Sunday, December 28, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
It was a chance conversation on March 23 1985 ("in the afternoon, as I recall") that first started Josh Silver on his quest to make the world's poor see. A professor of physics at Oxford University, Silver was idly discussing optical lenses with a colleague, wondering whether they might be adjusted without the need for expensive specialist equipment, when the lightbulb of inspiration first flickered above his head.
What if it were possible, he thought, to make a pair of glasses which, instead of requiring an optician, could be "tuned" by the wearer to correct his or her own vision? Might it be possible to bring affordable spectacles to millions who would never otherwise have them?
More than two decades after posing that question, Silver now feels he has the answer. The British inventor has embarked on a quest that is breathtakingly ambitious, but which he insists is achievable - to offer glasses to a billion of the world's poorest people by 2020.
Some 30,000 pairs of his spectacles have already been distributed in 15 countries, but to Silver that is very small beer. Within the next year the now-retired professor and his team plan to launch a trial in India which will, they hope, distribute 1 million pairs of glasses.
The target, within a few years, is 100 million pairs annually. With the global need for basic sight-correction, by his own detailed research, estimated at more than half the world's population, Silver sees no reason to stop at a billion.
If the scale of his ambition is dazzling, at the heart of his plan is an invention which is engagingly simple.
Silver has devised a pair of glasses which rely on the principle that the fatter a lens the more powerful it becomes. Inside the device's tough plastic lenses are two clear circular sacs filled with fluid, each of which is connected to a small syringe attached to either arm of the spectacles.
The wearer adjusts a dial on the syringe to add or reduce amount of fluid in the membrane, thus changing the power of the lens. When the wearer is happy with the strength of each lens the membrane is sealed by twisting a small screw, and the syringes removed. The principle is so simple, the team has discovered, that with very little guidance people are perfectly capable of creating glasses to their own prescription.
Silver calls his flash of insight a "tremendous glimpse of the obvious" - namely that opticians weren't necessary to provide glasses. This is a crucial factor in the developing world where trained specialists are desperately in demand: in Britain there is one optometrist for every 4,500 people, in sub-Saharan Africa the ratio is 1:1,000,000.
The implications of bringing glasses within the reach of poor communities are enormous, says the scientist. Literacy rates improve hugely, fishermen are able to mend their nets, women to weave clothing. During an early field trial, funded by the British government, in Ghana, Silver met a man called Henry Adjei-Mensah, whose sight had deteriorated with age, as all human sight does, and who had been forced to retire as a tailor because he could no longer see to thread the needle of his sewing machine. "So he retires. He was about 35. He could have worked for at least another 20 years. We put these specs on him, and he smiled, and threaded his needle, and sped up with this sewing machine. He can work now. He can see."
"The reaction is universal," says Major Kevin White, formerly of the US military's humanitarian programme, who organised the distribution of thousands of pairs around the world after discovering Silver's glasses on Google. "People put them on, and smile. They all say, 'Look, I can read those tiny little letters.'"
Making and distributing a billion pairs of spectacles is no small task, of course - even at a dollar each (the target cost), and without Silver taking any profit, the cost is eye-watering.
This is what Silver calls "the challenge of scaling up".
For the Indian project he has joined forces with Mehmood Khan, a businessman whose family trust runs a humanitarian programme based in 500 villages in the northern state of Haryana, from where he originates.
There will be no shortage of takers in the region, Khan says. "One million in one year is straightaway peanuts for me. In the districts where we are working, one district alone will have half a million people [who need the technology]." Khan's day job is as Global Leader of Innovation for Unilever, and though his employer will have no direct connection with the scheme, having contact with 150m consumers a day, as he points out, means he is used to dealing with large numbers.
But surely finding funding on this scale will be impossible? "I share a vision with Josh," says Khan. "A thing like this, once it works, you create awareness, you enrol governments and the UN, and the model becomes scaleable. People begin to believe." And from a business point of view, he notes wryly, when poor people become more economically developed they also become potential customers.
In addition to the enormous manufacturing and distribution challenges, Silver has one other pressing problem, namely addressing the sole complaint about the glasses - their rather clunky size and design.
"Work is going on on several new designs, and further work will be required to get the costs down. The truth is that there is, at the moment, no device that can be made for a dollar in volumes of 100 million.
"But I am entirely confident that we can do that."
Such is his determination, you wouldn't bet against it. Oxford University, at his instigation, has agreed to host a Centre for Vision in the Developing World, which is about to begin working on a World Bank-funded project with scientists from the US, China, Hong Kong and South Africa. "Things are never simple. But I will solve this problem if I can. And I won't really let people stand in my way."
Invented by Trevor Baylis, the crank-powered device brought radio to remote villages and was inspired by the need to disseminate information about Aids.
Uses sunlight instead of solid fuel. Used in refugee camps in Darfur and while Gaza was under siege. Improvised solar cookers replaced regular ones as gas supplies diminished.
LifeStraw portable water filter
Half of the world's poor suffer from waterborne diseases and this tool contains a halogen-based resin which is claimed to kill 99.9999% of bacteria and 98.7% of viruses that can cause deadly diseases.
The XO laptop
A textbook-sized computer with built-in wireless and a screen that is readable under direct sunlight. It was designed with extreme environmental conditions such as high heat and humidity in mind. It is an educational tool created expressly for children in developing countries. For each laptop bought at around $400 (£267), one is given to a child in a developing country.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
I just finished reading a book byDavid Crystal, a Welsh who writes in English.
It´s small, the cover is horrible, black with a ridiculous picture on the front. But it´s very good. The only pity is that it was published in 2004 so all the internet chapter, although I agree with him and it´s really interesting, I am sure some statistics are already old.
Some interesting/shocking/nice bits I have learned reading this book:
* In 1999, UNESCO had already created 21 Feb as International Mother Language Day - a date which commemorated the deaths on that date in 1952 of five students defending the recognition of Bangla as a state language of former Pakistan (now Bangladesh).
* In 2003 there were 191 members in the UN - nearly four times as many as there were fifty years ago.
* A language becomes a world language for one reason only - the power of the people who speak it.
* Spanish is in fact the world´s fastest-growing mother-tongue at present.
* Three out of four English speakers are now non-native.
* Some 4-5 million people spoke English late in the reign of Queen Elizabeth I. This had grown to a quarter of the world´s population, some 1.5 billion, late in the reign of Queen Elizabeth II.
* Bilingualism, multilingualism, is the normal human condition. Well over half of the people in the world, perhaps two-thirds, are bilingual.
* It usually takes a generation for loan words to become integrated, though the internet seems to be speeding up this time-frame.
* A language dies when the last person who speaks it dies. Or, some people say, it dies when the second-last person who speaks it dies, for then the last person has nobody to talk to.
* Spoken language leaves no archeology. When a language dies which has never been documented, it is as if it has never been.
* What is happening today is extraordinary, judged by the standards of the past: half the world´s languages dying out within a century is language extinction on a massive and unprecedented scale.
* 96 per cent of the of the world´s languages are spoken by just 4 per cent of the people (!!)
* Internet offers a home to all languages. Spend an hour hunting for languages on the World Wide Web and you will find hundreds.
* The internet is the ideal medium for minority langauges.
* Children are born not just with a LAD (Language Acquisition Device), as Chomsky argued, but with a MAD (Multilingual Acquisition Device).
* A minority language needs every friend it can get, regardless of the kind or level of language the speakers display.
The book finishes with a Decalogue about the main preocupations which should be characterizing the linguistic mindset of the new milennium:
I. Concern for endangered languages.
II. Concern for minority languages.
III. Concern for all accents and dialects within a language.
IV. Greater concern for the expressive range of a language.
V. We need to become more multilingual.
VI. We need to accept change in language as a normal process.
VII. Concern for those who are having difficulties learning their mother-tongue.
VIII. Concern for those who have lost their ability to use a mother-tongue in which they were once proficient.
IX. We need to bring the study of language and literature closer together.
X. Finally, we need to appreciate, truly appreciate, the value of language in human development and society. Languages should be thought of as national treasures, and treated accordingly.
George W. Bush
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
A FORMER vice-president, Al Gore, and one of the co-founders of Google, Larry Page, were already seated on the stage of Google’s “Zeitgeist” conference, an exclusive gathering for the intelligentsia, but the third chair was still empty. After a few minutes, Sergey Brin, the other founder of the world’s biggest internet company, joined them. Messrs Gore and Page gave him the floor, because Mr Brin had something important to say.
The global “thought leaders” in the audience at Zeitgeist had just spent two days talking about solving the world’s biggest problems by applying the Enlightenment values of reason and science that Google espouses. But Mr Brin, usually a very private man, opened with an uncharacteristically personal story. He talked about his mother, Eugenia, a Jewish-Russian immigrant and a former computer engineer at NASA, and her suffering from Parkinson’s disease.
The reason was that Mr Brin had recently discovered that he has inherited from his mother a mutation of a gene called LRRK2 that appears to predispose carriers to familial Parkinson’s. Thus Mr Brin, at the age of 35, had found out that he had a high statistical chance—between 20% and 80%, depending on the study—of developing Parkinson’s himself. To the surprise of many in the audience, this did not seem to bother him.
One member of the audience asked whether ignorance was not bliss in such matters, since knowledge would only lead to a life spent worrying. Mr Brin looked genuinely puzzled. First of all, he began, who’s talking about worrying? His discovery was merely a statistical insight, and Mr Brin, a wizard at mathematics, uses statistics without fretting about them. More importantly, he went on, his knowledge means that he can now take measures to ward off the disease. Exercise helps, as does smoking, apparently—although Mr Brin, to laughter, denied taking up cigarettes (a vice of his father’s).
But Mr Brin was making a much bigger point. Isn’t knowledge always good, and certainly always better than ignorance? Armed with it, Mr Brin is now in a position to fund and encourage research into this gene in particular, and Parkinson’s in general. He is likely to contact other bearers of the gene. In effect, Mr Brin regards his mutation of LRRK2 as a bug in his personal code, and thus as no different from the bugs in computer code that Google’s engineers fix every day. By helping himself, he can therefore help others as well. He considers himself lucky.
The moment in some ways sums up Mr Brin’s approach to life. Like Mr Page, he has a vision, as Google’s motto puts it, of making all the world’s information “universally accessible and useful”. Very soon after the two cooked up their new engine for web searches, in the late 1990s at Stanford University, they began thinking about information that is today beyond the web. Their vast project to digitise books has been the most controversial so far, prompting a lawsuit from a group of publishers in 2005 that was resolved in October. But Messrs Brin and Page have always taken a special interest in the sort of information that most people hold dearest: that about their health.
Mr Brin’s faith in the transformative power of knowledge also has personal roots. He was born in the Soviet Union, an opaque society and one often hostile to his Jewish parents. His father, Michael, wanted to be an astronomer, but Russia’s Communists barred Jews from the physics and astronomy departments at universities. So Michael Brin became a mathematician, as his father had been. This too was difficult for Jews, who had to take special, more difficult entrance exams. Both Michael and Eugenia passed nonetheless.
But it was clear that they had to get out to lead fulfilling lives. They applied for an exit visa in 1978. Michael Brin was fired for it, and his wife resigned. Fortunately, they received their visas, and in 1979 emigrated to America. Sergey was six at the time. He went to a Montessori school and learnt English, though he retains a hint of a Russian accent to this day. Language did not come naturally to him. Maths did. So Sergey followed his father and grandfather into mathematics, adding computer science at the University of Maryland, and then went to Stanford to get his PhD. Silicon Valley, with its casual dress, sunshine, optimism and curiosity was an instant fit.
At an orientation for new students he met Larry Page, the son of computer scientists and also of Jewish background. They instantly annoyed each other. “We’re both kind of obnoxious,” Mr Brin once said—as ever, half in jest, half serious. They decided to disagree on every subject that came up in conversation, and in the process discovered that being together felt just like home for both of them. They became intellectual soul-mates and close friends.
Mr Brin was interested in data mining, and Mr Page in extending the concept of inferring the importance of a research paper from its citations in other papers. Cramming their dormitory room full of cheap computers, they applied this method to web pages and found that they had hit upon a superior way to build a search engine. Their project grew quickly enough to cause problems for Stanford’s computing infrastructure. With a legendary nudge—from Andy Bechtolsheim, a prominent Silicon Valley entrepreneur and investor who wrote a $100,000 cheque to something called Google Inc—Messrs Page and Brin established a firm by that name.
Suspending their PhD programmes with Stanford’s blessing, the two became entrepreneurs of a typical Silicon Valley start-up. They even worked out of a garage for a time, as Valley lore seems to require. One advantage of this particular garage was that its owner, an early Google employee, had a sister, Anne Wojcicki, who got along well with Mr Brin and has since become his wife. Ms Wojcicki, moreover, had an interest in health information, and began talking to Mr Brin about ways to improve access to it.
Google began its astonishing rise. On the advice of their investors, the founders hired Eric Schmidt, a technology veteran, as chief executive, to provide “adult supervision”. Mr Schmidt’s role was to reassure Wall Street types that Google was responsibly run, in preparation for a stockmarket listing. As Google filed its papers, the world discovered that Google had added to its breakthrough in search technology a fantastically lucrative revenue model: text ads, related to the keywords of web searchers, that charge an advertiser only when a consumer actually clicks and thereby expresses an interest.
“Solving big problems is easier than solving little problems,” Mr Page likes to say.
As Google’s share price went up, Messrs Brin and Page became multi-billionaires. Wealth has its effects, and stories began leaking out. There was, for instance, the Boeing 767 that Messrs Page, Brin and Schmidt began sharing and that Mr Brin was eager to turn into a “party plane” with beds sufficiently large for comfortable “mile-high club” membership.
Yet their indulgences tend to share three less decadent features. First, they enjoy being just plain goofy. During their rare meetings with the press, Mr Schmidt will typically talk the most but say least, rattling off official company positions until the journalists succumb to exhaustion. Messrs Page and Brin, meanwhile, will sit next to him and exchange the odd knowing look, then add the occasional short, inappropriate and mildly embarrassing—but often hyper-perceptive—aside that livens things up and forces Mr Schmidt to backpedal for a few minutes.
Second, they are drawn to pranks and diversions that are educational—and ideally outrageous. They used to be regulars at Burning Man, a festival in the Nevada desert where oddballs display innovative art and mechanical creations. And Mr Brin has invested $5m—in effect, the price of his ticket—in a company based in Virginia that arranges trips for private individuals to the International Space Station on Russian Soyuz spacecraft.
Third, Messrs Brin and Page appear to be trying to do good. They have been mocked endlessly, and understandably, for their corporate motto (“Don’t be evil”), but probably mean it. When they start to look evil, it is usually out of naivety. Google went into China agreeing to censor its search results to appease the Communists, but did so in the belief that a lot more information, with omissions clearly labelled, makes the Chinese better off. Mr Brin certainly had the Russia of his youth in mind, but agonised over the decision.
Despite the best intentions of Google’s founders, privacy advocates worry that it knows a dangerous amount about its users, which might be released inadvertently if something goes wrong. And there is growing concern about Google’s dominance of the internet-advertising market.
But Messrs Page and Brin have other things on their minds. “Solving big problems is easier than solving little problems,” Mr Page likes to say, and both preach a “healthy disregard for the impossible”. They hope, for instance, to help solve the world’s energy and climate problems via google.org, Google’s philanthropic arm. Health is another big problem. Mr Page, Mr Brin and his wife, Ms Wojcicki, have brainstormed with people such as Craig Venter, a biologist who helped map the human genome. Mr Brin instinctively regards genetics as a database and computing problem. So does his wife: she co-founded, with Linda Avey, a firm called 23andMe that lets people analyse and compare their genomes (made up of 23 pairs of chromosomes).
The relationship between Google and tiny 23andMe has on occasion raised eyebrows. Google is an investor, although Mr Brin has recused himself from decisions about it. But Mr Brin and Ms Wojcicki are quite the marketing pair. When the global political and economic elite gathered at Davos, a big draw was 23andMe’s “spit party” where the rich and famous salivated into tubes to provide DNA samples. A cynical view of Mr Brin’s Zeitgeist announcement is that it was just a marketing stunt. Ms Wojcicki and Ms Avey were in the room as he spoke.
More likely, Mr Brin and his wife have genuine faith in the value of genetic knowledge for its own sake. They get their kicks by comparing whether they share the gene that makes urine stink after eating asparagus, or the one that determines whether earwax is mealy or oily. But they do ultimately regard it as code. And code, as Messrs Brin and Page often say, benefits from many eyeballs, which is why Google typically uses and releases open-source software, such as its web browser and mobile-phone operating system. (It does, however, keep its search and advertising algorithms private.)
Mr Brin was therefore setting a public example with his announcement at Zeitgeist. Let everybody discover their genomes, through 23andMe or another firm, and then feel comfortable sharing the code so that others—patients, doctors, researchers—can get to work crunching the data and looking for the bugs. Throughout history, the prospect of greater access to knowledge has frightened some people. But those are not the people that Sergey Brin mixes with in Silicon Valley.
AS HE sat in a television studio in Alabama on election night, Artur Davis saw a white cameraman with tears in his eyes. It was while Barack Obama was giving his victory speech in Chicago. Of course it was an emotional moment, says Mr Davis, a young black congressman. But he was still surprised to see a cameraman cry, because “they’re a pretty cynical lot.”
“Black Man Given Nation’s Worst Job” was how the Onion, a satirical newspaper, reported Mr Obama’s triumph. But most Americans are still overjoyed to see such conspicuous evidence that their country really is a place where anyone with talent and drive can make it. And blacks are ecstatic. Some 80% of them tell pollsters that Mr Obama’s victory is “a dream come true”, while a whopping 96% think it will improve race relations.
The election provided solid evidence that race matters less in America than pessimists suppose. Mr Obama won a bigger share of the popular vote than any Democrat since Lyndon Johnson in 1964, and more of the white vote than either John Kerry or Al Gore. Outside the South, he beat Mr Kerry’s share of the white vote in every state except New Mexico and Arizona (John McCain’s home state). Even among southern whites, Mr Obama did well. He scored worse than Mr Kerry in only five states: Alabama, Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi and West Virginia.
But what difference will a black president make for black Americans? “He’s not a magician or a messiah,” says Marc Morial of the National Urban League, a civil-rights group. He will, however, be a role model. For one thing, “he finished school,” says Mr Morial. For another, he is a good father. And when black parents tell their children that if they work hard they may grow up to be president, those children will no longer find the notion absurd.
Some pundits think the role of role-models is exaggerated. Shelby Steele of the Hoover Institution, a conservative think-tank, doubts that having a black man in the White House will have much effect on the proportion of African-Americans who are born out of wedlock (currently more than two-thirds) or wind up in jail (black men are nearly seven times more likely than whites to be locked up).
Maybe so. But it is already affecting the way black Americans are portrayed in the news. Not long ago, when television producers wanted a talking head to represent black America, they would call up Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton, who would always say the same thing about every problem—that white racism was to blame. Now the spotlight is falling on black leaders who have led more than just protest marches. Deval Patrick, the first black governor of Massachusetts, is a close friend of Mr Obama’s. Mr Davis, who first met Mr Obama at Harvard, plans to be the first black governor of Alabama, of all places. Valerie Jarrett, one of Mr Obama’s closest advisers (who is also black), boasts that her boss will make public service cool, thereby attracting the best talent into government.
Mr Obama’s early choices for important jobs include two dynamic African-Americans: Eric Holder as attorney-general and Susan Rice as ambassador to the United Nations. Apart from a flap over Mr Holder’s role in advising Bill Clinton to pardon a dodgy financier, neither has attracted much attention. Americans have grown used to seeing blacks in top jobs.
Mr Obama is always respectful towards the older generation of civil-rights leaders. He likens them to Moses, who led his people to the edge of the promised land. It is now up to younger leaders, he says, to complete the journey. Some of his elders are unwilling to be shoved aside. In July, unaware that his microphone was turned on, Mr Jackson said he would like to cut off Mr Obama’s testicles (Actually he said balls, Ed). Mr Obama had suggested that black fathers should not abandon their children. Mr Jackson deemed this “talking down to black people”.
Advocates of colour-blind government think Mr Obama’s victory helps their case. If America can elect a black president, racism must be less of an obstacle to black progress than previously thought. The time for racial preferences, they argue, must surely be past. Voters in Nebraska agree. On November 4th it became the fourth state in 12 years to ban official discrimination in favour of “under-represented” minorities in hiring, contracting or public education.
A study by Richard Sander of the University of California, Los Angeles, found that when black students are admitted to law school with lower test scores than whites or Asians, those black students are less likely to cope. More drop out, and fewer pass the bar exam than would have done under race-neutral admissions policies. But many universities are convinced that racial preferences (“affirmative action”) are necessary to diversify the intake, both racially and sociologically.
Mr Obama’s views are hard to pin down. He has suggested that affluent blacks such as his own daughters should not get special treatment when applying to college, and that poor whites sometimes should. But he also says he supports affirmative action, his website includes no plans to scale it back and his allies would howl if he did. “I think probably in his heart of hearts he knows better, but I’d be shocked if [Mr Obama] does away with affirmative action,” says Mr Steele.
Mr Obama’s black supporters hope he will make good on promises to root out racism in the criminal-justice system and the workplace by enforcing existing laws more vigorously. Many also seek “environmental justice”, which means less pollution near black areas (more than half of those living within two miles of a toxic waste dump are minorities). And everyone expects a push to improve the relatively poor health of black Americans, who die, on average, five years younger than whites. Reforming health in general will have a marked effect on blacks, because they tend to get the worst care.
But the new president’s most urgent task will be to grapple with the economic crisis. If he succeeds, Americans of all hues will cheer.
from The Economist
Friday, December 05, 2008
Maybe I shouldn't laugh, I thought. Not after what she's been through. It sounds just like what I went through earlier this year, after I was kidnapped by the Taliban and locked in a dark room for three months; even the pain she felt at being separated from her child reminded me of the torments I was forced to endure. Maybe I should take celebrities and their suffering more seriously.
After all, Nicola's confinement in the jungle-studio with other celebrities, and the deprivations she was forced to endure (presumably by her agent), had clearly been traumatic for her. And the way she described her ordeal made it sound alarmingly similar to mine.
Well, not that similar. I was never forced to eat eyeballs by the Taliban, as poor Nicola was by Ant and Dec. But I did come down with dysentery, and lost more than two stone in weight because of malnutrition. As a result my teeth started to fall out. But thankfully, the Taliban never tortured me in the same way Nicola was tortured by Timmy Mallett.
Like the poor tourists who were interviewed on their return from India this week, Nicola was barely able to hold back her tears as she relived her ordeal. The past two weeks, she confessed to Ant and Dec on her release, had been the hardest of her life. A couple of weeks' confinement in a campsite might not sound as traumatic as surviving a massacre in Mumbai. But, as Nicola put it, the reality of reality TV is a lot harder than it looks on television. As far as she was concerned, her ordeal was real and her suffering genuine - and as far as the media is concerned, just as worthy of headlines as the atrocity in India.
Sadly, it seems more and more of us in Britain agree. When I arrived back in London in June, I was stopped by a well-dressed woman in the street. She had seen me being interviewed on Channel 4, and seemed desperate to hear more about my ordeal. "Tell me," she pleaded. "What were they really like?" I began to tell her what I thought about the Taliban, but she cut me off.
"No, not the Taliban. Richard and Judy. What were they really like?"
I stared at her in disbelief. Was it me? Or had everyone in Britain lost touch with reality?
Over the past 10 years I have spent more and more time abroad, filming documentaries in war-torn and poverty-stricken countries such as Afghanistan and Iraq. My first film abroad was in 1998, when I spent six months in Kashmir. It felt really exotic and far away, and I can still recall that sensation of coming home, of coming back to reality after an adventurous trip abroad.
Over the years that feeling has reversed. The reality for most people in the world is poverty, conflict and strife. And I was beginning to feel at home abroad. Life in Britain, on the other hand, was becoming increasingly unrealistic, and I slowly began to feel like a foreigner in my own land.
On my return from Iraq in March 2004, I was surprised to discover that the fighting in Fallujah wasn't the big news. The front page story in the Observer on the day of my arrival was about who had won some new reality TV show called I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here! Within a few days, I quickly realised that no one I met in London seemed to care, or even know much, about the war in Iraq. They were far more interested in celebrities, shopping and the fact that their properties had tripled in value. Worse, in my absence, the bankers had taken over all my favourite bars in London. Somehow, London had gone from gentrification to Bentley-fication while I was away, and everyone seemed to be living in some banker's dreamland, brought on, perhaps, by a severe dose of affluenza.
Of course, it turns out that Britain really was dreaming. The recession has come as a much needed reality check, and my only hope is that the celebrity-bubble will burst like the property and financial bubbles before it. Maybe then we can get back in touch with the real world.
Unfortunately, as I discovered for myself, not everyone in the real world is in touch with reality. Near the end of my captivity, a Taliban commander entered my room and asked if he could speak frankly. He sat down on the floor, soon followed by his men. The commander had heard about our freedoms in the west, and wanted to know if it was true that women in the west "could marry animals? Even small animals?" I stared in disbelief. God, no. We're not that immoral. Why was he asking? "Well, I read an article about a woman who married a frog in the west."
He had confused the fairytale about the frog prince with reality. It would have been funny, had this Taliban commander not been in charge of 250 fighters and suicide bombers. No doubt he fed them this fairytale before dispatching them across the border to Afghanistan to kill British and American soldiers. He also had links with al-Qaeda, and with the Pakistan militant groups now widely suspected of involvement in the atrocities in Mumbai.
After 10 years on the road, I was ready to come home. Suddenly Britain no longer seemed so foreign to me. It is still a land of tolerance, common decency and basic humanity. And as I faced the reality of being killed by my captors, the final truth of my journey was revealed. The only thing that really counts in life is family. And my family were waiting for me at home.
by Sean Langan
Monday, December 01, 2008
Drinks were being served at Mumbai's Leopold Cafe yesterday. The backpacker haunt that was among the targets of last week's terrorist attacks opened for a few hours in a show of back-to-work resilience. There are likely to be more such small, brave gestures today, as south Mumbai gets back to business after a three-day bloodbath. Politically, the aftermath has already begun, with domestic recriminations. There is great international anxiety too about the strain these attacks will put on the fragile relations between India and its similarly nuclear-armed neighbour, Pakistan.
Stories this big move on quickly. What began with a bunch of gunmen running around the southern tip of Mumbai could turn out to have regional, if not global, implications. Before that happens, it is worth clarifying why those outside the Indian subcontinent should worry about the terror attacks of last week. Because the rest of us should care very much, although not for the reasons offered so far. Some have painted this as an assault on capitalist modernity, but those descriptions of India's supposedly glittering showcase city barely convey its sprawl and uncomfortable disparities. Mumbai is far too vibrant to be a mere showcase. Others see last week's attacks as a continuation of the story that began on September 11 2001. Until the problems of the Middle East are resolved, they argue, this is to be expected. To speculate on motives so soon is a fool's game, but India makes for an unlikely imperial power - it was not even one of the 49 members of George Bush's coalition of the willing.
Both those explanations seek to fit the attacks on India into a western story. Whether it is capitalism under fire or blowback from the Middle East, this is somehow our narrative in a foreign script. But India is not some adjunct to western politics. When the country won independence, in August 1947, it took on large and noble ideals. One big reason why the world should care about what happens in India is to see what becomes of those values.
This was something western intellectuals used to understand. EP Thompson, whose father had deep links with Bengal, remarked that India was "the most important country for the future of the world". The eccentric biologist JBS Haldane, who relocated to Nehru's India, defended his new home as "a better model for a possible world organisation. It may of course break up, but it is a wonderful experiment." Indeed, if there is such a thing as an American Dream, it is not too fanciful to talk of the Indian Experiment - a heroic attempt to preserve democracy and pluralism and tolerance in a poor country with more than a billion people. Nationalism is often little more than identity politics waving a flag, but when Nehru remarks in his Discovery of India that his country "is a myth and an idea", it is hard not to read more into that than mere politician's rhetoric. Similarly, when the constitutional preamble declares that India is to be a secular, socialist, democratic republic, it invites scepticism, to be sure - but it also lays out benchmarks against which a still-young country can be judged.
India has obviously fallen short of its vaulting ambitions over the decades. Any list of where it has gone wrong would have to take in Kashmir, the failure to provide serious opportunity to many Indians, and its recent embrace of neoliberal economic policies. Still, India remains that miracle, a billion-strong pluralist democracy. One was given a grim reminder of that fact as it was disclosed that dozens of Muslims were among the Mumbai dead. The country also retains a rough political accountability, where a car giant's plans for a vast factory can be derailed by peasant protests; imagine that happening in the People's Republic of China. India is not what its founding fathers would have dreamed, but it has not yet forgotten those dreams. After the horror of last week, that is surely worth some small celebration.
editorial, The Guardian
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Drink sangria in the park,
And then later, when it gets dark,
We go home.
Just a perfect day,
Feed animals in the zoo
Then later, a movie, too,
And then home.
Oh its such a perfect day,
Im glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.
Just a perfect day,
Problems all left alone,
Weekenders on our own.
Its such fun.
Just a perfect day,
You made me forget myself.
I thought I was someone else,
Oh its such a perfect day,
I´m glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.
Youre going to reap just what you sow,
Youre going to reap just what you sow,
Youre going to reap just what you sow,
Youre going to reap just what you sow...
Saturday, November 29, 2008
There could be nobody better suited to describe the hilarious, improbable triumph of Robert Bolaño than Bolaño himself, which is a terrible shame because he's dead. At the time of his death, from liver disease, in 2003, Bolaño was a major writer in the Spanish-speaking world but virtually unknown and untranslated in English. Why that should be is not much of a mystery. Bolaño, who was born in Chile and spent most of his life in Mexico and Spain, is a difficult, angry, self-reflexive writer who lived an erratic and occasionally unpleasant life. And Americans, as the head of the Swedish Academy has annoyingly but rightly pointed out, don't read much fiction in translation.
But when Bolaño's novel The Savage Detectives--a massive, bizarre epic about a band of avant-garde Mexican poets--was published in the U.S. last year, it instantly became a cult hit among readers and practically a fetish object to critics. Bolaño's other major novel, 2666, is even more massive and more bizarre. It is also a masterpiece, and its publication in English translation by Farrar, Straus & Giroux on Nov. 11 is the most electrifying literary event of the year. With 2666, Bolaño's posthumous conquest of America is complete.
The 898 pages of 2666 are divided into five parts. The first concerns four literary critics--three men and a woman, all friends, all Europeans, all authorities on a mysterious German novelist named Archimboldi, whom none of them have ever met. Eventually they get a tip that Archimboldi has been seen in a backwater town in northern Mexico called Santa Teresa. But by the time they get there, the trail has gone cold.
From that suspended moment--with the smell of revelation in the air but the actual article nowhere to be found, as if the author had accidentally left it in his other coat--2666 tacks sideways into the mind of a philosophy professor who teaches in Santa Teresa and may slowly be going insane, and then again into another genre entirely, a hard-boiled yarn about a journalist sent to Santa Teresa from New York City to cover a boxing match. It becomes clear only in the book's fourth section that Bolaño is performing these lateral leaps the better to observe from all sides the book's true subject: the horrific serial rape and murder of hundreds of women in and around Santa Teresa.
Part 4 (it's called "The Part About the Crimes," as if it were a Friends episode) consists of a ruthlessly precise forensic catalog of those killings, complete with torn nylons and vaginal swabs, along with the stories of the victims and the investigating detectives. It is a police procedural straight from the precinct of hell. It is also as bravura a display of novelistic mastery and as devastating a reading experience as you are likely ever to encounter. By the time Archimboldi does show up in Part 5, a belated Godot, we are very far past the possibility of any redemptive epiphany.
2666 is not a novel that any critic could describe as brisk or taut. (Not like all those other brisk, taut 898-page novels.) Bolaño is addicted to digressions, unsolved mysteries and seemingly extraneous details that actually do turn out to be extraneous. He loves trotting out characters we will never encounter a second time--a habit that can be exhausting. And whenever a character falls asleep, the reader should prepare to hear about his dreams.
But the meandering quality of 2666 has its own logic and its own power, which hits you all the harder because you don't see it coming. How can art, Bolaño asks, a medium of form and meaning, faithfully reflect a world that is blessed with neither? That is in fact a cesspool of randomness and filth? An orderly book, all signal and no noise, would not be a true book. To mirror a broken world, to speak the unspeakable, you need a broken book. That Bolaño should have died and left his book an orphan might even have struck him as appropriate.
by Lev Grossman
Friday, November 28, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Last night while I was sleeping
I dreamed - blessed illusion! -
a fountain flowed
inside my heart.
Water, tell me by what hidden channel you came to me
with a spring of new life
I never drank?
Last night while I was sleeping
I dreamed - blessed illusion! -
I had a beehive
inside my heart,
and from my old bitterness
the gold bees
were contriving white combs
and sweet honey.
Last night while I was sleeping
I dreamed - blessed illusion! -
a fiery sun glowed
inside my heart.
It was fiery, giving off heat
from a red fireplace.
It was the sun throwing out light
and made one weep.
Last night while I was sleeping
I dreamed - blessed illusion! -
that it was God I had
inside my heart.
Antonio Machado (1875-1939)
Greenland referendum could pave the way towards independence
Some 39,000 people are eligible to cast their vote on the local government’s proposal for self-rule that could be a first step to ending nearly three centuries of Danish hegemony in Greenland.
The proposal is the result of a Danish-Greenlandic commission report in May calling for “the people of Greenland (to) be considered a people in line with international law ... with the right to self-determination.”
If the “yes” side wins, the local government in Greenland, which was granted a semi-autonomous status in 1979, has the chance to take over control of new areas such as natural resource management, justice and police affairs and to a certain extent foreign affairs.
Greenlandic would also be recognised as the island’s official language.
Also at stake in Tuesday’s referendum is how to share the potential revenues from the natural resources under Greenland’s seabed, which according to international experts is home to large oil deposits.
The commission report on self-rule proposed among other things that “the revenues from activities related to raw materials be distributed to Greenland” in return for reducing annual subsidies from Copenhagen.
A recent poll conducted by the University of Nuuk and broadcast on Greenlandic radio on November 16, indicated that an overwhelming 75 percent of Greenlanders who had already made up their minds were in favour of expanding the island’s autonomy.
Just 25 percent said they were against the move.
This referendum “is not about independence,” local government chief Hans Enoksen stressed in a radio interview, adding however that he hoped “Greenland will be independent in 12 years ... for my 65th birthday.”
“Agreeing on self-rule is the only road forward,” he said, pointing out that “the Greenlandic people have wished for many years to be more independent.”
Like most of the parties in the local parliament, as well as the Greenlandic media, the Social Democratic prime minister has called on voters to “take advantage of this opportunity.”
He is not the only politician who believes full independence can be achieved in the not so distant future.
Lars Emil Johansen, one of two Greenlandic members of the Danish parliament, says he dreams the day will come by 2021, in time for the 300th anniversary of Denmark’s colonisation of Greenland.
“Of course we can be the masters of our own destiny and fly on our own wings,” he told AFP.
Not all Greenlanders are dreaming of breaking loose from Denmark however. A fringe movement, backed by a single political party, the Democrats, has emerged as an outspoken critic of the proposal.
“Greenland will never be an independent state,” Finn Lynge recently stated, much to the dismay of his Siumut party, which is part of the government coalition and strongly in favour of a “yes” vote in the referendum.
“There are only between 50,000 and 60,000 of us living here in geographically and climatically extreme conditions. With such a tiny population it is impossible to provide the human contributions needed to turn Greenland into a modern and independent state,” he said.
And while the island’s biggest daily, Sermitsiaq, has called on voters to support the self-rule motion, it has stressed that “it is wrong to talk about independence now” because “independence is indissolubly linked to an economy that can support it.”
In 2007, the territory received subsidies of 3.2 billion kroner (432 million euros, 540 million dollars) from Denmark, or about 30 percent of its gross domestic product.
With its 2.1-million square kilometer (840,000 square mile) surface, 80 percent of which is covered by ice, Greenland is the world’s largest island. It counts 57,000 inhabitants, 50,000 of whom are native Inuits.In 1985, it voted by referendum to leave the European Union, of which Denmark remains a member.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Deep gashes in the steep mountains around Gonaïves are the claw marks of the disasters that strike this north-western coastal city with deadly regularity. They are also Haiti's stigmata: the wounds of a nation caused by the near-complete deforestation of a land that was once a rich tropical habitat.
But after a hurricane season in which this, the poorest nation in the western hemisphere, was struck by four intense storms triggering flash floods and landslides that took hundreds of lives and created tens of thousands of refugees, richer nations are again being asked to help a country often described as beyond hope. So far, the call for aid has fallen on mainly deaf ears. The UN appealed for $108m in emergency aid after Gonaïves and another town, Cabaret, were buried under millions of tons of mud, sewage and rock after being hit by storms from mid-August to mid-September. But so far only 40 per cent of that target has been met.
After a relative lull in the disasters afflicting the country - it is more than three weeks since a poorly built school on the outskirts of the capital, Port-au-Prince, collapsed killing 94 pupils and visitors, and more than six months since Prime Minister Jacques-Edouard Alexis was removed after riots over the rising price of food - there are reports of widespread malnutrition in rural areas, as well as two dozen cases of child starvation in the Baie d'Orange region along the south-east coast.
But there is a gathering effort to alleviate Haiti's misery by addressing one of its critical underlying problems - deforestation. Without trees, even moderate rain brings a deluge of soil and rock down on its towns; without trees, there is nothing to hold the soil together for agriculture. This year's mudslides, which killed 300, are not unprecedented: poorly situated Gonaïves was flooded in 2004 by tropical storm Jeanne, killing 3,000. In the north-west, Lake Azuei, on the border with the Dominican Republic, is close to bursting for similar reasons - deforestation and rubbish.
'You can really see here how environmental degradation is tied to extreme poverty,' said Antonio Pereira, the UN Environmental Programme's co-ordinator in Port-au-Prince. 'Deforestation, problems with run-off, waste management and sanitation. Here we don't even need a big event to cause a disaster.'
The US Agency for International Development estimates that only 1.5 per cent of Haiti is still forested, compared with 60 per cent in 1923. The Dominican Republic is still 28 per cent forested. Haiti is in danger of losing what trees it has left - as many as 30 million a year - to the insatiable demand for the charcoal used as cooking fuel.
The loss of Haiti's trees, coupled with a decline in agricultural self-sufficiency and loss of top soil, has made the politically unstable nation even more vulnerable to outside forces. After a dramatic rise in food prices this year, violent protests culminated in Alexis being forced from office by President René Préval.
So far, development and aid agencies are still experimenting with planting trees and shrubs that will help to halt the natural disasters that annually erase any moderate advances in Haiti's sickly economic picture. Christian aid groups favour eucalyptus; others, including the UN's environmental development arms, believe aloe and elephant grass are suitable for more arid areas around disaster-prone Gonaïves.
Fondation Seguin, an environmental organisation supported by musician Wyclef Jean's Yéle Haiti, which sponsors aid for Haiti, has launched its 'Ecole Verte' programme. The Lambi Fund of Haiti, a Washington-based group allied to the Kenyan Nobel prize-winner Wangari Maathai's Green Belt movement, has announced the planting of more than a million trees in the country. 'Reforestation is key to sustainability,' said the fund's Haiti director, Josette Perard. 'This is not about offsetting climate change but about restoring the natural ecosystem. We're trying to undo years of damage. Without tree cover we keep getting setbacks and the mudslides show how far the system is out of balance.'
As Haiti last week celebrated the black slave uprising against the French in 1804 that led to its independence, the scale of the problem it faces was plain to see. In Gonaïves, two months after the deluge that brought three million tons of sediment into town, large hillocks of ooze, reinforced with detritus and parts of old cars, have yet to be removed. The other component of Haiti's disaster scenario was also evident: floating islands of plastic bottles that block storm drains. 'Every time it rains, it becomes chaos again,' said one UN peacekeeper, Jeanne Nidaji from Benin. 'Mud makes it impossible. You cannot swim in it, so you drown.'
Jean-Marie Vanden Wouver, of the UN's International Labour Organisation, a technical adviser to the UN development programme, heads a project to slow the run-off of topsoil and rock by digging holes in mountainsides and planting elephant grass. 'When it's possible to break the speed of the water, you can slow erosion dramatically,' he said. 'Our problem is the budget comes in too late to plant, and goats eat the seedlings.'
With the UN warning that the problems of deforestation, precarious shanty towns and blocked rivers make the capital vulnerable to the same fate as Gonaïves, there is new urgency in the effort to tackle environmental degradation. Haiti's new Prime Minister, Michèle Pierre-Louis, installed in August, warned that the fate of Gonaïves could befall Haiti itself. 'The whole country is facing an ecological disaster,' he said. 'We cannot keep going on like this. We are going to disappear one day. There will not be 400, 500 or 1,000 deaths. There are going to be a million deaths.'
But with poverty and instability as natural to the nation as voodoo - now recognised as a state religion - efforts to reverse the damage run counter to experience and expectation. 'It's a critical situation that requires exceptional effort and investment or we will not be able to consolidate the gains we have made,' said UN spokesperson Sophie Boutaud-de-la-Combe.
Treating environmental degradation as a cause, and not just a symptom, of poverty represents an important change in emphasis. Even Haiti's government, long without political will to tackle the problem, now speaks of change. Pierre-Louis has spoken of passing laws and erecting billboards throughout the country warning: 'You cannot build here.'
One solution comes from close to home. In Kenscoff, 40 miles from Port-au-Prince in the hills, Jane Wynne, a US-educated environmentalist, praises the benefits of bamboo. Her father, a structural engineer, imported dozens of species to the island in the 1950s under the fervent belief that bamboo offers a near-perfect combination of attributes.
Wynne, who has spent her life trying to get Haitians to change their lifestyles to help avoid devastation, has developed a system of parallel terracing coupled with bamboo that could help stop the denuded mountainsides slipping into the cities. 'We've been warning of this disaster for years,' Wynne said. 'We could see what was coming. In 1956, my father said bamboo could save that country.
'People say they cut the trees because they're poor, but I don't believe that. Poor people would never cut down a tree. A branch maybe, but not a tree. The real problem is with the people who have houses and cars but would rather steal someone else's tree than cut their own.'
Part of Wynne's programme is to help Haiti develop new sources of fuel, possibly using the waste from sugar cane to make combustible briquettes. After all, the use of charcoal is a relatively new phenomenon that only gathered strength during US President Bill Clinton's blockade of Haiti in 1993 to bring about the restoration of Jean-Bertrand Aristide as President. That helped to push Haitians from kerosene to dependence on cutting down trees to make charcoal.
Fuel is a part of the puzzle that will need to be solved to rescue Haiti. But in a nation where 65 per cent of the people now live on a dollar a day, reforestation - and a chance of returning to self-sufficiency - can sometimes appear a luxury, not a necessity. But environment is the key, Wynne believes: 'Young people want to learn, we need to encourage them. We come from the soil and we go back to the soil, we cannot destroy the soil.'
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The end of an era came this week when the millionaire merchant banker John Key was sworn in as New Zealand's 38th prime minister. His centre-right National party had won a resounding victory over the longstanding Labour government. That also sadly meant the end to the reign of one of the country's most successful leaders, Helen Clark, who then resigned as head of the party.
With all that is going on in the world, it is easy to think that peaceful regime change in a country with a population the size of the East Midlands, in the middle of an ocean 12,000 miles from here, isn't exactly vital. (Which may explain why the election hardly got a mention in the British press.) But Helen Clark was a different kind of politician from any New Zealand had seen before - and as an expatriate I know I am not alone in feeling unusually proud of her achievements and sad to see her go.
During her nine years in power, Helen (as the 58-year-old was called by those who loved or reviled her) was a "third way" social democrat, aiming to flatten some of the more glaring inequalities in the country's so-called egalatarian society by introducing a 39% top-tax rate and family tax credits, taking interest off student loans and increasing subsidised healthcare. She revived ailing services like Air New Zealand and the railways by returning them to state ownership, and she made waves in the US when she insisted that New Zealand waters remain free of nuclear-powered vessels.
Like Tony Blair (whose Labour party preceded Helen's to power by two years) she was tasked with bringing together a party with deep ideological divisions. On top of that, in 1996 New Zealand had changed from first past the post to mixed member proportional voting so in each of her governments she had to negotiate constantly with small, often badly behaved parties from the margins.
Her former press officer, Mike Munro, said: "From day one she did an amazing job - there were some fairly feral characters in the Alliance." There were also plenty of controversial MPs in her own party, accused of everything from drink-driving and sexual misconduct to bribery and corruption. Her standards of ministerial accountability were tough, but as Munro put it: "She made sure they were all brought into the tent."
From a farming family in the Waikato, Helen was resolutely down to earth and - in the Kiwi vernacular - not at all "flash". She followed the footie (rugby), liked pop music, and went climbing and walking whenever she got any spare time. As the late Sir Edmund Hillary said of her: "She's always off climbing something, doing something exciting and I think that New Zealanders admire that."
But there were some things about Helen they never felt comfortable with. Her deep voice, her wardrobe of serviceable trouser suits, and her childless marriage to sociologist Peter Davis all brought their share of snide media comment. This didn't seem to bother her much; she was no emotional chin wobbler. But as one media commentator pointed out: "Bossy women aren't much liked or trusted in New Zealand."
Columnist Chris Trotter in the Sunday Star Times went so far as to attribute the election result to ingrained sexism: "It was the men who just couldn't cope with the idea of being led by an intelligent, idealistic, free-spirited woman; the gutless, witless, passionless creatures of the barbecue-pit and the sports bar (and the feckless females who put up with them) who voted Helen Clark out of office."
Others see the election as the result of boredom. The country has, so far, been relatively free of the economic maelstrom that the rest of us are experiencing. But rather than stick with the partnership of Helen and finance minister Dr Michael Cullen that had led to stability and the high living standards New Zealanders enjoy, all the pre-election talk was of the need for "change".
I first met Helen in 1975. I was a first-year at the University of Auckland; she was my political science tutor. She was then as she turned out to be later: informal, plain speaking, occasionally droll, determined and committed. Only six years later she was elected to represent the middle-class Auckland suburb of Mt Albert, a seat she still holds.
The next time I met her was in New Zealand House in London, where she had attended the premiere of Niki Caro's film Whale Rider. All through her government she was also the minister for arts and culture. Not everyone in that particular world felt her reign was beneficial, but generally she was seen as firm but fair, a politician you could talk to.
Just before the election she attended the NZ Music Awards to give out a prize - but it was her appearance that got the standing ovation. From a room full of popular musos, after nine years in office, that says something about Helen. And I can't imagine any British prime minister ever pulling it off.
by Louise Chunn
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Most of the dead - members of the People's Temple Christian Church - had consumed a soft drink laced with cyanide and sedatives.
However, the body of the People's Temple charismatic leader, Jim Jones, was said to have a bullet wound in the right temple, believed to be self-inflicted.
The deaths are being linked to the earlier killings of five people, including US Congressman Leo Ryan, on a nearby airstrip.
Mr Ryan had led a fact-finding mission to the church's jungle settlement - Jonestown - after allegations by relatives in the US of human rights abuses.
Last year Jim Jones and most of the 1,000 members of the People's Temple moved to Guyana from San Francisco after an investigation began into the church for tax evasion.
People who had left the organisation told the authorities of brutal beatings, murders and a mass suicide plan but were not believed.
In spite of the tax evasion allegations, Jim Jones was still widely respected for setting up a racially-mixed church which helped the disadvantaged.
Five dead at airport
Leo Ryan's delegation arrived in Jonestown on 14 November and spent three days interviewing residents.
They left hurriedly earlier on Saturday after an attempt on Mr Ryan's life, taking with them about 20 People's Temple members who wished to leave.
Delegation members told police as they were boarding planes at the airstrip a truckload of Jim Jones' guards arrived and began to shoot.
When the gunmen left five people were dead: Congressman Ryan, a reporter and cameraman from NBC, a newspaper photographer and one "defector" from the People's Temple.
A producer for NBC News, Bob Flick, survived the attack.
Mr Flick said: "Every time someone fell down wounded they would walk over and shoot them in the head with a shotgun."
Monday, November 17, 2008
The Maldives’ president has come up with a solution to the world’s problems
LOSING one’s home is a sadly common experience in these dark economic days, but it normally happens at an individual, rather than a national, level. The residents of the Maldives, however, face collective homelessness as a result of rising sea levels, which are expected eventually to engulf the 1,200-island nation, whose highest point is 2.3 metres above sea level. Faced with this alarming prospect, the country’s new president, Mohamed Nasheed, has come up with an equally dramatic solution: put aside some of the Maldives’ tourism revenues to buy another homeland.
At first blush Mr Nasheed’s notion seems a bit over the top. Countries don’t usually go round purchasing large lumps of other nations. The only precedent he cites—Jews buying up bits of Palestine before Israel was established—does not inspire confidence that his plan would increase world harmony. And since the rich countries that caused the climate to change and the seas to rise can easily absorb the Maldives’ 370,000 people, it seems reasonable to assume that Mr Nasheed and his compatriots will be offered citizenship elsewhere.
Reasonable, but wrong. Australia’s government has already turned down a request to offer citizenship to the 12,000 people of Tuvalu, another small, drowning island; so a few hundred thousand Maldivians knocking on rich-country doors seem likely to get even shorter shrift. Anyway, they may not want to be absorbed into a larger nation. They might prefer to stay together to maintain their community spirit and traditions of folk-dancing and imprisoning political dissidents. So a solution as radical as Mr Nasheed’s may be the only answer.
It’s a buyer’s market in property these days; and, if the Maldivians are looking for an island, Iceland is said to be going cheap. But they may be spoilt for choice: think of all the tiresome bits of territory that other countries would like to offload. The snooty English, for instance, have long disparaged Wales, which they caricature unfairly as being populated mostly by Methodist preachers and disaffected sheep. It might be a challenge to persuade the Maldivians to swap their palm-fringed paradise for Llandudno pier on a wet Sunday afternoon; still, a bit of adroit marketing, focusing on the height of the hills, Catherine Zeta-Jones and Anthony Hopkins (both sadly no longer resident) might do the trick.
Once Mr Nasheed’s visionary notion gains acceptance, it could have far wider application. The Israelis, for instance, could put an end to a hundred years of futile hostilities by buying somewhere for the Palestinians. If they clubbed together, they could get somewhere really nice—Florida, maybe. China could stop making aggressive gestures towards Taiwan and buy Malaysia instead. It’s already run by Chinese, so they’d hardly notice the difference. And Barack Obama, committed to uniting America, could defuse the nation’s culture wars by purchasing an alternative homeland for those of his countrymen who want more use of the death penalty, less gun control and no gay marriage. A slice of Saudia Arabia’s empty quarter would do nicely: there’s plenty of space and the new occupants would have lots in common with the locals.
The British are familiar with the notion that, if you’re bored at home, you grab somebody else’s country; but recent experience suggests that invading places can be expensive and troublesome, so a market solution seems a better way of dealing with national dissatisfaction. The British are, let’s face it, fed up with their damp little country. Instead of renting villas in Tuscany, they should buy the place; instead of complaining about the weather, they could complain about Silvio Berlusconi. The Russians suffer from too much crime and too much snow; the Gulf Arabs from too much heat and too little fun. Both should think of buying a temperate, orderly city with decent nightlife, such as London. Wait a minute…
(from The Economist)
SIR – I would like to congratulate Mr Obama on his brilliant victory. In his official capacity as president of the United States he will probably have to meet our prime minister, Silvio Berlusconi. I apologise in advance.