that in fact they remembered a prophecy, foreseeing the return of an ancient curse, that would one day unleash a great and destructive creature upon the island. It was not long before certain scholars took up the thread and legitimised these false legends, whether for their own glory or profit. Indeed one or two of the younger ones, in order to prove their wisdom and insight, went so far as to write lengthy thesis on the subject. The giant was given the name of Surifuraco. And so it was that people whether high or low, trembled with fear whenever noises were heard at night, and reports poured in from far and wide, of the atrocities that the giant had wrought. Noble and peasant alike petitioned Yuji to take action and save them from the creature. Many even prepared to leave the island. Almost every disaster great and small that befell the island was unjustly blamed on the poor Giant.

Teru meanwhile was blissfully oblivious of the disturbance his wanderings were causing in his kingdom, as he roamed restlessly from place to place, lost as he was in his unfathomable despair. If on a rarity he stumbled upon a settlement the people cowered or scattered, terrified before him. He himself though was impervious to the chaos his presence was causing.

Yuji and his co-conspirators, being shrewd men, fuelled the fires of speculation and rumour, to their advantage. with every report their own position became better consolidated. This state of affairs put Yuji on a firm footing towards his ultimate ambition to openly usurp the throne for himself. Having declared a state of emergency, he set about doing just that.

Now as fortune would have it, at about this time, prince Jiro the Second son of Terumasa, was out hunting with a small party of his companions in the Sea of Grass plain, one blustery day. Suddenly they were disturbed to hear a great wailing and tearing drawing toward their camp. As they watched, out of the tall grass there emerged a large and fearfully ragged creature. The young men were making ready to bolt in great disarray, when Jiro, shouting to be heard over the noise of his friends, ordered them to stand firm. Behind the splattered and filthy appearance of the giant, Jiro, as is natural, had recognised the beloved face of his father.

The hunting party, on Jiro's order, gradually gained an uneasy composure, so that they too began to see the undeniable resemblance of the poor spectre to their lord. All this time the giant stood and stared at the young man who was obviously the leader. Slowly his eyes softened and soon melted into tears of recognition, as he identified his beloved son. For the first time in four long years he cried tears that were not the tears of anguish, but a joy that rekindled sanity in his heart and soul. Now the mood of the encounter shifted over to an explosive burst of joy as father and son ran to one another. Jiro, his heart filled with happiness stood close before his honourable father and bowed to him.

Terumasa, his madness of a sudden melted away, and a great weight lifted from his brow, was quickly washed and given more suitable robes. He then briefly related the now only too clearly remembered tale of Yuji's treachery. Soon the party were riding hard, back to the palace to put matters right.

The rest my friends is legend. Everyone knows how Yuji the traitor was captured at the so called Second Great Battle of Fukujima, the first as you surely remember, being that against the Manchu lord Che. Yuji, along with the rest of the traitorous warlords, were suitably punished, and the island was given once more the gift of peace.

As for Surifuraco, the Terrible Giant of Fukujima, that foolish legend was put to rest for good, except in some now ancient songs that remain with us to this day, and which our children sing to entertain themselves.

The Giant of Fukujima (Part 2)

2006-06-05T14:22:00.000+03:00

At about this time, in the far off land of India, a prince was born who would change the world for such as Terumasa within the next few decades. This prince, who was known as Siddhartha Gautama, at a young age began to become bored with his rich and useless life. He became aware that the interminable orgies and drinking no longer held any flavour for him, and began to ponder the meaning of happiness and fulfilment.

Now some of you may be scratching your heads and asking 'Why is this loon telling us this... What has this bored Indian prince to do with Lord Teru and Fukujima and all that? Be patient, you shall know this presently.

Siddhartha was soon to leave his palace and his rich life behind him and take up the life of the ascetic, walking into the wilderness, with only the bare minimum of possessions, to allow him to contemplate the world without these hindrances. He soon gained himself many followers and became known as the legendary Buddha. He taught people to love peace and to live in harmony with all living things, no matter how great or small. Well soon Buddhist disciples began to travel far and wide, and some found their way to Japan. One young monk reached the island of Fukujima and the court of Lord Terumasa. This young holy man was called Yuji by the Japanese and soon became part of the Dragon court and a great friend and advisor to Teru. But Yuji was not all that he seemed. Teru perhaps trusted him too much. Yuji had some very individual ideas about the future of the Dragon Throne. He planned to marry the Lord's youngest and favourite daughter and gradually work his way up the ladder of heirs to the throne and endear himself to the King so that he may be given an island or two for himself and eventually take possession of all the realm of the Dragon.

Soon though his ambition became so great that his earlier, more modest ambitions, grew to take on a more sinister proportion.

One day, after making long and painstaking plans with some of the warlords whom Terumasa had subdued all those years ago, he and his accomplices, under the pretence of making gifts and petitions to the king, entered the throne room and made to attack their lord. With swords drawn and hatred in their hearts they went bearing down on the gigantic King.

Terumasa, though unprepared, was much too old and experienced a warrior to be easily disposed of. He fought bravely and ferociously, but against such a large number of equally hardened adversaries, he began to lose ground, and with a great shout of anguish he fled his assassins to the wild vastness of the Sea of Grass, that was the gently undulating central plain of Fukujima. There he wandered for many long days and gradually lost his sanity.

Meanwhile, aside from the conspirators, no one knew the fate of the king, for you see Yuji the cunning rascal, having achieved the highest position in the land, after the king of course, had told everyone that the king was in deepest contemplation at a secret retreat. He convinced everyone that the king had ordered that no one, but no one was to disturb him, on pain of flogging, until such time as he may see fit to return to his palace, not even his nearest kin were exempt from this ban. Yuji also announced that the Lord had appointed him as his regent for the duration of his absence.

In this way many years passed, and though the Kings wife and family were terribly suspicious, Yuji with his smooth tongue managed to quell their fears, and persuade them that all was fine. He even brought them loving and personal messages from the king, which of course were inventions concocted by him to allay their fears. Now those loyal to the king were aware that Terumasa had been contemplating conversion to Buddhism for sometime, and had Yuji himself not taught that a person seeking enlightenment must take the time he needs to find inner peace? So it was that the lies of Yuji and his cohorts rang true. If a suspicious courtier became too curious then Yuji simply resorted to admonishing him, by reminding him that he must not make so bold as to question the decisions of his Lord, who was wise beyond all, and that it was an intolerable impudence to question his motives.

I hear some of you asking, "Well what did become of Terumasa?" Forgive me, I assumed that everyone knew the story.

The Giant of Fukujima (Part 1)

2006-06-05T00:19:00.000+03:00

A very long time ago on the island of Fukujima, in the Sea of Japan, there lived the great, great, great grandson of Hiroto the Dragon King of the Southern Sea. The name of this young man was Terumasa.

Well Terumasa had one incredibly large problem. He was, in a word, gigantic. Teru was after all, descended from a great dragon who ruled in the form of a man, or so legend would have it. In point of fact if one were to look closely at the stories of the time one will find that very few of his subjects actually ever saw the king, since he kept himself tucked away in his enormous palace at the centre of the island. Rumour has it that the king actually lived in a huge pool of of salty sea water, which as you might imagine is what any respectable sea dragon would like to live in. The stories also relate that one day, while on one of his rare sojourns on dry land, he caught sight amongst the throngs of his solemn subjects, standing with eyes averted, a very beautiful young girl from one of the local fishing families. Well the great king fell immediately in love and asked his chief attendant, the Honourable warlord, the Great Yoshio Masuda, to invite the girl to his palace for some tea, and of course to meet her father.

So it was that on the following day the girl, who was named Akiko, entered the Grand Palace, at a respectable distance behind her father.

Well to cut a long story short, Akiko was soon married to the Lord, amidst huge celebrations and the burning of offerings at the temple. As such stories go they lived happily for the rest of their rather long lives.

From this happy union came three sons and two daughters, and it is the youngest daughter who is of particular interest for our present story. This girl, who was called Mikiko, was married by arrangement to the great warlord of the Northern island of Tarajima, the Honourable Imamura Terumasa, the Terrible. Mikiko brought four strong boys into this world, all of whom brought the house of Imamura great battle honours, and earned the family much wealth and respect, and extended the Imamura Empire to the furthest horizons of the known world. These included the island of Fukujima which, some years earlier, had fallen into the hands of the Manchu warlord, the Lord Che Chin Hanku, the terrible lord who had for many moons pillaged and terrorised the lands that were within this area. This same lord had some decades earlier fought and killed a grandson of the great Dragon Lord and taken the island of Fukujima out of the hands of the family and made himself king and lord.

The Lord Che ruled over the island of Fukujima for twenty years, during which he managed to wipe out practically all the remainder of the Dynasty. All that is except for young Terumasa, the main hero of our tale. His mother had managed, with superhuman ingenuity to smuggle the rather conspicuously large lad off the island and hide him with his cousins on the island of Tarajima, keeping him safe from the agents of the Lord Che hunting far and wide for the remaining male members of the Dragon Line.

Anyhow now that Teru was himself a man, expert in the way of the warrior, and in possession of great cunning and courage, he was ready to gather the dispersed and disheartened forces of his family and face the Lord Che to take back the lost realm of his ancient and revered ancestors. The honour of all the Houses related to the House of the Dragon King, and the future of his own wife and family rested on his considerable shoulders.

So it was that on a stormy autumn morning, having gathered many warriors, old friends and new allies, about him the great and legendary Army of Liberation for Fukujima, began its equally legendary and hazardous march towards the fleet that was to transport them to their fates, and to glories that none had dared to hope for, but all had dreamt of.

For those of you who already know the story of the Great Battle of Fukujima, I need not go into too many long and bloody details. For those who do not then suffice it to say that after two long years of cruel fighting, the Lord Che's forces were either decimated or ran away in disarray. Some even changed sides, since many among Che's troops hated him for his cruelty and bloodthirstiness. The islanders in turn celebrated their liberation as village after village rose up to fight for the great and true returning lord of the island. The Dragon line had always been remembered for their just and honourable rule, and the people were only too glad to be rid of the Manchu's cruelty. And so it was that lord Imamura Terumasa, the Dragon King, the Lord of the Northern Islands, son of the Kings of Tarajima, and great great great grandson of the Lord Hiroto, the Dragon King of the Southern Sea, Lord Trumasa II took his rightful place in the great palace of his ancestors. Terumasa finally put an end to the interminable squabbles of the minor warlords of all the surrounding islands and brought, for the first time in two decades, peace and calm to the area.

So much for the story up till then. Did everyone live happily ever after? Well, not quite.

What's to Come?

2006-06-04T13:47:00.000+03:00

Right, so, since I seem to be on a bit of a roll on the story telling front, I was thinking of posting a children's fable I worte, part of the previously mentioned fragments, some twenty something years ago. It continues in the Japanese vein, and is rather inconsistent in structure. But hey it is an early draft. I've taken a hint from EllasDevil, and have decided to feed this story in installments. That would be a shrewd way of getting folk to come back for more.

Will they be disappointed by the story? Will it reveal great truths? Will it answer universal questions? Will they find happiness and fulfillment through it?

Well I don't know! I suspect NOT.

Please vote

Pound

2006-06-04T13:45:00.000+03:00

I was just thinking that Ezra Pound, mystical proto-fascist that he was wrote many wonderful, Haiku styled poems. One that I loved is called "Field Mouse". I'm going to post this from memory, if anyone sees any mistakes in it feel free to let me know.

And the days are not long enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by, like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass

I love it.

Addendum #3

2006-06-03T23:27:00.000+03:00

For those interested, here is a tiny helper, in Japanese matters, that may relate to the story below.

Names given to boys and girls were commonly chosen in this manner,

Boys were named in order of their birth thus, ICHIRO (first son), JIRO, SABURO, SHIRO, GORO etc.

Girls were named after flowers, qualities or objects, such as, TAKE (bamboo), HARU (springtime), YUKI (snow), KIKU (chrysanthemum), SEI (purity), TOSHI (goodness) and so on.

Boys bore a different name until their coming of age, at thirteen, or in the case of the samurai at fifteen. Girls came of age at thirteen. From there on the sexes did not play together.

TANJOBI, First birthday.

HITAI-EBOSHI, paper or stiff cloth headgear for boys, who became entitled to wear it at the age of five, worn high on the forehead, and tied with a ribbon.

The ceremony of adulthood, was called GEMPUKU, whereupon the young adult was entitled to wear his man's head-dress, EBOSHI. During GEMPUKU the godparents gave the boy his man's name, comprised of two parts, one hereditary, the other personal. Only high ranking people had the privilege of a family name. The lower people usually had only personal names, and in the case of craftsmen and artists as well as other guild members often added the name of their trade as a prefix. In many cases people from the same village all had the same name though they were not related by blood.

TORII, the gateway of a Shinto shrine.

Just thought it may help clarify some things.

Haiku

2006-06-03T18:24:00.000+03:00

Since I've received a couple of encouraging comments, kindly asking me to post more of the now fragmentary fables I wrote all those years ago, I am now going to foist upon you another of these. The tale below was written based on the Japanese tradition of 'haiku' poetry. Japanese tales are, as everything else about that wonderful culture, short, mysterious and to the point. I found them achingly beautiful, which is why I wanted to try my clumsy hand at writing a story in that style. And here it is...

"The Lover

As he stole his way closer to his beloved's chamber, he could hear the soft lilt of her gentle song, and the quiet shuffling that told him her whereabouts in her room.

Finally he was there, only a small screen separating him from the object of his passion. He bent his head gently towards one of the small openings in the screen, and carefully put his eye to it. Inside in the profound gloom of the lady's bed chamber, he could just make out the shapely curves of her pale body as she undressed. Excitement and anticipation nearly driving him till he thought he might go mad, he whispered to his love a poem he had prepared for exactly this moment, and had been rehearsing ever since that beautiful day when he first set eyes on his love at the great Lord Terunaka's gempuku for his Second Son, Jiro Takeda.

He sang softly to her, saying

Even more than in my days gone by
When I did not know you,
Oh, Green leaves of the willow,
More than ever, this morning
My thoughts are troubled

The lady, meanwhile he could see had stopped moving around and was listening to his song. At this thought his heart leapt nearly to choke him, and he felt around in his kimono to find the love token he had prepared for her, and, calling to her, passed it through the lattice of the screen, and spoke to her more of his undying yearning to be with her. The lady, who was named Haru, and was the youngest daughter of Lord Terunaka, softly replied that three nights hence he may enter her bed chamber, but for now he must be patient. As he was about to leave curiosity got the better of Haru, and she called to him saying "What is your name?"

The young man came back and whispered that his name was Saburo, of the Shenshi clan, and was a warrior in the service of the great Samurai Shenshi Yoshimoto. With that, stealthily the young warrior stole away into the night, as though he had never been there.

Two nights and three days Saburo struggled against his rising passion, and inspite of the urging of his companions, refused to visit their regular inn, where the most beautiful geishas could be had for very little money and a great deal of pleasure. He was determined that his night of love with the Lady Haru should be an affair of fire and brimstone."

haiku n. pl. hai-ku, also hai-kus

1 A Japanese lyric verse form having three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables, traditionally invoking an aspect of nature or the seasons.
2 A poem written in this form.

The Tale of Akbar

2006-06-03T15:47:00.000+03:00

Many, many years ago I wrote a series of fables, each in the style of the country the tale was about. The purpose of this project was to make an illustrated book for the new born son of a very good friend of mine. My aim was by this means to guide him to take an interest in an ancient medium, that perhaps is one of the best ways for us to discover our common roots and the inescapable fact of our oneness as a species. If you look at stories from around the globe, you can see the clear line of oral tradition that is ample proof of the commonality of our psyche. From every part of the world come fables that illustrate the history and evolution of humankind in its perpetual struggle towards understanding its roots and its destiny. They operate as a kind of base learning medium, teaching children and grown ups anything from social etiquette to history, philosophy and morality. Below is a sample of a tale I wrote for the above collection. It was never really finished, and is of course at best only a pale imitation of the great tales it tries to emulate. But it may interest some people. This one was written in the style of old Farsi fables.

"Once upon a time, in the far and vast country of Iran, which was known to the West as Persia, in the great city of Isfahan, there was a prosperous and bustling market, which the people there about call a Bazaar.

Now, Isfahan is known by some as the Jewel of the Desert, and that is precisely what it is. As one approaches the city limits one sees the lush and fruitful glory of Isfahan emerge, like a miracle, out of the heat and sand. To reach the city one has to cross the Bridge of Thirty Three Arches, or Siyo-se-pol, in Farsi. This bridge leads the traveller from the arid desert, over a shallow, powerful and wild river into the greenest, most beautiful city in the whole of Southern Iran. Isfahan, the seat of Ancient Kings, and a centre of much importance to the Iranian Empire, is, even to this day, also a centre for commerce.

So it is that the Bazaar in Isfahan is one of the busiest and most valuable in all Iran. And in this Bazaar was the beginning of the odd story which I am about to tell you. Where indeed can one begin? Certainly not at the beginning, that would take too long, and as any good Isfahani would quickly remind you life is too short. Ah well let's just tell it.

If you were to walk into the central avenue of Isfahan, you'd see a very long and broad boulevard, with row upon row of trees along the central island, surrounding emerald green pools, with decorative tiles and natural fountains, which dance day and night, reflecting the bright sun light of the desert, and magnificent ancient buildings on either side. Every one of these buildings houses some kind of craft workshop and you don't even have to walk in to see what is going on inside, because these are not ordinary shops. They have open arches in front instead of windows, and just by standing on the pavement you can watch the craftsmen do their work. Here they make everything the locals use, from pots and pans to plates and even carpets and books. You can buy everything straight from the person who made it. And every craftsman has apprentices who are usually either his own children, or the children of someone who asks the craftsman to teach his child the trade. The apprentice then learns by doing the work under supervision, until the day he becomes a master himself.

And so finally to our story, which concerns one of these very students. The name of our young student is Akbar, which in Arabic means Great, though at this time Akbar was by no means very great. In fact truth to tell, he was rather a small and delicate boy of fourteen. Akbar the son of a travelling merchant from the Northern city of Gonbad, was an unusual boy only in the sense that he was rather small for his age, otherwise there was nothing about him to make him stand out.

Akbar was apprenticed to the famous Isfahani brass and silver craftsman, Haj Ali Assadi, an important and influential man, much respected in the community. Haj Ali had taken Akbar on as a personal favour to his father, who was an old and dear friend. Indeed Akbar now actually lived with Haj Ali's family, since his mother had died and except for his father there was no one in Isfahan to look after him, and as his father was away most of the year, trading as far as China and India.

One day, in the second year of Akbar's apprenticeship, on a sunny and warm day, a very fat and jolly man who looked a little Mongolian, walked into the shop, and asked especially to see him. Haj Ali was a little put out by this since he vaguely thought that his position was being undermined. But nevertheless he called to Akbar, after some grumbling that he was perfectly capable of serving the gentleman himself, and withdrew far enough to be polite, but near enough to hear the conversation. The fat man looked at Akbar for a moment and then put his hand in his travelling bag and took out a small bronze box and gave it to Akbar. Then he patted the boy on his head and told him to look inside only after dark. Giving a little bow to Haj Ali he left the shop. Haj Ali was a little distant with Akbar at the best of times, but now he was distinctly ceremonious with him for the rest of the day. Finally his curiosity got the better of his sense of dignity, and he again called the rather puzzled Akbar before him. Akbar, the poor boy of course had no idea what the box contained, or who the little man was. Stranger still the fat man had whispered to him that on no account should he give the box to anyone else, and to take care not to even open it in the presence of others, no matter who they were, or how much he trusted them. Well Haj Ali asked the boy some question or other about his progress with a bowl he was making, and then then as if he'd only just remembered, he casually asked Akbar " oh, em, by the way who was that rather rude visitor you had today?" trying not to show how interested he was, "Was he a friend of your father? I don't recall seeing him here about before...!"

Akbar, who had always found it difficult to look at his tutor and mentor without becoming uncomfortable, mumbled that he didn't know, as he struggled against the rising colour in his cheeks. The Haj, his desire to know by now reaching feverish heights, loomed above the little boy and frowning, puffed something about ingratitude and, as the saying goes in Iran, eating the salt and breaking the pot. Seeing that his questions wouldn't achieve any result, he asked Akbar for the box directly. "I had" said the Haj "hoped that you would immediately bring the box to me, after all you mustn't forget that in the absence of your father, you are answerable to me before any old stranger that comes in off the street. But now I would thank you to hand the box over to me for safe keeping" Akbar stood, his heart in his throat and his hands behind him, twisting this way and that, and did nothing to go and fetch the box. The Haj was becoming very angry by now. With some violence he took hold of Ali's ear, and twisting it shouted " Right you little son of a bitch, I've treated you better than my own children, and this is how you repay me! Just wait till tonight my boy, there is no one to look after the shop right now, lucky for you, or else I'd skin your arse for you right here..." Needless to say Akbar was crying, and thought he may just wet his pants with fear. And as if that wasn't enough, when he went, his nose running, back to his work, he noticed that the box was gone. He looked everywhere, but there was no sign of it anywhere.

Well that night he was not allowed down to supper until he produced the infernal box, and told the Haj what the fat man had wanted, and who he was, and what he had said, and then only after Akbar had made full apologies and said he'd eat shit if he ever disobeyed the Haj again. No matter how much Akbar swore on the Koran that he didn't know the man, or what the box contained, or where it was now, Haj Ali simply would not believe him, and the more he cried the worse the situation got. In the end the Haj dragged Akbar to his room, beat the daylights out of him, locked the door and ordered that no one, but no one was to see him or talk to him or take him food, until he told the truth, or died, which ever came first. Akbar meanwhile cried and screamed and beat his head with his fists, trying to figure a way out of this awful mess.

At about midnight, Akbar, who had finally collapsed into an uneasy sleep, was awakened by the sound of steps coming toward his temporary cell. His whole body quaked with almost uncontrollable terror, and he was sure his end had come. The door was flung open and light poured in, framing the fat outline of the Haj. At first Akbar dared not look at his tormentor, but as the Haj spoke Akbar's limbs began to thaw out and relax. Haj Ali was speaking, if not kindly, at least not as though he was about to tear him to shreds. In fact Akbar noted a slightly apologetic tone in his master's voice. As he looked up he was surprised to see the look of worry in Haj Ali's face.

The Haj, like all men of his kind, was very obsessed with his own importance, and felt that everyone should always give in to him, after all was he not rich and powerful, and did his money not give him great authority. But, as is also the way with such men, he never risked anything, especially his own skin. He would sell his own mother to avoid the minimum of pain and discomfort. So it was that as soon as his anger had subsided, he remembered that important as he was, Akbar's father, due to return soon, was much more powerfully built that he, the Haj was rich. After all, on his travels he was constantly fighting bandits and mercenaries and so would have no hesitation in ripping him to pieces as soon as he found out what the Haj had done to his precious, and only child. So it was, and Akbar understood in the midst of all his confusion, why it was that the Haj had had a sudden attack of remorse.

At this realisation, the boy, who was older and a little larger than when we started this tale, gave a great shout of relief. Charging headlong for the Haj, he knocked the great man down on his fat arse and made his oil lamp go over. As fire broke out everywhere, Akbar turned back from his wild run, and pulled the Haj to the safety of the washing pool in the middle of the garden. There he threw the old man into the water, and laughing for the first time in many years, shouted at his master "You fat, stinking son of a whore, you are not worth even killing, so I'm just going to leave you there, I'd like to remember you just like you are now. Don't be surprised if you never see me again, I'm going where donkeys like you can't touch me"

With that Akbar ran out of the courtyard, onto the first mule he could find, and rode hard out of Isfahan, over the Siyo-se-pol and into the West. Under a starry clear sky, which is such a beautiful speciality of the desert, and towards the Zagros mountains on the Western border of the Iranian heartland.

Do I hear some of you asking how I know all this? Well Akbar met up with a man known as Vali Mirza Khan, a fierce and very famous bandit, who also happens to be one of my ancestors. And the story of Akbar is one that every child in my family grew up with. What, I hear some of you ask, became of our little hero?

Why, he grew up to become the famous mountain outlaw, Akbar Khan, the scourge of rich and useless merchants and noblemen. Akbar who was never caught, but died at a very old age, amongst his beloved band of fighters, undefeated and never again fooled by the surface appearance of things."

Addendum #2

2006-06-03T11:26:00.000+03:00

Now that I have started on this business of the Mullah, I've been checking back on his progeny, and find that the whole thing goes deeper and deeper. I grew up kind of aware of this fact, but had not looked into it before with an eye to research.

The Mullah, is widely regarded, it seems, as a member of that illustrious club of ancient and modern fool/sages that occur in practically every culture from every point of the compass. I drew a parallel between Nasr Eddin and Punch previously. But it seems I was being rather ungenerous with my similarity scope. He is firmly planted as one of the most wide ranging of Comic Sages, to have risen out of any culture. I did remember one thing correctly, that although his name changes according to region, his stories are pretty much exactly the same. Also that all the nations that lay claim to his invention are zealous in their belief. I remember personally certain heated arguments I witnessed as a child amongst scholarly types, as to who could rightly lay claim to him.

That aside though I think I may make a page dedicated to him. Meanwhile below is a link to a very interesting page about the roots of some pivotal Iranian literary landmarks, including our Mullah, that have seriously influenced the wide region that stretches from the borders of Europe to those of China.

http://www.geocities.com/zimbbo/history.htm

The Secret of Life

2006-06-01T13:04:00.000+03:00

This one is for scarf

One sunny day Mullah Nasr Eddin was speaking to a group of villagers, who had asked him to tell them the secret of a good life and how they could lead such a life. He stood in the market place in front of the group and said that to tell them the secret of life he will illustrate it with the use of a jar.

He got hold of a large earthen vessel, which had a wide mouth and set it on the table in front of him. Then he produced about a dozen fist-sized rocks and carefully placed them, one at a time, into the jar.

When the jar was filled to the top and no more rocks would fit inside, he asked, "Is this jar full?" The villagers answered in choir, "Yes." Then he said, "Really?" He reached under the table and pulled out a bucket of gravel. Then he dumped some gravel in and shook the jar causing pieces of gravel to work themselves down into the space between the big rocks.

Then he asked the men once more, "Is the jar full?" By this time they had already learned something and as they also knew Mullah and his tricks they were a little hesitant. "Probably not," answered Mustafa. "Good!" he replied. He reached under the table and brought out a bucket of sand. He started dumping the sand in the jar and it went into all of the spaces left between the rocks and the gravel.

Once more he asked the question, "Is this jar full?" "No!" shouted the men. Once again he said, "Good." Then he grabbed a pitcher of water and began to pour it in until the jar was filled to the brim.

After this the good Mullah looked at the villagers gathered around him and asked, "What is the point of this illustration?" Ali raised his hand and said, "The point is, no matter how much you work, if you try really hard you can always do more!"

"No," replied the Mullah, "that's not the point. The truth this illustration teaches us is: If you don't put the big rocks in first, you'll never get them in at all."

Addendum

2006-06-01T12:41:00.000+03:00

In the post below, which was more based on my memory than any kind of research, it seems my guess or cloudy memory was half right.

Firstly for those who care about these things, the common spelling for the Mullah is Nasr Eddin, I spelt it in the way of Farsi. In Farsi the first name and the family name are connected by the vowel 'e', which is equivalent to 'de' and its variants in Latinate languages, or 'of' in English (normally associated with Irish of course, such as O'Reilly).

Secondly it seems that the Mullah is indeed claimed by the Afghans also, and is a folk hero, possibly based on an actual person, dating back to the 13th Century. There are meagre references to him online, yet he is still a rather large and important folkloric character, much like the tradition of the 'Karayiozi', the Greek clown, puppet figure or his equivalent, the English 'Punch'.

Anyway, just thought I'd add a little cultural history to this post.

It Only Hurts When I Laugh!

2006-05-31T21:46:00.000+03:00

There is an old tragicomic character, whom Iranians know as Mullah Nasr-e-Din. He is a kind of buffoon that the ordinary people can immediately identify with, and is therefore perhaps the best loved character in Iranian literature and folklore. Thousands of stories are attached to him. (Incidentally he is also claimed by the Turks as their own. They call him by a slightly different name which I don't recall right now. I believe the Arabs also lay claim to him, and god only knows maybe the Afghans and Indians too.)

He is the quintessential Muslim idiot. He is mock-pious, he is the eternal cuckold, he's the perennial butt of everyone's jokes, and pranks. He is supposed to be a simple man, as I said, to the point of idiocy. He is in fact, at heart a good man, but through his gullibility and simplicity, his entire life is made up of anecdotal episodes of personal failure and humiliation. He invites his best friend to make himself at home, only to have him sleep with his wife as soon as his back is turned, or offers another a helping hand, only to be robbed blind, and so on.

In all the countries that lay claim to his invention they see him as the comical face of the tragedy of everyday life. Whenever some misfortune befalls you, someone will have a comforting anecdote (antidote?) of Nasr-e-Din Khan for you, to let you know that there are worse things in life.

Anyway, enough preamble, one of my favourites goes something like this:

"A friend comes to visit the Mullah, and on reaching his door he hears screams of agony issue from his house. Worried he bangs on the door, and enters the house. Reaching the room where the screams are coming from he sees Nasr-e-Din sitting in the corner, on the floor with his trousers down. The Mullah is in the process of piercing his balls, viciously with a needle. as his screams subside his worried friend says "In God's name man, what are doing?" Nasr-e-din looks up through tearful, bloodshot eyes to his friend and says "Ah, but it feels so good when I stop!"

Perhaps that resonates with you too!

In the Playing Fields of the Lord

2006-05-31T15:23:00.000+03:00

"Our Democracy is better than yours. Our Freedom is Freer than yours. 'Coz we started it. We thought of it first. NAH NAH NAH."

That is the attitude that we seem to bring to many otherwise sensible and 'grown-up' discussions.

Playing the game of "we did it first", it gets tiresome and very old very quickly. We seem to forget, on an awe inspiringly regular basis, that ideas, wherever they originated, become public property once they hit the public arena. Yet, still we persist in using this vapidly childish argument as a means of shutting down argument.

This, sadly is a classic method used by many blog invaders. It takes many forms, if it is not about politics, it's about civilisation, or art, or philosophy, or literature or ice cream (need I go on?). It doesn't matter much what the subject of the argument is, the form remains the same annoying, finger-pointing piece of utter nonsense.

I remember an interesting discussion, some twenty years ago now, between an Italian friend, a Greek friend and myself. Already it sounds like one of those dubious jokes. The Italian friend, let's call him Umberto, was waxing lyrical about the achievements of the Roman Empire, while Alex, the Greek friend, was shouting him down with the Glories of Ancient Greece. The discussion deteriorated to the point that Alex told Umberto that basically all positive things in civilisation are the products of Greek culture, while all the negative stuff is the legacy of the bastard Romans. At this point, having kept my mouth comprehensively shut so far, I put in that we mustn't forget the contribution of say the Phoenicians, or the great and ancient cultures of the Chinese, the kingdoms of Benin, Ur, Assyria, Egypt...to name but a few. Whereupon Alex turned to me angrily and told me I shouldn't speak since 'my lot' were roundly smashed at Marathon and Salamina.

Great argument, don't you think? I just laughed and told him my lot, as such weren't there at the time, and even if they were, it would be no skin off my nose. And as you'll notice I didn't even include the Persians in my examples of other great cultures.

This form of argument would be harmless banter, though annoying, were it not for the tragic fact that we conduct our global politics in the same way. As if all history has to teach us is who was the highest scorer in a game of sports.

Oh the fun we have.

A Delicate Distinction

2006-05-16T00:54:00.000+03:00

It would perhaps be futile to try and explain this.

There is a fine distinction between Democracy and the concept of Liberty.

Whereas Democracy is a freewheeling ideology of structured freedoms (the usual press, religion, so on and so forth), it tends very often to be limited in scope when it comes to the mass of the people.

Let me explain.

The Democratic model is deeply choked by the fact that it relies greatly on the mass to be qualified to choose their leadership. In turn, it also needs a leadership made up of those who would have the best intentions and, also, have the least self interest. In other words in order to have a genuinely worthy leadership based on the Democratic model we need men and women who are truly, deeply and steadfastly altruistic. While we also need a well educated, balanced and reasoning mass to carefully choose and vote for them. Tragically, neither of these precepts apply to our societies as they stand. I don't want to get into the chicken and egg situation of this. I have no easy answers as to who's fault it is that we are not interested or educated, or indeed informed enough to choose the right leaders. Nor do I wish to get into the conspiracy theories of how the ruling classes keep us ignorant precisely for this purpose. What stands is that we're neither qualified nor informed enough to choose the right leadership. Meanwhile, to our politicians it would be pure poison to have a well educated and aware voting public. So in fact the balance at present serves only bad government.

Liberty on the other hand is an ideal of pure freedom (or should that be pure ideal of freedom). Not that this does not carry its own share of problems, but in essence it is about the rights, dare I say inalienable rights, of every individual to live free from fear (as much as that is possible), to live as he/she sees fit, without restriction by any overseeing power, to do right by others through a liberal and well rounded education, and an absolute commitment to protecting and nurturing the freedom and equality of others.

Now where is the fine line?

Well for a start, we are not all evenly well educated. Secondly our sources of education are dubious to say the least. Thirdly our history and our national prejudices, our clan loyalties and our natural baseness tie us down to a lopsided view of our own importance and of others' shortcomings. We tend to take easily to exaggerations of our own greatness and the shortfalls of others. The upshot of this is that we buy the cheap propaganda of warlords, while questioning their validity only when their adventures turn belly up. We tend to only demand change for things when they've already failed.

In a society truly infused with the idea of real liberty, we would foresee that a venture is bound to fail, or be wrong once we get wind of it, not after it has failed. Why did America or England consent to send their young to kill and die in Iraq, and then shift opinion once it was revealed that the leaders lied? Because instead of believing that war is bad, that aggression is wrong, we thought, well this is going to be easy. We'll beat them and then our children will come home safe and sound. And we'll be non the worse for it. We did not care that all the weight of history teaches us that in war, innocents suffer and die. We did not allow that a war demeans the victor as much as it denigrates the loser. We did not draw on our, surely, unavoidable knowledge that any war, any act of violence on the part of a portion of humanity, soils all our hands with blood.

And this is the nub of the argument. An enlightened society is able to prevent this kind of abuse, and has the power to block it before it starts, and not only as an afterthought.

Global Enema

2006-05-15T15:12:00.000+03:00

I think that we are going through a phase. The world of our species is a strange little terrarium. Many countless attempts have been made to describe and encompass its sense and its meaning. One that springs to mind is ancient in origin. It attempts to liken the world to a wheel (an apt image). It describes the affairs of the world as being a wheel, and that at any given point some on this wheel are on the ascent and others are on the descent. But there are myriad wheels within wheels, that is, not only the world but all its individual components are also trapped within a cyclic pattern. So that an individual, say you, will experience in your lifetime ups and downs by the motion of the wheel. In narrow terms this describes how in your say daily wheel, you may awake sad and lacking in energy, but as that day travels to its night, you may suddenly find your mood building up to a burst of energy or joy, or something else positive. Well that is as simply as the idea can be described.

But this wheel also has another application. If we look at our collective history, I think another perhaps more ominous pattern can also be discerned. One that I think may well fit the troubles we're witnessing today.

If you were to look back on our recorded history, you will find periodic, let's for argument's sake say once in every Century (although many smaller wheels of the same sort are turning within the big world wheel, always) attempts at curing our societal ills by means of a purgative. These purges normally coincide with time on the downside of the wheel. They almost invariably take the form of baptisms of fire, be that war, witch burning, Communist hunting, Jew baiting, racism or whatever.

When things are not going well for us, we tend to look to outside elements for something or someone to blame for our ills.

Take the classic times of the Inquisition. The 12th through to the 18th centuries were rife with a raging in-house struggle for supremacy, which, it may be argued, continues into our times. The Church and the Secular arm were at odds over who would take charge of the masses. But the Church was also fighting a battle within its own corpus. The countless cults of saints, from the followers of Francis or Dominic, to the various brotherhoods of the so called heretics, to the larger power struggle between the popes of the Eastern and Western arms of the Church, and in turn their disputes with various European Emperors over control of the hearts and minds, not to mention souls, of the mass of the population. The Church stigmatised those it wished to rid itself of, as witches, Devil worshippers, heretics and followers of the Antichrist. Those who disputed the legitimacy of the Popes were put before the Inquisition, and could make no defence that would absolve them, since the method of Inquisition was such that no matter what proof the accused brought forth to prove his innocence, it was seized upon and presented as, in fact more proof of his guilt. (The classic Monty Python trick that was used again and again on those accused of witchcraft, for example, was that the test for discovering a witch was to drop them in a body of water, since witches had the same quality as wood. If the accused floated, they were then burned since it was irrefutable proof of their sin, if they drowned and died then they were not a witch and their soul was dispatched to heaven forthwith. A lose-lose situation, and ingenious in that if you want to get rid of someone, the best strategy for keeping your hands clean, and avoiding accusations of bias is to say they had a fair trial as outlined by the law.) You may ask what possible interest could it serve the Church to falsely accuse ordinary people, and offing them, since these same had no power to begin with. The motive force behind these purges was multiple in aim. One was to apply pressure within the body of the church to kill all resistance to the status quo, as determined by the Pope, and secondly to strike fear amongst the uneducated public, to quell any rebellion that may be brewing against the monopoly of power that the Church exercised, but also to alleviate the tensions that may have been building up amongst the flock due to the depravations of their daily oppression by the Church and by the lords of the land. Not to mention earn a tidy income from those accused.

"The persecution of witchcraft enabled the Church to prolong the profitability of the Inquisition. The Inquisition had left regions so economically destitute that the inquisitor Eymeric complained, "In our days there are no more rich heretics ... it is a pity that so salutary an institution as ours should be so uncertain of its future." By adding witchcraft to the crimes it persecuted, however, the Inquisition exposed a whole new group of people from whom to collect money. It took every advantage of this opportunity." (An extract from the article 'The Witch Hunts: The End of Magic and Miracles 1450-1750 C.E.', by Helen Ellerbe.) The accused were even charged for the cost of their torture, the ropes that tied them to the stake and the woodpile that burned them.

So what did we have. On the one hand an uneducated, terminally poor, population, paying a huge chunk of their meagre annual income (be that in money or in livestock or harvest) as tithes to the Church, working the land as surfs for the rich land owners, for just enough of the fruits of their toil to keep body and soul together, and having no other source of information than the Church and the state. On the other two hugely powerful forces, rich, educated and in deadly combat over supremacy, each jealous of the other's power, influence and wealth. Meanwhile, the populace was not only hit with the propaganda of the Antichrist, witches and so on, but also variously by the Black Death, and other less devastating epidemics. And these in themselves helped fuel the need for scapegoats. All in all a multinational advertising agency could not have handled the campaign better.

What am I leading to with all this? Well for a start I think to most readers it must also be ringing some similarity bells. Think Nazism, think Stalinist purges, the McCarthy witch hunts, think in general of all the demonisation that takes place regularly in everyday propaganda of one or other faction in our society. Always behind the purges that we cyclically witness or are involved in, a greater and perhaps more sinister struggle for power at the top. From the simple ambitions of the few in power, to the more sweeping ideological battles, always the scapegoat is something of a useful tool. It is mostly a way of keeping the majority frightened and distracted while those in power and those with what they call vested interest, carry on building toward their goals. It is what we do to a screaming child, distract and obfuscate, turn their attention away from what they want by offering them a placebo, and therefore shut them up.

It seems we are happy to do anything to avoid or side-step looking to ourselves and finding solutions from within. We are willing to accept that whole populations around the world are daily, actively going about hating 'OUR WAY OF LIFE', we are willing to accept this as a reasonable explanation for our disappearing health, education, civil rights, and other social systems. We are willing to allow ourselves to hate foreigners, to look out for the barbarian just beyond the gate, to the underbelly of our social structure, anywhere to find something to purge that doesn't involve our looking in the mirror and seeing the faults and mistakes in ourselves. Those who wish to have power are very well versed with this tendency, and use it as a cudgel to beat us down with, to keep us quiet, to gain our consent, to legitimise their license to do what they need to achieve and retain their power, their own aggrandisation, to justify themselves to history and to reconcile themselves with what shred of conscience they may still have. As Pilate washed his hands so can they.

Today we have the spectre of Islam, terrorism and immigration, before that it was Communism, in Germany not so long ago the Jews, in Russia Capitalism...

You fill in the rest.

When the Pot Calls the Kettle Black

2006-04-21T13:26:00.000+03:00

Ahmadinejad, a nice sounding name, very nice considering he was the head torturer of Evin prison. Evin, another nice sounding name, and for decades torture HQ of the Iranian state. The Shah built it, may God bless the bastard. The elite cadre of the Shah's military state, highly trained in intelligence gathering methods, a euphemism for attaching electrodes to people's genitals, rape, physical and psychological annihilation of people, whose only crime is thinking for themselves. Thousands have died there. And Ahmadinejad was the head honcho there for years. Well, why doesn't that surprise?

Bush, not a nice name. A 'War President', according to himself. I wonder what that means! Does it perhaps indicate that he sees his administration being centred on military activity? At any rate he is the leader of the 'Free World'. And he is on a crusade against the Muslim's stealing his thunder...

Let's see, their track records are surprisingly similar. They are both of the fanatical mind set. They both regard the military as their spiritual home, they are both deeply devout to their version of their respective religions, and regard their holy books as containing full and absolute instructions towards methods of government, they both have a penchant for secret prisons for dealing with their perceived enemies. Christ I gotta stop now, I feel a certain nausea coming over me. You know that sick feeling you get when you realise just how fucked you are?

This pair have taken it upon themselves to battle it out and see whose warped version of the World will end up succeeding.

What we more or less normal people think is that Ahmadinejad is kind of like us, normal(ish). He is not. He wants war, he wants the Americans to attack and bomb the crap out of his people. He believes that there has to be a war, and much death and fire, for the cleansing spirit of Islam to achieve world domination, as the primal faith. Giving a man like that ultimatums will not dissuade him, it is an encouragement to the man to push things even further. Bush does not really need an excuse to bomb the crap out of Iran. He lied about Iraq and got away with it, why should he shirk from simply attacking Iran for trying to carry out its sovereign imperative?

Well here is my suggestion to my countrymen. Crawl under a heavy table. Put your head between your knees. Bend down as far as humanly possible. And kiss your ass goodbye. Nice vote for leader there, but I guess he would have won anyway. Bush style.

A Word About Democracy

2006-03-28T11:20:00.000+03:00

"I have spoken hitherto of the possibility that democracy may be a self-limiting disease, like measles. It is, perhaps, something more: it is self-devouring. One cannot observe it objectively without being impressed by its curious distrust of itself, its apparently ineradicable tendency to abandon its whole philosophy at the first sign of strain. I need not point to what happens invariably in democratic states when the national safety is menaced. All the great tribunes of democracy, on such occasions, convert themselves, by a process as simple as taking a deep breath, into despots of an almost fabulous ferocity. Lincoln, Roosevelt and Wilson come instantly to mind: Jackson and Cleveland are in the background, waiting to be recalled. Nor is this process confined to times of alarm and terror: it is going on day in and day out. Democracy always seems bent upon killing the thing it theoretically loves. I have rehearsed some of its operations against liberty, the very cornerstone of its political metaphysic. It not only wars upon the thing itself; it even wars upon mere academic advocacy of it. I offer the spectacle of Americans jailed for reading the Bill of Rights as perhaps the most gaudily humorous ever witnessed in the modern world. Try to imagine monarchy jailing subjects for maintaining the divine right of Kings! Or Christianity damning a believer for arguing that Jesus Christ was the Son of God! This last, perhaps, has been done: anything is possible in that direction. But under democracy the remotest and most fantastic possibility is a common-place of every day. All the axioms resolve themselves into thundering paradoxes, many amounting to downright contradictions in terms. The mob is competent to rule the rest of us but it must be rigorously policed itself. There is a government, not of men, but of laws - but men are set upon benches to decide finally what the law is and may be. The highest function of the citizen is to serve the state - but the first assumption that meets him, when he essays to discharge it, is an assumption of his disingenuousness and dishonour. Is that assumption commonly sound? Then the farce only grows the more glorious". H. L. Menken, 1926

Does any of this sound familiar?

Ill Communication

2006-01-02T13:50:00.000+02:00

Recently I had a rather typical comment on an old post from July 17 2005. It raised once more the classic kind of half-baked commentary that often appears on blogs and forums by casual visitors. I quote below the remark and my reply to it.

Ben said...

"Already Greece has been seriously criticised for its track record in tackling questions of race and immigration, by most of the world's human rights groups."

seems like serious hyperbole here.
Firstly, "most of the world's human rights groups" is a false statement. Secondly most European states, not to mention the US have come under equal criticism.

Greece's only problem is being on the boundary of an extremely rich system borderng a poorer system to its south and east. The reaction is entirely the result of physical proximity and not of any culturual difference between northern Europe (which is on its face more racist) and Greece.

I was just reading a incredibly biased and ismple-minded report written by a guy originally from Wales who is spearheading the "Greece is xenophobic" mantra. Wales. hmmm.

3:33 AM

FLUX said...

Ben
hyperbole? You don't live here, I think.

Whether hyberbolic or not though the issue on this post, which is old by the way, was a Fascist festival. It was fortunately stopped, here at least, for which great commendation to everyone involved in making it go away.

Secondly, this post had one purpose only, to draw attention to a nasty little gathering that the media fully ignored in this country. If you read what I have written elsewhere, all nations are open to criticism for their handling of racial questions. This post was only about Greece, so comparisons with other countries (corrected typo) was an irrelevance.

Also by saying Greece is racist, (which is a generalisation I have never used) no one tries to claim others are not. It's a little strange to me that people on forums think they are in school debating society. I am not obliged, especially when dealing with specific local issues, to paint a picture of the state of the world in relation to that issue. Nor in fact does what I write have to have an introduction, a middle argument, pro and con, and a well rounded conclusion.

Several points rear their ugly little heads with this form of mis-reading. And a question occurs "do people ever really read and understand discourse at all?" It seems that people in passing through, make up their mind as to the substance of what they read before they've absorbed it and throw out comments often without attempting to relate it to the subject at hand. I've seen a myriad examples on other blogs of annonymous folk dropping by with a single irrelevant comment and never re-appearing. The essence of debate surely is relevance, otherwise all we have is one sided diatribe and ranting. It is often better not to comment than to misinterpret. Better by far.

Look Through the Hole

2005-12-30T16:09:00.000+02:00

In light of recent events in Paris and also the raging discussions on various blogs on the 'hot' issue of immigration, I feel a comment coming on.

The substance of most statements I've read and heard on the subject, is quite simple to précis.

In a nutshell, the right bray yet again about how these savage, dark, turbaned masses have once more proved themselves to be, well savages, (with a hint of gleeful 'we told you so' behind it all). The liberal side, on the other hand is also giving vent to its usual, "well now you know these people are only responding to ill treatment by the majority of the counties of their residence" argument.

What fascinates me is that the age-old arguments still rage along the same lines as they have done for ever. That is, we attach personal characteristic to race. How casually, almost innocently we say things like 'Well he's Italian', or 'You know how the French are?'.

In other words we start from a basic assumption that nationhood, race and colour are factors that create 'inherent' characteristics. Mind you we don't mean this in terms of how the environment in which you are born can develop your propensities and leanings when you grow up. But that, say an African, born from European raised parents, and schooled and matured in Europe, would still behave as an African. This not in a cultural sense, but meaning to denote character attributes that are African stereotypes. What I mean is that people would say to, or of, a black man that he is a 'typical' black man, meaning a set of preordained personal characteristics.

Now to your racist this means that he would be stupid, sly, naturally violent, incapable of learning or assimilating into 'White Culture', dysfunctional, and most likely to have a single thought on his mind, namely to fuck as many white women as he can, since, lest we forget he is also endowed with a copious, animal sexuality. This last by the way has been suggested as the root of the white man's traditional fear and loathing for the black man.

To your anti-racist liberal I have a sneaky suspicion that the same thoughts occur, but they have channelled the negative picture into a positive one. They would more likely tell the black man about his 'noble' African roots, and how he has natural talents and abilities (usually physical ones) and the old chestnut, natural rhythm. They have resolved their racial opinions by sublimating them into an open 'tolerance'. Some of course go way over the top and attempt to 'go native', as the old saying goes. I'm sure we've all met one at least, they surround themselves with booty from the the old colonies, they listen religiously to 'ethnic' and 'world' music, and perhaps adopt an African child or an Asian, or a selection of each.

So, wait a minute, these are the two ends of the spectrum, and fundamentally they spell the same restriction on the black man in white society. Namely that he is what he is and, whether encouraged to be proud or ashamed of it, there is no getting away from his genetic imperative. In other words he is fixed for ever in the role that his genetic inheritance has written for him.

Well imagine that!

So if this hypothetical man of ours wants to be a nuclear physicist or, even if he has very little appetite for sex, then he is sunk, his identity is for ever shot. Where will he end up if his school for example, push him, against his will to be an athlete or an entertainer? One sure result is resentment and a desire to do otherwise. To in effect, become anti-establishment. But the moment he does he is berated for kicking against his 'benefactors' and being an ingrate. In fact he is accused of fulfilling their expectations, that there is no helping these people, they can't help but bite the hand that feeds them. Now think of it. The position of such a man is untenable to say the least. No one could withstand this kind of double standard and treatment.

I have experienced this first hand. Since I speak the Queens English very well, and am fully aware of the methods of interview and discussion, I have phoned for situations vacant, where the reception was warm and very positive. Yet on walking into the interview room, sensed a sudden chill descend, at their first sight of me. I could almost hear their thought, "Oh Christ he's not one of us!". And believe me I am not an insecure person, anything but, as I am often told.

I must say I have also seen the other side of this, where given that I am educated, and presentable, people have automatically assumed that I was an aristocrat, since their narrow vision could not cope with an ordinary foreigner being intelligent and vociferous.

Anyway the social argument on the other side, tries to look at the problem of integration from the academic perspective, or should I say the moral principle that there is such a thing as 'Universal Man'. This says, in broad terms, that being the same species, we present the same characteristics regardless of our racial origin. The wide gamut of differences between people being the result of social and cultural mores developed through socio-economic, historic forces that have shaped our world in all its variety. Therefore and ergo, though we are all biologically undifferentiated, we present a wide variety of characteristics on the basis of our cultural history. These must also include the instructions and interpretations of our religions and of how our social etiquette determines our responses and behaviour under various stimuli.

Not bad as it goes and generally I tend to agree with this analysis. But there are always those who would bring up statistics to prove the opposite. For example we are told that by far the largest majority of incarcerated persons in the U.S. are of African-American origin, and black on black murder is by far the most common fatal crime in that country. Hmmm!? what do we say about this statistic?

Well one can counter it with the statistic that tells us that some huge majority of those in prison are innocent of the crimes they have been accused of, or indeed of any crimes. We can also counter it with the rather high proportion of admitted racists working in police departments throughout the West. Or we can counter it by citing the uneven treatment of those of minority origin in all walks of life, from the cradle to the grave. We could, but at the risk of being shouted down by Fascists as 'bleeding heart liberals' and Communists.

All that fair enough and I'm sure the back & forth here will continue without respite for a long time to come. And whatever my personal take on this, and I've made that abundantly clear on this blog, the most significant and key question that I see here is only one. Whatever your belief on the origins of the obvious problems that we are facing, what can be done about solving them?

Obviously the right's answer that all these foreign elements should be 'sent back to where they came from' is lame to say the least. We are talking about people that have lived, in some cases for generations in Europe. It also does not address the questions that such a policy would raise. Who is an immigrant and who is a foreigner? How far back do we go to decide the genealogy of a citizen? I mean a Lancashire man of Viking origin, what is he? Is he a Swede? Is he Scandinavian? German? Goth? Or take a Bristol man whose ancestors were brought to England as slaves, three, four hundred years ago, from an unknown tribe somewhere in Africa. Where should he be sent back to?
And will the Swedes or this theoretical pre-colonial African place accept the return of their long lost son?

I think aside from the obvious odiousness of the suggestion of repatriation, what we are dealing with is a persistent denial of reality on the part of anyone who suggests it as a solution. The only, and perhaps surest result of such a policy would be a bitter and very uncivil, civil war.

Which bring me back to Paris.

The French minister for the Interior was saying on CNN the other day that of course they (the immigrants) must have the same rights and enjoy the same treatment as the natives, but not if 'they behave as they are' and 'not if they break the law'. But excuse me Mr. Minister of Interior, civil disobedience is one of the oldest tools of the public against oppressive and unfair government. By this I do not wish to advocate violence or wanton destruction, nor do I think that the behaviour of the rioters is a purely political act. But correct me if I am wrong did the French not send their own oppressors to the Guillotine only a matter of three centuries or so ago, for precisely the same type of social imbalances and injustice? And is that not upheld as an act of heroism by most of the world, especially the French. And lets not forget the record of the French government in its dealings with its colonies. French North Africa remembers the reign of terror that being part of Greater France meant. And let's not get into the subject of fascism in France. I remember when the Marseilles police where exposed and taken to task for having a massive proportion of their officers involved in Extreme Right groups. One case I still remember reading about was a group of police officers on their days off going around on motorbikes defacing Jewish cemeteries and holy places. Our mistake is that we think legislation will stop racism, and even our multi-cultural societies out. But legislation has never stopped a person being racist or xenophobic. And if legislation entrusts the enforcement of equal rights on racist cops, where do we end up? Do we really expect a White Supremacist to make a fair judgement of a black man? I think not. Ridiculous doesn't cover it.

My solution is this, scrap all educational systems, scrap all governmental policy, scrap religion, scrap society, history, everything and start from scratch. Build a society on the principle of humanness not on the idea of racial identity.

Impractical? Preposterous? Maybe so, but any other solution will simply lead us to war. In some ways, and in some parts of the world it already has.