Pork Rinds and Pretzels

Pork rinds and pretzels...

She was the rose of Sharon from paradise lost | From the city of seven hills near the place of the cross | I was playing a show in Miami in the theater of divine comedy. | Told about Jesus, told about the rain, | She told me about the jungle where her brothers were slain | By a man who danced on the roof of the embassy.

Bob Dylan | Caribbean Wind

The first prisoners were moved from the runway to a truck, from there to a launch across the bay, and from there to the bare mesh cages which would be their home for the first few months of 2002, the original detention centre, Camp X-Ray. Those initial images of blinded, deafened, mute and bound men in glaring orange became a potent weapon in the hands of those who opposed the manner in which the Bush administration was coping with terrorism, particularly in Europe and the Muslim world. A country which would not countenance an international criminal court, the pictures seemed to say, had built a harsh international jail. The bizarre setup of Guantanamo itself, a fortified American toehold in one of the world's last outposts of communism, added to the sense of prisoners being cast into the centre of concentric circles of isolation. Cubans remember, if few others do, that the world's first concentration camps were built on their island by the Spanish in the 1890s.

James Meek | People the Law Forgot Part I

Atlantic City by the cold grey sea | I hear a voice crying, "Daddy," I always think it's for me, | But it's only the silence in the buttermilk hills that call. | Every new messenger brings evil report | 'Bout armies on the march and time that is short | And famines and earthquakes and hatred written upon walls.

The first thing that strikes the lay student of military commissions is the enormous power vested in the US deputy secretary of defence, Paul Wolfowitz, who is the commissions' 'appointing authority'. The judges - seven in a capital case - are appointed by Wolfowitz. Any judge can be substituted up to the moment of verdict, by Wolfowitz. The military prosecutors are chosen by Wolfowitz. The suspects they charge, and the charges they make, are determined by Wolfowitz. All defendants are entitled to a military defence lawyer, from a pool chosen by Wolfowitz. The defendants are entitled to hire a civilian lawyer, but they have to pay out of their own funds, and by revealing where the funds are, they risk having them seized on suspicion of their being used for terrorist purposes, on the order of Wolfowitz. Defendants need not lose heart completely if convicted. They can appeal, to a panel of three people, appointed by Wolfowitz. When it has made its recommendation, the panel sends it for a final decision to Wolfowitz.

James Meek | People the Law Forgot Part II

Of possible further interest...

• Sam Smith (May 2003) | The Iraqis Will Have to Learn Democracy Someplace Else
  
• Lt. Col. Charles J. Dunlap Jr., USAF (1992) | The Origins of the American Military Coup of 2012
  
• Lt. Col. Charles J. Dunlap Jr., USAF (1996) [308 KB] | Melancholy Reunion: A Report from the Future on the Collapse of Civil-Military Relations in the United States

The cry of the peacock, flies buzz my head, | Ceiling fan broken, there's a heat in my bed, | Street band playing "Nearer My God to Thee." | We met at the steeple where the mission bells ring, | She said, "I know what you're thinking, but there ain't a thing | You can do about it, so let us just agree to agree."

Bob Dylan | Caribbean Wind

Turkey Joins Coalition of the Grinning

Bush Proves a Costly Trouper

Cooks Tour of Baghdad Causes Bad Acid


"Turkey has joined the Coalition of the Grinning"

Well, John the Baptist after torturing a thief | Looks up at his hero the Commander-in-Chief | Saying, "Tell me great hero, but please make it brief | Is there a hole for me to get sick in?"

Bob Dylan | Tombstone Blues

They tried everything in the book to get Turkey to join the party and give invasion forces flyover rights, but not even a $3 billion bribe did the trick. It was up to the party boy himself to give critics the bird this past weekend in what many, including Halley (to my surprise), regarded as a "brave and cool" morale-boosting exercise.

For my money, the sub who came up with The Turkey Has Landed, hours after news of Dubya's Persian Pork Party broke, took the cake. I think it was the Independent, but I could be (and often am) wrong. In the spirit of reciprocity, the paper's Phil Reeves and David Usborne afford an Iraqi opportunity to deliver his thanksgiving message. "To hell with Bush," said Mohammed al-Jubouri. "He is another Mongol in a line of invaders who have destroyed Iraq."

What have the Iraqis against Turkey?

It's taken the mainstream media a while to figure out that W.'s latest campaign stunt was a shameless Republican attempt to burn the Democrats in the great electioneering cook-off. It was paid for by the taxpayers, but at least they're slowly realizing just how cynical their PreZnit can be. Robert Jensen and Sam Husseini were out of the blocks at CounterPunch before anybody, running a scorching piece of satire, New Bush Tape Raises Fears of Attacks, within hours of Dubya's return. They've since been followed by a more serious look at America's freewheeling Jamie Oliver by Dave Lindorff. In Bush's Baghdad Pitstop, he revisits war zones trodden by former U.S. presidents, notably Johnson and Nixon in Vietnam, and raises the possibility:

"...this latest presidential war-zone junket will someday be seen as a precursor not of victory, but of increased bloodshed, a wider war, and quite possibly, of another humiliating defeat for American forces."

David B. Livingstone puts it all into perspective at AlterNet with A Chickenhawk Thanksgiving in Baghdad (and confirms the Independent as the source of my favored headline). Calling the round-trip campaign photo-op "...a propaganda coup of the first order, replete with adoring camera angles and wildly cheering multitudes, all conducted under a shroud of Stalinist press secrecy", Livingstone pins the tail to the donkey with his assessment of the visit.

Just as the Thanksgiving holiday itself was the unintentionally ironic creation of a group of colonialists whose descendents proceeded to virtually wipe out an entire indigenous population, Thanksgiving in Baghdad 2004 served as an unblinking and unthinking exercise in reactionary gall, undertaken by a president seemingly incapable of comprehending the real meaning of his actions.


"Okay, who wants the left wing?"

The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly | Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry" | And dropping a bar bell he points to the sky | Saving, "The sun's not yellow it's chicken"

Bob Dylan | Tombstone Blues


U.S. media and public interest combine
to give us the Dance of the Seven Veils

A Note on Dylan Bob Dylan said that which needs saying way back when. I quote Tombstone Blues for a reason. Several in fact. Following the lead offered by Salome and John the Baptist, the U.S. taxpayer and the American money mogul have asked their chosen Herod, a flunkey of the dreams of empire and big business, that Osama bin Laden and Saddam Hussein's heads be brought to them on a platter.

Herod had a soldier do the job for him and Salome got off on the gory result. Well, the above is the bang Americans get for their buck; an army of occupation, two iconic Arabs on the lam, and a trillion-dollar turkey. Like it or not, the dullards of the right must admit the symbolism is there. It's the reason most with half a brain continue to scoff at Bush's costly campaign jaunts and his spin wizards and PR people continue to trip over their repressed psyches.

As John Pilger points out and this sorry episode demonstrates, Bush and his centurions cannot help but "put the lie to their own propaganda".

Bush and Bob Set to Stay

Democracy to be Buried in 2004

When the velvet glove comes off, the iron fist remains


"We've got a deficit because we're at war."

“Different faces, but no regime change. We will be standing still and the situation in Zimbabwe will continue to decline.”

John Makumbe | Zimbabwean political commentator

With Bob Mugabe's threats to withdraw a suspended Zimbabwe from the Commonwealth, thereby pitting African states against their Commonwealth fellows, the power of tyranny is showing its hand. Across the Atlantic, George Bush's unashamed use of presidential privilege, taxpayers' money, pre-nomination Democratic Party in-fighting, and others' misfortune for selfish ends shows how easy it is for those who have attained power to cement their positions.

Occupying different sectors of the geopolitical spectrum, Mugabe and Bush might do the world a favour by showing democracy up for the joke it has become. While Bush represents powerful, private U.S. military-industrial interests, Mugabe is a self-made man, running his country as a Mom and Pop store for personal gain. Bush, an executive, has shareholders to whom he must answer. Bob deals with family. Both, however, are in it for the money and, where large sums are involved, people die. It was ever thus.

Now that Western media monopolies have successfully airbrushed Bush's crimes (his rape of the U.S. economy and illegal invasions and occupations of Afghanistan and Iraq), he is free to consolidate his beachhead on the Middle-Eastern mainland and his hold on the U.S. political system. As Democrats squabble over who should oppose the GOP death's head late next year, his political axmen are ridding the corridors of political power of all opposition, ensconcing themselves in the belly of a beast displaying a rapacious appetite for excess, deception and deceit.

Mugabe, promising retirement and a retreat from mainstream politics, is steaming ahead with plans to expel white farmers from Zimbabwe, crush his opposition and entrench Zanu-PF's position for decades to come. When the smoke and mirrors are removed, politics becomes a simple exercise in clawing one's way to the top and staying there.

Bush and Bob have much in common.


"We do not kowtow to erstwhile imperialist forces..."

M-Net's Carte Blanche ran a good insert Sunday giving a potted history of Mugabe's likely successors. Each is as loyal to Zanu-PF as the other and all are Mugabe men. Their accession to Mugabe's vacant throne will mark the continuation of Zimbabwe's descent into a spiral of violent self-interest, human rights abuses, hunger, disease and death. Mugabe's personal choice is his Speaker for Parliament, Emmerson Mnangagwa.

The self-proclaimed Son of God, former Zimbabwean Minister of Justice and State Security, Central Intelligence Organization (CIO) chief and all-purpose, bargain-basement mass murderer has all the credentials needed to continue Mugabe's rein of terror. As Security Minister during the early 80s, he was the hand guiding Colonel Perence Shiri's Korean-trained Fifth Brigade, a skilled assassination unit that slaughtered 20,000 ZAPU supporters throughout Matabeleland. Tens of thousands were tortured and many towns and villages razed. The Southern African Catholic Bishops' Conference publication, Report on the 1980s Disturbances in Matabeleland and the Midlands, is still available on the Web.

A dab hand at the 'divide and rule' stratagem, George Bush need not send out U.S. special forces operatives to murder millions of Americans in the run up to the 2004 presidential elections. As much as the polarization of American society shows Bush to be hated, it also shows him enjoying more than abundant support. The Guardian's Gary Younge points out that a dearth of political debate in the United States has sent Americans scurrying back to traditional political homes from where they will cast their ballots. The silencing of debate on foreign policy (for which the U.S. is most hated overseas) means voters will not be stirred beyond their normal ether-soaked torpor. As much as the Democrats have stirred up opposition to Bush, the Republicans have countered. The GOP also has time, unlimited resources, and virtually every social instrument on their side.

In the unlikely event Bush should throw away a second term, John Makumbe's words quoted above more than adequately cover any U.S. alternative. Whereas Zimbabwean opposition members face death daily working a democracy seen as Morgan Tsvangirai's Movement for Democratic Change's (MDC) best chance to oust Mugabe, American voter apathy in the face of an electoral machine hijacked by the incumbent will see a crooked, vindictive, and small-minded man poisoned by grandiose delusions returned to the White House.

I'm now taking bets on Zanu-PF and Bush being reelected next year, their positions disproportionately strengthened for having seen off limited, wishy-washy opposition forces and strategies, and their suspect victories having been deemed free and fair by international observers intimidated to an unseeing acceptance of flawed democracies not worth the price they charge for participation.


"Democracy is a Conversation"

So are markets...

Resource: Southern African Catholic Bishops' Conference Report on the 1980s Disturbances in Matabeleland and the Midlands

How to Drink and Drive...

...and Other Stuff to Mess with Your Head

Novel ideas to solve South Africa's road carnage



Asked a girl what she wanted to be | She said baby, can't you see | I wanna be famous, a star on the screen | But you can do something in between | Baby you can drive my car | Yes I'm gonna be a star | Baby you can drive my car | And baby I love you.

The Beatles | Drive My Car

Of 280 million Americans, more than 40,000 die each year in motor vehicle accidents. It's an horrific figure. It represents 14.8 fatalities per 100,000 people. Were 60 million Britons to drive like you people, 17,000 would bleed to death in, on, or around the mangled wrecks of their automobiles. Fortunately, the British are a sensible bunch and only 3,500 do so (6.1 deaths per 100,000 people).

What is it with you Yanks? Why, in a First World country boasting new vehicles fitted with the most up-to-date safety features, do so many people die on the road? I'll tell you why. I'm something of an expert in these things. It's George W. Bush's fault. He's the problem. Get rid of him and you'll wipe the smirk off every British car-wreck survivor's face. You'll all be able to drive wherever you want to go, whenever you wish to and at whatever speed you choose.

Hmm... were it that simple.

The above aside, I do remain something of an expert on matters relating to carnage, mayhem and bloodletting. Well, it fascinates me. There are several reasons for this, the main one being that I stand a bloody good chance of becoming road kill or mortuary meat. You see, although only 10,000 people die on South Africa's roads each year (almost three times as many as in Britain), we have 40 percent fewer people than the United Kingdom.

Despite there being plenty of space for us to avoid each other, a staggering 26 out of every 100,000 South Africans will die in motor vehicle accidents this coming year. Yes... 200,000 will die of AIDS. That we know. Unlike AIDS, though, road deaths are avoidable. Look at Britain. Just as there are reasons the British are so cautious - they live in a small, pokey place full of twisting lanes and Masonic traffic cops, are slowed by big red buses and never have far to go, there are several good reasons so many South Africans end up dying at their steering wheels.

Like those peopling the United States, we South Africans live in a big country. For our population, we have roughly the same amount of land per head as Americans and we travel similar distances. Yet, statistically, an American visitor to South Africa is more than twice as likely to die here as at home. Once over here, things get worse. Factors come into play that raise the chances of our visitor dying a brutal death.

South Africans do not, as I've pointed out elsewhere, have all that much money. In fact, the average person is unlikely to own a car. The average car owner is unlikely to ever own a new car, and the second-hand car he or she drives is, on average, thirteen years old. That's part of our bad-driving problem, but it doesn't begin to give us the whole picture.

In 1996, there were 765 cars for every 1,000 Americans. That's a fair whack of motor vehicles. In fact, it's a disgusting number. There are more cars per person in the United States than anywhere else on the planet. Down here at the Southern Tip, we are not blessed with an abundance of gas guzzlers. In fact, Uruguayans, Macedonians, Libyans and Latvians (as well as the citizens of 49 other countries) own more cars per 1,000 people than we do. We come in at 146 vehicles per 1,000 citizens.

That's six million motor vehicles or five times fewer cars per person in a country with a population an eighth that of the United States. Which has... Good grief, this can't be right... 214.2 million cars? Nah... it is correct. Jesus, you have 35 times more cars on your roads than we have here. Is that right? I don't believe it. It would bring your safety record (40,000 deaths per annum) right in line with the British. In fact, you have no problem.

214.2 million cars in one country. I've never considered such a thing... no wonder the environment's stuffed. Okay, let's just go with an arbitrary figure here. The average American is about ten times more likely to die on a South African road than on a North American black top. Tenfold approximations, when related to manmade disasters and other social ills crop up quite frequently in South Africa. It's a good indicator of death by unnatural causes.

Unless, of course, you're speaking of death by shooting (the U.S. lies a distant fourth) or rape (an emasculated U.S. limps home in ninth position here). In these savage arts, we have no peer. I have my doubts about the scoring for murder. How the hell do the Columbians do it? We shoot people. What do they do? The States does not feature, trailing a distant 23rd.



I told a girl that my prospects were good | And she said baby, it's understood | Working for peanuts is all very fine | But I can show you a better time | Baby you can drive my car | Yes I'm gonna be a star | Baby you can drive my car | And baby I love you.

The Beatles | Drive My Car

Okay, back to the roads. So we have all these old cars. But so do the Cubans, and they don't use their vehicles as cast-iron suicide vests. South Africans kill each other with cars because when their ammunition runs out (35,000 people are shot dead each year - again ten times as many per capita as in the U.S.), they get drunk. In fact, we get ten times as soused as anybody else. P.J. O'Rourke once wrote about it. He failed to mention that, once legless, we hit the roads.

Were such a situation to prevail in most countries, citizens would start muttering about 'law and order', 'effective policing' and the like. And that's where the motivation for this little reflection comes in. South Africa's largest mass-circulation newspaper, The Sunday Times, delivers some startling facts (via allAfrica.com). Well, they should be startling, but I've had my suspicions a long time and they don't shock me. How's this for a statistic?

South Africans have one traffic officer for every 10,804 citizens. In Europe, one traffic officer serves 800 citizens.

Heh... I knew the buggers had disappeared. Countrywide, we have only 4,181 traffic officers. That's the equivalent of 26,000 traffic officers in the United States or 5,500 cops to cover the UK. Says the Times:

Figures provided by the Transport Department this week revealed that: South Africa had up to 10 times fewer traffic police than considered desirable; and that ... There are only 1.32 traffic officers per 100km of provincial road. ... Wendy Watson, general manager for the Transport Department of Transport's Land Transport Regulation, confirmed this week that the number of traffic cops was 'very far below international standards'.

Duh! Wendy Watson might state the obvious, but she's not as dumb as she makes out. Apparently:

"...the situation [is] not as bleak... it seemed there were 3 826 Metro police operating in Gauteng, Durban and Cape Town whose job it was to help police motorists."

I don't like the sound of that. "...it seemed there were 3 826 Metro police ... whose job it was to help police motorists." You're telling me. Starting work at 07:00, I come home at 16:00. Each day, I see Metro police driving through the chaos. Quite what hours they keep is beyond me, but I certainly don't see them in the morning. Either way, they look tired; the driver is usually asleep at the wheel and his buddies are comatose beside and behind him. The Metro police...

Ah, forget about it. If you're keen, you can read of the Tshwane (Pretoria) Metro Police here. There is nothing anyone can teach these guys about corruption, state-sponsored crime or out-and-out thuggery.



I told a girl I can start right away | And she said listen babe I got something to say | I got no car and it's breaking my heart | But I've found a driver and that's a start | Baby you can drive my car | Yes I'm gonna be a star | Baby you can drive my car | And baby I love you.

The Beatles | Drive My Car

Anyway, the country's non-existent Metro police are included in the figure giving us "...10 times fewer traffic police than considered desirable". That they're not traffic police in the first place doesn't seem to worry the bureaucrats. Frankly, I'd rather have the army policing the roads. I've wanted to shoot quite a few drivers... Mind you, this is happening quite frequently. Last week, a guy was shot for jumping a red light. Ms. Watson goes on to state:

"In Western Europe and Australia, they have one traffic officer for about every 800 people, but they don't have people like the South African Police Service (SAPS) and Metro police who also do traffic law enforcement."

They're bloody lucky. In twenty-five years of driving, I have not seen a police officer (SAPS) pull a driver off the road for a traffic offence. Not once. Nor have I heard of it being done. I am willing to bet my last pocketful of small change it does not happen. This next statement I can believe. Apparently half the R32-million budget allocated to the annual holiday road-safety campaign Arrive Alive will be spent on marketing. That's about par for the course. I can go with that one. I wonder who's doing the marketing?

The Sunday Times goes on to quote Gerrie Botha, manager of National Standards and Guidelines in the national Transport Department. Gerrie, no doubt an expert on law enforcement who resents being tied to a desk, "...conceded it was 'possible that we have too few people'."

I kid you not.

"Our traffic officers are not working efficiently because they have a variety of tasks that they should not be doing," said Botha. "They spend 50 percent of their time in court either preparing for, or waiting for, cases to come up and capturing contravention information. I don't think that one should use trained traffic officers to sit in an office to capture data."

You don't, huh? Well, Bubba, you're in charge of national standards and guidelines in the national transport department. Do something about it. Is it any wonder we South Africans have a drinking problem? Or are prone to fits of anger? And just when we're fit to drink ourselves to a crazed rage, someone steps in to make us thoroughly depressed. (I've edited the following for clarity. The article is so full of typos it's just about meaningless in places.)

Raymond Holland-Chapman, labour relations officer spokesman for the Independent Municipal Allied Workers' Union, said traffic officers are 'overworked', 'underpaid' and 'highly stressed'.

"Metro police officers in Johannesburg for example don't only deal with traffic control but they have to do the same type of work the SAPS is doing on top of that," he said. Holland-Chapman said traffic cops earned between R5 500 and R6 000 a month and therefore resort to working overtime "...because they have to make a living". They are under so much pressure "the level of post-traumatic stress is at its highest level ever".

Silas Letsimo, Gauteng provincial Secretary for the South African Municipal Workers' Union, said that for a mere R3 600 to R5 000 one cannot expect traffic officials to put their lives in danger for their jobs. Letsimo said officers work more than the expected 40 hour week and are not even compensated for putting in overtime.

"This festive season they are expected to work much more than 40 hours. A road block for example may start at six in the evening and end the next morning, but the officers will not be compensated. The relevant departments are therefore not abiding by national labour laws," he said.

The danger, Lesimo said, is that officers are unhappy with their working conditions and this will affect their productivity. Morale was low among traffic officers and this was affecting their productivity.

My God. I sometimes do understand the frustrations of the gougers raping the South African economy. I really do. At R5,500 to R6,000 a month and working a forty-hour week, these bastards in blue are paid more money than most. They're either a bunch of shiftless, skinniving lead swingers or their union guy is a wanker. There is a distinct possibility both might hold water. The underlying truth, though, is that most don't do their jobs.

Anticipating carnage, we're now drinking ourselves stupid. The liquor industry has stepped in to help us return to our senses. They're putting warning labels on wine bottles "...to help reduce South Africa’s high rate of alcohol abuse". Just when you thought... yes, well.

"Hi, my name is Mike and I'm an alcoholic."

"Hi Mike."

"I'm here by the Grace of God, the Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous and the guy who put warning labels on wine bottles."

"Great stuff, Mike."

Yeah, but this guy really deserves a medal:

Winemaker Pierre-Jeanne Gerber, who has been working with the Western Cape province’s health ministry to create legislation governing the production of the labels, said he embarked on the project to highlight the dangers of alcohol abuse and foetal alcohol syndrome. “On these labels I state quite clearly alcohol abuse can destroy lives and should be used responsibly,” he said. A report released recently by South Africa’s Medical Research Council (MRC) said that half of all murders and road accidents and more than 60 percent of hospital trauma cases were the result of drunkenness. “I simply see myself as a frontrunner on something that will ultimately be done by all wine producers,” Gerber said in comments quoted in the Cape Town based Saturday Argus newspaper. According to the MRC, alcohol abuse costs South Africa at least nine billion rand (1.3 billion dollars / 1.1 billion euros) a year, with about 5.9 million men and 1.63 million women engaging in risky drinking - drinking five or more beers or glasses of wine at one sitting for men and more than three drinks for women. “The idea of alcohol warning labels and its effects is not new,” Gerber said.

I bet it's not new. Others with the same idea were probably laughed out of the room. It makes as much sense as my pack of cigarettes asking me if I'm pregnant or Los Angeles county officials telling computer vendors and distributors to lose master and slave as adjectives for primary and secondary disks. Mr. Gerber's wine labels will do as much for substance abuse as the Metro Police will do to curtail dangerous driving.

Note You do have two hundred million vehicles in the States. The British, who have 426 vehicles per 1,000 citizens, have 25.5 million motor vehicles cluttering their little rock in the middle of the North Sea. That's disgusting too. No wonder nobody gets killed. How can one move 25.5 million cars in such a small space? Why don't their cars fall of the edge?

Beep beep'm beep beep yeah | Beep beep'm beep beep yeah | Beep beep'm beep beep yeah | Beep beep'm beep beep yeah...

The Beatles | Drive My Car

International AIDS Day 2003

"Today in South Africa, 600 people die daily of AIDS and 500,000 people need antiretroviral therapy to stay alive."

Medecins Sans Frontieres

A musical appeal was made on Saturday at the 46664 concert to governments and ordinary people to take up the fight against Aids and to recognise it as a human rights issue. Greenpoint Stadium in Cape Town was filled to capacity with 45 000 people as musicians like Bono, Johnny Clegg and Bob Geldof sang for those infected with the HI virus. Former South African president, Nelson Mandela -- who gave his prison number to the campaign -- told the screaming crowd that action had to be taken to prevent Aids sufferers from being reduced to statistics. "I was imprisoned on Robben Island where I was supposed to be reduced to a number. People infected with HIV are in danger of being reduced to numbers unless we act. They too are serving a prison sentence of life," he said. more...

It seems everybody's playing the numbers game. Forty million AIDS victims and people carrying the HI virus have been reduced to less than ciphers. They've been erased, forgotten... their places taken by high-tech ad campaigns and concerts in the park. Such forgetting needs to be stopped. We need voices and action, not music. Where are the voices? Where's the action?

Mr. President... Mr. President...? Thabo? Where the fuck are you?

AIDS Articles and Links (some broken): Canadian Broadcasting Corporation

I Had A Farm in Africa...?

Blogging the Dark Continent from Harvard

Missionaries, library cards and bicycles


BlogAfrica: Blogging the Dark Continent

Well, it does have an element of missionary zeal; Ethan Zuckerman's initiative, that is. Ethan, whose statistical models for information flow include the remarkable Global Attention Profiles map and data sets charting Western media coverage of countries worldwide, operates out of Harvard's Berkman Center for Internet and Society and heads up the BlogAfrica project. Much like blogging's cardinal oligarch Dave Winer, he has broad vision and unbounded enthusiasm. It is usually wise to treat such people with caution but, as Ethan has promised not to unleash Dave on the continent early in 2004, I reckon he must be in possession of a sound mind spurred by noble intent.

BlogAfrica is a project designed to increase the numbers of people blogging in and about Africa and to increase the visibility of weblogs about Africa. The BlogAfrica project will include an index of Africa-centric blogs, hosting space for bloggers in Africa and workshops and events that will bring together bloggers from Africa with bloggers from around the world. BlogAfrica is planning its first set of workshops in Accra, Ghana in January 2004. Our team plans to be in Accra from January 10 - 20th, and we hope to offer a number of workshops at locations around Accra, Legon and Cape Coast.

Sounds good, eh?

My wife's not a blogger but she is married to one. It influences her opinion. "So what do they want? Fifty million malnourished AIDS victims with laptops? Or is this only for our local gougers and the guys who get to ride in the motorcade?" she asked. She sometimes resents the time I spend at the PC so I generally take such comments with a pinch of salt before chasing her down to the river to do the washing and slaughter a goat for lunch. "I'm hungry. Watch out for the crocs."

It's generally best to ignore such questions but, in asking them, she does make the point. Techies would do well to heed the findings of their fellows. Mikel Maron's an England-based developer doing some remarkable stuff with Internet technologies. He's developed WorldKit, "...an easy to use and highly flexible mapping application for the Web. It's a Flash based app, configured entirely by XML and requires no programming or extra software." The World as a Blog is but one example of the uses to which WorldKit can be put. It reminds me of the NASA composite of a cloudless world at night. Africa, usually left off the map by Internet traffic indicators and sucked into the Middle East by organizations with global coverage and ambition, is a dark stain at the center of the world. This is the canvas on which BlogAfrica seeks to paint a brave new world.

Two years ago, Wired reported:

A recent survey estimates there are about 5 million Internet users in Africa, with 70 percent of those in South Africa and Egypt. In South Africa and Egypt alone there are 150 ISPs with two ISPs controlling a 90 percent market share. Internet usage in Africa, according to Makatiani, is growing exponentially. Africa Online is concentrating on sub-Saharan Africa, with a population of about 500 million. In Nigeria, for example, only 2,000 people have Internet accounts. Africa Online also hopes to make inroads within the black communities of South Africa, which have virtually no Internet access.

Little has changed in two years. South African business still dominates the Internet. When you fly over an African country, a light below is a beacon signaling the presence of life in what seems to be a dark expanse of unknowns. It's a misleading perception, of course. Most people don't have electricity and, when the sun goes down, get down to doing what the First World does when the lights go out. Mind you, looking at the graphics (and bar the odd, engineered blackout to pump up prices), the lights don't go out in the West anymore. You unlucky sods.

Without wishing to detract from Ethan's initiative, I can't help but feel he's on to a hiding to nothing. Why? I blog. Why shouldn't everybody else do so or, at the least, make the Internet work for them? For a start, whereas most countries don't, South Africa has an established telecoms infrastructure able to support the Net. We are wired. With a large formal economy (albeit with an unemployment rate touching 45 percent), those of us with jobs or businesses can afford connectivity.

Affordability is relative. News junkies and those with an interest in the world about them are likely to spend an inordinately large percentage of their income on connectivity. I do. When one places connectivity before other priorities (ranging from health care to books), it might be said one has their priorities wrong. So be it. How I got here doesn't matter; how others get here does. Most who can afford the Net use it for business, surfing, or gaming. They are not interested in the world about them. In my experience, they less knowledgeable about the continent on which they live than the average person living without basic amenities.

They are either disinterested or willfully ignorant. In South Africa, most are white and hold views I'd hate to see propagated through Africa. Scanning the forums of one of our leading newspapers recently, I found the words most associated with George W. Bush to be derived from 'save'. 'Saviour', used by many, was the one that really stuck in my craw. Anybody who thinks George W. Bush is going to save Africa from itself is not my cup of tea. Neither is anybody who feels Africa needs to be saved from itself. If we need saving, it's from corporate globalization. It has an ugly hold on us. We display all the sense, reason and insight of heroin or crack addicts in dire need of their fixes.

I'm not saying South Africans with money are a bad bunch of people. At the moment, the muted roar of hundreds of bikers rumbling along the M5 highway to Cape Town reminds me of how I'd long to get my hands and self onto a large motorcycle. The occasional howl of a 4-into-1 exhaust brings my own addictions to mind. The freeway is lined with families out to watch the run into town or wherever it's headed. The bikers are all carrying toys which will be gathered by a welfare NGO and distributed to poor or homeless kids come Christmas. These people have their hearts in the right place and there are millions of them.

I see and hear the people who disgust me on Saturday mornings when I take my widowed mother shopping. After enduring the early morning rugby scrum of our local mall with my wife, I take my mother to Constantia Village, where she buys what she needs. Nearing her 80s, she feels herself past the hurly burly of a typically South African shopping center and heads for where the white folks go. Constantia is typical of the overly wealthy suburbs clinging to the side of Table Mountain and the hills heading north. Really, these people get to me. Say what you like, but most are dumb gougers who make money ripping off their fellow South Africans. The income disparity between high earners and the poor is particularly evident in Cape Town, one of South Africa's most conservative, bigoted and divided cities. One of apartheid's legacies has been the continued high visibility of social gradients. Nowhere is a surfeit of wealth more starkly illustrated than in Constantia and along the Atlantic seaboard.

There are probably several Constantia bikers among those headed to town with toys for the poor kids but, proportionately, I'd bet anything on there being very few.

Okay, screw my little hang ups. The thing is, even in a relatively wealthy country like South Africa, few people can access the Net. Where e-learning is used in schools, it is limited to exclusive schools to which most kids are barred entry for financial reasons. Even then, we lack the capacity to deliver over networks. DSL connectivity costs an arm and a leg and only the seriously addicted will pay for it. Any school wealthy enough to afford the Net is privately funded. Private funders, i.e. parents and businesses, either haven't heard of broadband or regard it as a waste of money. State-funded schools are something of a misnomer. They are easily identified by their absolute lack of funding. Overcrowded and understaffed, it's a miracle kids make it through to or pass their final exams. Most don't, adding to a labor pool ripe for... hell, I don't know; ideas would be gratefully accepted. Most people live in the knowledge of their potential being an unrealizable asset and cash in on whatever else will feed them.

These are major problems. Our mainstream media is a business scam. Most of our papers are either carefully targeted or are useless. Our radio and TV stations spew the canned drek of a bored West. Our news-gathering capacity is limited. Generally, South Africans and, I believe, most Africans, know less of their continent than U.S. citizens know of North America. That's a really serious admission and indictment.

The upside comprises the initiatives of informal, non-governmental or, again, privately funded organizations. Tertiary academic institutions do a lot of good work throughout Africa. We do have good media, but they are the exception and, where the exist, they're susceptible to strangulation or annihilation by myriad factors and interests. Ethan has been writing of the Lord's Resistance Army's (LRA) activities in Uganda during 2001 and 2002. I wrote of them in July last year but have heard little of them for a while.

The 4,000 strong LRA is a weird outfit, led by self-styled prophet Joseph Kony, who wants Uganda run according to the Ten Commandments. Founded as 'The Holy Spirit Movement' in 1986 by a former Obote-supporting prostitute, Alice Lakwena, who promised her followers immunity from the bullets of the Ugandan army, the LRA's godly credentials have been evinced more by their fervor than anything else. They have killed thousands and pillaged as freely as any rebel movement, kidnapped thousands of children for use as soldiers or sex slaves, and created some 500,000 refugees. The LRA is violently opposed to bicycles, in case they are used to inform the army of an LRA presence. Those caught riding bicycles are frequently killed or have their feet hacked off.

Again, little appears to have changed, although Ethan does report a combination of the LRA's dislike of bicycles and their Christian conscience has led them to hacking people's buttocks rather than amputating their legs. "You can walk, but you can't sit." Yesterday, the Mail & Guardian reported the LRA killing nine people a couple of days ago. As with all conflicts of dubious distinction, unknown origin and uncertain end, the report ends: "The LRA has been fighting since 1988 to replace President Yoweri Museveni's secular regime with one based on the Ten Commandments. Tens of thousands of people have been killed or maimed, thousands of children abducted and 1,3-million others displaced." The LRA is one of many small factors impinging on the lives of ordinary people. Cést la vie?


Lighting the Heart of Darkness

The outfit partnering BlogAfrica, allAfrica.com, is a successful, well-supported initiative. It spreads news taken from the continent as far as it will go. Anybody wanting it, can have it. Its site, Sustainable Africa, which exemplifies its approach, is an example of what can be done with available and other resources, and it highlights what any quest to grow something in Africa needs, i.e. sustainability. Any attempt to export or transplant North American consumption models to Africa is doomed. In 1998, Wired carried an article by John Perry Barlow highlighting Africans' remarkable ability to innovate. The writer found the Internet, in different guises, all over the continent. Innovation is not a problem or in question, but I'm bloody certain sustainability will be the key issue at BlogAfrica's inaugural workshops in Accra this coming January. (See the iNetworking Project report on the allAfrica.com site.)

Priorities are another issue. It'd be difficult to convince foreign funders, donors and those with the wherewithal that Africa does not have more pressing issues to attend to than the spread of electronic media. In a comment below, Shelley posted what I called one of the most seductive proposals I've heard. She writes:

I get everything from the library now. When I see book mentioned, I immediately go to my library's online system and place a pickup order. It's pulled from whatever branch its in and sent to my local branch. That's the way libraries should work the world over. I think if I fought for one thing globally, more than anything else I would fight for complete and open library access to all books for all people. I can't help thinking most of the world's problems would eventually be solved by this.

Yeah... I agree. Many will tell you Africa needs books a damned side more than it needs a Net unable to do more than carry e-mail. Our libraries, where they exist (and this is locally), are under funded. Their budgets are non-existent. New books? Fuggedaboudit. In countries where books - of any kind - are considered a luxury, what chance connectivity? The cost of books is my chief expense for spending so much on being linked to the Web.

It's in the nature of our new global economy that we foster illiteracy and ignorance. In a world run by technology, the less people know of the cause of their poverty, the better. Institutional economics is, by nature, a conservative discipline. Managed and promoted by conservative ideologues, it's better served by people incapable of thinking for themselves. Books and the education they give are known for the trouble they bring. Besides, starving people are always more productive. They do less bitching and have fewer complaints. As we head towards AIDS day, facing a devastating health and hunger crisis that could be solved with a fraction of the money the U.S. budgets for Defense each year, we run up hard against those whose interests are not served by a continent sporting healthy or prosperous nations and states. Most of those interests reside in the first World and their puppets pull the strings on the ground from Tunis to Cape Town.

I'm sure those working at the Berkman Center know all this, but I doubt most who wish the best for Ethan and his crowd do. From what I can see, BlogAfrica is not an exercise in linking, promotion or self-study. It's a venture into the need for funding, education, social application and applicability, and communication. Ultimately, using technology to assist others improve their lives using that technology could lead to good or great things. For this reason, and against the odds stacked above, BlogAfrica deserves support and success.

For now though, let me get back to whinging about the greedy bastards savaging our economy, other people and the globe.

Make a Difference. Blog Africa.

Sisters of Mercy

Amy Goodman is a Smug Bitch

Why the right are right to hate the left


"If she hates her country so much, why doesn't she just leave?"

Oh the sisters of mercy, they are not departed or gone. | They were waiting for me when I thought that I just can't go on. | And they brought me their comfort and later they brought me this song. | Oh I hope you run into them, you who've been travelling so long.

Leonard Cohen | Sisters of Mercy

Amy Goodman's a smug bitch. I should know. I sit and watch Pacifica Radio's DemocracyNow more frequently than I do any other news program. Well, perhaps the Guardian has a slight edge. Anyway, the point is that I'm struck by Amy Goodman; in more ways than one. But one will do. This pin-up girl of the moderate left comes across as a smug, sanctimonious, self-congratulatory, holier-than-thou, all-purpose bitch.

"If she hates her country so much, why doesn't she just leave?" I hear them say. "There she sits, in sheltered employment (all small-private or funded initiatives are, by definition, sheltered), surrounded by and living off the fruits of the system, and all she does is whinge, whine and complain. Worse, her face, carefully made-up to look as though it has no make up, alternates between two expressions; a self-satisfied, knowing smirk and a carefully crafted, wide-eyed, innocent concern. She's a typically cocooned, over-privileged parasite of the worst kind; a snotty liberal."

Yeah...

I bet she gets up their noses. While I can do without Pacifica's 60s hangover (all those bloody protesters moaning about rubber bullets), I find Amy Goodman attractive. Oh yeah, Bubba, go for it... Well, hell, when you get to my age, any woman over thirty who can carry the au naturel look is a target. But her attitude of smug knowingness is, I regret to tell her, off-putting.

It's a real problem. It is worse than herpes, halitosis or the full litany of unfortunate ailments that can attack women approaching middle age. You'll have to ask RageBoy or Halley for the full list; my wife suffers none of these things so I do not have a clue.

Being right in a world so obviously wrong is not on. It does not work. It does not, as the saying goes, sell. Or pay the bills. It is, in short, downright bad for business. Which is why Pacifica remains a small-time, no-goodnik, loser outfit preaching only to the converted.

Amy phoned me last night. "Hi, Mike." She draws out the name; suggestively.

"Hey, Ames, what's up?"

"Well, you are but that's not why I'm phoning."

"Heh..." The girl is wicked when she's not behind the mike, but I don't mind. I'm used to it. I bring out the base side of most women.

"Mike?" Long, protracted, teasing. I knew I was in for it.

"Yeah?"

"What do I do about my smug, sanctimonious, self-congratulatory, holier-than-thou, all-purpose bitch image?"

"Nothing you can do, Ames. Sorry."

"Shit! That's a bit blunt. You pissed off with me?"

"Me? Pissed off with you? Nah... c'mon. No. There's just nothing you can do about it."

"Why?" The teasing playfulness crept back in. Why do women always do that?

"Look, it's a simple problem that's screwed the PR industry for years. No amount of spin can correct it. When you're right, you're right. When you're right nine times out of ten or even if you just stick to reporting the facts, sooner or later you're going to appear to be a smug, sanctimonious, self-congratulatory, holier-than-thou, all-purpose bitch. It's inevitable."

She sounded despondent. "Damn."

"Yeah, it's a tough one, Ames, but I'll try visit shortly. Cheer you up an' all."

It did the trick. "Really? That'd be great. We can go and torch some corporates together before..."

"Yeah, yeah... my wife's listening to this."

"Oh. Okay."

"Yeah, well, look. The thing is, you will never suffer the inner turmoil of those on the right. You will never have the serious look of concerned anguish you see on the faces of people reading the mainstream news. Whether they know it or not, most of them suspect they're reading a load of bullshit. It messes with their heads."

"But we need some anguish. Or some concern or something."

"Forget it, babe. You ain't gonna get it. You know how the game's playing out; how the deal will go down. You have the wisdom of insecurity. Not a care in the world. You can't manufacture it."

"At all?"

"Nah. You could get angry but that gets you nowhere. Look at Rush Limbaugh. People tune out just as quickly. It's an ugly fact. Most people; even the brightest, seldom see what's patently obvious or smacking them between the occipital lobes. When you point it out to them, what do you think happens?"

"I dunno... what?"

"They freeze you out or give you a smack. They hate you. You ever meet someone who likes being shown to be wrong? Publicly?"

"Nope."

"Well, there you go then. Political conservatives are wrong and they know it. Right-wing political conservatives are worse; they're dumb and wrong. When you point it out, they turn vicious and ugly."

"Tell me about it."

"I will, Ames, I will."

"I can't wait."

"You'll have to. Unless you arrange a special assignment for yourself?"

"Can't. No money."

"You see? There you go. 'No money'. You know how that would piss off a right-winger? No money? No money for what? Of course there's money. You live in America, the land of the free and the blah-de-blah... There's money for everything. Ask the PreZnit. He can multiply money like Father Christopher multiplies tofu and that fucking fish of his. You a commie New Age Atheist bitch too?"

"I see what you mean. But there really is no money. I'd come..."

We were both silent a while; then giggled.

"Listen girl, you better straighten up. There's a war to be won."

"You're right. So you say there's no way I can change the station's image? I'll always be a smug, sanctimonious, self-congratulatory, holier-than-thou, all-purpose bitch?"

"Yeah... but you'll be right in all the right ways."

We chatted on a bit, but things got personal. The point of my advice to Amy was that nothing angers the right more than those who are right. Conservatives' defense of all that is crooked, evil, devious, bent and twisted betrays the Constitution of their country. They know this but they are greedy. Most are poor but, like addicts, substance abusers and other social misfits, they believe that if they back a winner, they will hit the big time.

They're too dumb to realize they're backing one of the greatest losers the world has ever known.

Their commander-in-chief, the crooked former Harken C.E.O who now hijacks foreign economies to use as stock options backing fictitious accounting exercises obscuring his destruction of the U.S. and other economies, knows this. And he despises them. He knows that, like him, they are losers. But he will get the last laugh. They, as well as his avowed enemies (anybody not a rabid right-winger with a lust for blood and a penchant for murder) are going to eat dirt.

In George W. Bush's world, there are two types of people; the rich and the poor. He scrapes the poor off the sole of his presidential shoe and uses them to fertilize the gardens of the rich. They are scum and are treated as such. You can't blame George for thinking like this. He has no brain. Born in the ablution block of a rundown Houston trailer park, he was raised by white trash until he met and was taken in by his surrogate pappy after a G.O.P. fundraiser in Dallas.

Republicans do not have sex lives. Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush certainly did not. Would you go to bed with Barbara Bush? Besides, a sex life is too risky. Clinton had one (or two) and look what happened to him.

Raised on a mix of drug-crazed right-wing Christian fundamentalism and an endless supply of money, the alcohol and coke-soaked W. developed a fine sense of concerned anguish. He was what Americans call 'conflicted'. But, after being picked up by H.W. and promising to keep the nature of their meeting "their little secret" (eat your heart out, Charles), he realized, deep in the dark and cold recesses of his reptilian brain that being as tepid as dishwater and as spineless as a jellyfish qualified him as meek.

We all know what happens to the meek, right? They get to inherit the earth. W. just wants what's his as promised by the Good Lord and the Holy Bible (Readers' Digest Version) without E.&O.E.

Rich people have money because they take it from other people. If Krugman thinks George does not understand economics, he's a bigger schmuck than the right accuse him of being. George understands these things and, through good fortune and paid friends, he has taken all he can.

He has taken a record surplus and turned it into the largest long-term deficit ever known. He has taken from firefighters, cops, veterans, children and old people. He has taken from the poor, the needy, the sick and the helpless. Those not qualifying, he has shot or locked up. He has taken from Medicare and Social Security and payroll taxes. He has screwed up the land, the sea the air and the future.

And he has only just begun. Who says this man does not know what he is doing?

Amy Goodman knows W. knows what he is doing. That's why, night after night, she sits behind a microphone and tells it like it is. That's all. No spin, no PR, no lies, no fuzzy math. In this country, we say (after a corporate ad), "No frills, no fuss, just plain good value."

I mean, what kind of job is that? It's stress free, easy to do, throws up no pangs of conscience and, besides having to treat Michael Moore as some kind of savior - I gave her hell for that one, offers job satisfaction. Now, you tell me. How the hell can she come across as anything but a smug, sanctimonious, self-congratulatory, holier-than-thou, all-purpose bitch?

Excuse me; I have to end this. There's someone at my door...

Yes you who must leave everything that you cannot control. | It begins with your family, but soon it comes around to your soul. | Well I've been where you're hanging, I think I can see how you're pinned: | When you're not feeling holy, your loneliness says that you've sinned.

Leonard Cohen | Sisters of Mercy

Separating Siblings

Arundhati Roy Spoils My Weekend

Why the left are left to hate the right

Well they lay down beside me, I made my confession to them. | They touched both my eyes and I touched the dew on their hem. | If your life is a leaf that the seasons tear off and condemn | They will bind you with love that is graceful and green as a stem.

Leonard Cohen | Sisters of Mercy

Amy Goodman popped in (babbling about Zimbabwe) so this entry will have to be a quickie. I can think of far better places for a brief break and some fun in the sun but, no, she wants to go to bloody Zimbabwe. I've never understood women but you know what they say.

Anyway, I digress. Here's what the Mumbai Missile has to say of my country:

In South Africa, after 300 years of brutal domination of the black majority by a white minority through colonialism and apartheid, a non-racial, multi-party democracy came to power in 1994. It was a phenomenal achievement. Within two years of coming to power, the African National Congress had genuflected with no caveats to the Market God. Its massive program of structural adjustment, privatization, and liberalization has only increased the hideous disparities between the rich and the poor. More than a million people have lost their jobs. The corporatization of basic services - electricity, water, and housing-has meant that 10 million South Africans, almost a quarter of the population, have been disconnected from water and electricity. 2 million have been evicted from their homes.

Meanwhile, a small white minority that has been historically privileged by centuries of brutal exploitation is more secure than ever before. They continue to control the land, the farms, the factories, and the abundant natural resources of that country. For them the transition from apartheid to neo-liberalism barely disturbed the grass. It's apartheid with a clean conscience. And it goes by the name of Democracy.

Democracy has become Empire's euphemism for neo-liberal capitalism.

Yeah...

Christ… she’s just been here. Roy, that is – while Amy was packing my stuff for our Zimbabwe adventure. It was a mess. I had to get her out. The two of them were about to tear each other’s eyes out.

I decided to send Arundhati to Father Christopher, my mentor and spiritual advisor. She’s a devout Catholic (she'd have to be, holding her views) and she’s okay going back to the Jesus Bunker for a while. Besides, she has a thing for Father Christopher. As he does for her.

Some history…

We (Arundhati and I) first met when I stumbled into the Jesus Bunker to report Brother Marek who, having drunk too many potatoes, had taken to shooting EGR Irregulars working the perimeter fence with the 30mm cannon mounted on the hood of his Cadillac.

Dhati was bathing Father Christopher's feet in the baptismal font when I walked in, but I knew there was more to it than that. I had to act fast. Although the enlightened might sometimes doubt it, it is imperative they be kept from indulging too heavily in sins of the flesh, carnal vices and hallucinogenic drugs. In this sense, and bearing the story of Sister Lavinia in mind, I decided to wrest the girl from my spiritual advisor.

He didn’t mind. Gretchen was still doing the cooking in those days.

I dressed her with my robe and dispatched her to Mother Theresa to work a while as her spin doctor, a job at which she was remarkably successful. Our friendship developed into a lasting relationship and she has paid several visits to this country; usually to moan and complain about the whites.

And you know what? She's right. But you knew that anyway, eh? Well, I have a couple of mild reservations and that's why, when she came knocking on my door earlier this evening (and after ushering Amy into the kitchen to make some tea), I gave her what for. It was touch and go for a while, but eventually I gave her a tongue lashing.

"Lay off us; there's very little else to do," I told her. "With all the security guards, guns, dogs, armed response companies, walls, gates, sealed suburbs, razor wire and electric fences, what else can we get up to?"

"Feed the poor."

"Fuck the poor. Let them get jobs."

We glared at each other. We’ve quarreled before. The last time, we didn't speak to each other for two days but I am no fool. I bought her a couple of gold trinkets from the local Indian store and we picked up where we left off.

"A little lower."

"What do you mean, a little lower?"

"Well, you know."

That sort of thing. But it was the Freeze-dried Imperial Kool-Aid article that got to me.

"Dhati," I told her (in no uncertain terms), "You know it's more complex than that."

"Yes, I do, but it's just a speech for Americans."

"I don't care. You're popular. Whenever you open your mouth, the world wants to see your beautiful teeth and those cute little dimples you get when..."

"Oh, piss off. Come here."

I set about putting her straight. "Look, business has the money because business has the skills. Business can do business because it's the one area government has got right following the very agenda you oppose."

She opened her mouth. Beautiful lips and teeth, but no dimples... I put my one hand firmly over her mouth and bashed on (metaphorically, of course).

"Uh-uh. Let me finish. Then you speak. The Rand's stronger than it's been for many years and inflation's the lowest we've seen since 1964. The economy's growing better than it has for a while and interest rates will be cut again before the year's out. Tito Mboweni's done everything that can be asked of a central banker.”

“Lickspittle.”

I chuckled. She got that one from me. I continued.

“Once Trevor Manuel worked out a business-owned media would crucify him if he ever again mentioned 'nebulous market forces', he revised economic policy, millions lost their jobs, companies shipped their operations and profits offshore and privatization became de rigueur."

"So?"

"So we have many of the States’ inequities in our economic system. That's not business; that's government working in tandem with business; where directors earn a couple of hundred times more than their workers. Unemployment's running at close on 45 percent. The robber barons are having a ball. The ANC didn't genuflect; it capitulated to the very reactionaries it warned about in 1993."

"But that's what I'm saying."

"No, you're not. You talk of 'genuflection'. That's your Catholic upbringing. Things are worse than they seem. Most people earn squat. Nada. Zip. Black and white. The real economy is shrinking. There are fewer jobs available and those who have them are far poorer than they were ten years ago. The fat cats are able to get away with it because the system works for them. That's the only reason they haven't sabotaged it. As far as whites go, those benefiting are those sharing their spoils with the new black political and business elite. In numeric terms, there are as many wealthy blacks as whites. They're all ripping off the economy."

"But I said democracy and neo-liberalism..."

It's tough to still a beautiful woman but a man must do what a man must do. "Yeah, that's fine, but stick to it. While the economy's okay in neo-liberal terms, the rest of the country's a complete stuff up in every other way and that, paradoxically, gives the crazy whites, who have it all anyway, ammunition to attack their bought-and-paid-for poodles, the ANC. What took Mandela a lifetime to build up, Thabo's wrecked in four years. Health, education, transport, housing, welfare, justice, electricity and water, the environment, policing, local and provincial government, everything... screwed."

"So you're saying the ANC's intentionally doing this?"

"Criminally so, and its playing into the hands of the whiners to which it pays economic obeisance. Look, it's the only party capable of governing and it's bloody good at legislating. But unless we get down to some real public works and skills training programs, we're doomed. Amy and I won't have to go to Zimbabwe. We have to go left instead of right. Rediscover our roots."

Her eyes flashed. I felt myself melting but resisted. Fiercely.

"You think you've got me, eh? You little viper. It’s not a conspiracy. The divide's real. To most, the Hefer Commission is a parody. As far as I'm concerned, Mac, Mo and Zuma should be locked up. So should Mugabe. But it only looks like a conspiracy because we haven't lived here a thousand years. The Hefer show is as necessary as soft-soaping Bob. It’s a matter of ‘due process’."

I realized she was reeling me in. I wasn’t going to let her know that I knew… I backed off. I returned to day-to-day matters.

"Life’s a nightmare for millions. If you're in a car smash and not covered by medical insurance, which only 15 percent have, private hospitals will demand anywhere between ZAR15,000 and ZAR40,000 to admit you. And then they start charging. Most people haven't the money to get to a state clinic and, when they do, they find it closed, understaffed, out of medicines, or unable to help them. Whose fault is that? It's the fault of the legislators and the money moguls."

Her eyes were smoldering coals and she was resisting me fiercely, trying to bite my hand. I forced her back on the settee. I stared into the dark mysteries of her all-knowing eyes. One thing few realize about Arundhati Roy is her immense sense of the state of play. She knows South Africa better than a cursory reading of her paragraph lets on. Its what it suggests that matters. I plunged on.

"Crime is out of control. Most of the cops are thugs. In Britain, the stats for death by gunshot are 3 per 100,000. In the States, it's far worse; 6 per 100,000. And in South Africa 56 in 100,000 are shot to death. Murder's been declared a risk-free activity. We rank third in the number of serial killers arrested but, given that only one in ten murders result in a conviction, that figure only gives an indication of the extent of the problem. Not to mention millions of AIDS orphans and the highest TB, malaria, divorce, suicide, rape and car death rates in the world.”

She was trying to say something. I continued.

“Overcrowded prisons, rampant corruption, no criminal justice system, racism, xenophobia, greed and hatred. Not to put too fine a point on it, I'm surprised that, at 45, I've managed to exceed our average life expectancy."

I took my hand off her mouth. Her teeth flashed. "You're white," she spat at me, her eyes showering sparks. I held myself in check.

"Yeah, I'm vile," I smiled. "Vile, evil and white. If you don't stop interrupting me, I'll give you a good smack."

We were getting nowhere. What could I do? Amy was breaking crockery in the kitchen. Dhati and I couldn't go anywhere. I had to do the Zimbabwe trip. She understood what I was saying and I understood what she wanted me to say. But I wouldn't... couldn't.

"Look Dhati, we both know the Yanks don't have a clue. Contradicting the apparent, Thabo's not done a bad job politically. Mugabe's absence in Nigeria was far more difficult to arrange than the average whitey, media hack or political flunkey appreciates. Thabo’s problem is that he’s screwed up practically and strategically. We're stuffed and, yes, a white elite lies behind a democracy that has become Empire's euphemism for neo-liberal capitalism.”

I saved the best till last. “But that’s also why they'll drown in the sands of Mesopotamia."

She relaxed and stopped struggling. Her eyes softened.

"But don't rubbish us completely. You know how difficult it is in post-democratic world. There are no democracies and power brooks no dissent. Unless there's a revolution of thought in the ANC National Executive, we're for history's famous dustbin. We have to change gear; become a welfare state."

Amy giggled. Dhati's eyes shot bullets. I had to mollify the girls and I had to do it fast. Amy was checking our tickets.

"Look, let's get back to the Americans. They're easy meat. You remember Coming Home?

They looked puzzled. "Jon Voight? The movie?" asked Dhati.

"Yeah, Coming Home. 1978, One of the first movies to deal with the Vietnam war. Voight, Dern and Fonda. Twenty-five years later, the Yanks are having to relearn the same old lessons spelt out by that and so many other made for mass-consumption movies."

"What?"

"The irony of the title. We never come home. Home is a myth and the promised homecoming a lie. The right understand it better than the left. That's why they scoff at calls to 'bring the troops home'. But we have to leave it there. I have to go. One last thing. The other day, somebody answered an old comment I made about the Cassinga Massacre at Chris Kovac's place. There are a couple of choice comments there, but it's cool. I understand those guys. They're still trying to find their way home. They won't. I'll respond to those comments sometime. But for now..."

"What?"

"Dhati, you've been impossible. I'm sending you back to Father Christopher for a while. He'll sort you out."

"But Father Christopher has fallen. The miracle of the fish has been exposed. It failed to sustain the masses and was eaten. It's no longer on his page."

"Don't believe everything you see. The fish is alive and well and people eat of it daily. It's now open source and Sister Annie continues the miracle. Have faith, Dhati, have faith."

Amy and I left shortly afterwards. The girls hugged each other at Cape Town International. DemocracyNow put out that Amy had gone off to talk at Berkely or to attend a protest Fort Benning’s School of the Americas. We chuckled over that one while at Victoria Falls. Personally, I thought was a nice touch. We all know Berkley belongs to the sixties and the School of the Assassins no longer exists.

Times change. People don’t. We move on. Again and again. Thank God for the Sisters of Mercy.

When I left they were sleeping, I hope you run into them soon. | Don't turn on the lights, you can read their address by the moon. | And you won't make me jealous if I hear that they sweetened your night: | We weren't lovers like that and besides it would still be all right, | We weren't lovers like that and besides it would still be all right.

Leonard Cohen | Sisters of Mercy

Note I apologize if religious readers find the above entry to be blasphemous. However, besides enjoying his showmanship, I've never really known what the hell people see in Michael Moore. Although able to tell the world 90 percent of Americans are liberal but cannot read, he comes across as an ordinary guy hacked off with the Bush regime because he can no longer do as he pleases. Canadian author Doug Ord, continuing his remarkable series of essays precipitated by synchronistic events flowing from the Columbine High School Shootings, offers a sober, incisive dissection of Moore's celebrity status. As far as I'm aware, Ord does not wear a baseball or any other form of cap.

Anti-Americanism X

Instant-Mix Imperial Democracy

Revolutionary populism in a post-democratic world


'Ya' read Paul Krugman's book?' 'Nah... I've been watching Arnie reruns. True Lies was way cool...'

Whatever happens, and it being okay with Shelley, I'll probably be putting up a new site and blog before long. I've not much more to say on this one. Yet, by writing less here over the past month than I have since setting out in January 2002, I've learnt a great deal.

In a manner of speaking...

Bear with me.


'...'

People who have been accustomed to stability can't bring themselves to believe what is happening when faced with a revolutionary power, and are therefore ineffective in opposing it.

Paul Krugman | The Great Unraveling

I've tried different writing forms and styles, and junked most. Initially a personal blogger, i.e. relating everyday events as a reflection of myself to the page, I found myself wanting and felt a need to express more of that which I know to be there. There are ways of doing this but this page, as it stands, shows how "allusory" I've become. I've descended to a cryptic, oblique, impenetrable style that means little but to the person writing it (and stalwarts like Frank).

It shouldn't be that way.


Jay Rosen says, "Things are in the saddle and ride mankind."

There's no nice way to explain how the administration uses cooked numbers to sell its tax cuts, or how its arrogance and gullibility led to the current mess in Iraq.

Paul Krugman | New York Times

Writing is communication and, if I cannot 'clearly spell it out' in a manner similar to J.M. Coetzee, as reported by the New York Times or the Guardian, I should try to better explain myself, my postings and my views.

Why? Who knows. I think they affect all of us. Some writers are arrogant, insufferable people.

Perhaps Coetzee's passion for privacy is insufferable to some. I do not believe him insufferable. Those who've not read Disgrace would do well to read the reviews to which I've linked (entry below), particularly Michael S. Kochin's analysis of the book.


'Yeah? Well, we're in the fucking saddle now...'

Pundits who predict moderation on the part of the Bush administration, on any issue, have been consistently wrong. Kissinger again: "It is the essence of a revolutionary power that it possesses the courage of its convictions, that it is willing, indeed eager, to push its principles to their ultimate conclusion."

Paul Krugman | Guardian

Perhaps most don't see the world as Coetzee does. Lucky them. Those who appreciate his ability to distil our passage through darkness to succinct analogy will have to live with their appreciation in a silence with which they've probably grown too comfortable.

Either way, along with the likes of Willian Golding (ignore facile reviews), his writing deserves recognition. In the world he inhabits and of which he writes, the Nobel Prize for Literature probably means little; but it is something, a start.


'...and we'll ride those wusses right into the ground.'

So that's the way it is. I suspect that many readers, despite everything that has happened, will find it an alarmist picture. As Kissinger wrote, "Those who warn against the danger are considered alarmists; those who counsel adaptation to circumstance are considered balanced and sane." But so far the alarmists have been right, every time.

Paul Krugman | Guardian

Whether people 'get' Coetzee or not, is immaterial. He 'gets' them. The New York Times article on his 'lecture' was written by a journalist who either did or did not hear what Coetzee was saying. It does not matter. The irony is beautiful and the article is a gem.

For myself, a blogger, I find I have no creative response to the monstrous evil now sweeping the world. It is imperative that I find one if I am to avoid a poor man's version of Coetzee's sense of knowing.


Rational Animals

I'm all for good manners, but this isn't a dinner party. The opposing sides in our national debate are far apart on fundamental issues, from fiscal and environmental policies to national security and civil liberties. It's the duty of pundits and politicians to make those differences clear, not to play them down for fear that someone will be offended.

Paul Krugman | New York Times

Links

• Paul Krugman The Great Unraveling
  
• Russel Baker The Awful Truth
  
• Arundhati Roy Instant-Mix Imperial Democracy (Buy One, Get One Free)
  
• John Pilger "They put the lie to their own propaganda"
  
• John Pilger Breaking The Silence: Truth and Lies in the War on Terror
  
• Michael S. Kochin Reflections on J.M. Coetzee's Disgrace

U.S. Soldiers Ripped to Shreds...

U.S. soldier dismembered in Mosul

"The frenzy recalled the October 1993 scene in Somalia, when locals dragged the bodies of Marines killed in fighting with warlords through the streets after 18 Americans were killed following the crash of a Black Hawk helicopter. The United States withdrew its troops from Somalia soon afterward."

Seattle Times

"Something there is about you that moves with style and grace | I was in a whirlwind, now I'm in some better place."

...as Life Goes On

The General is an art lover

"We have nothing at this point that causes us to be concerned. This is not an enemy that can defeat us militarily."

Brigadier-General Mark Kimmitt, U.S. Military Deputy Director for Operations, Iraq

My hand's on the sabre and you've picked up the baton | Somethin' there is about you that I can't quite put my finger on."

I bet...

Don't you just love the smell of MIC-media in the morning?

Oh, yeah...

Cmon, give it to me Baby...

Bring 'em on, Baby...

Oh yeah...


...if you can

Lyrics: Bob Dylan | Something There Is About You

Disgrace

J.M. Coetzee

In a way it was no surprise. J. M. Coetzee, the winner of this year's Nobel Prize in Literature, gave one of his first public appearances on Thursday evening since the prize's announcement last month by the Swedish Academy in Stockholm. But the extremely private, even mysterious Mr. Coetzee (pronounced kut-SEE-uh), though given a platform to express his thoughts on topics that preoccupy him, like literature, politics and animal rights, chose instead to embody his ideas more obliquely, in a work of fiction.

More than 500 people paid $7 or $10 a ticket to hear him give the Robert B. Silvers Lecture at the New York Public Library — a sold-out crowd of library trustees, members, the general public and a handful of literary lights, waiting expectantly for Mr. Coetzee's words.

The South African-born author — thin, birdlike, with narrow eyes — said that he had vowed never to accept another lecture invitation but had made an exception to honor Mr. Silver, who is co-founder and co-editor of The New York Review of Books. But he would not give a conventional lecture, he said.

Instead, he was going to read a story called, "As a Woman Grows Older," a play upon the title suggested by James Joyce for the English translation of Italo Svevo's novel, "Senilità," which is about a young man who seems to go prematurely senile.

Mr. Coetzee's story, not yet published, featured one of his favorite characters, Elizabeth Costello, a successful novelist in her 70's who is also the central figure in his most recent novel, whose title bears her name, and in his 1999 work "The Lives of Animals," which included writings from real scholars.

In the new story Costello goes to Nice to visit her daughter and son, who is named John — which is Mr. Coetzee's first name. The character senses that her children have a "proposal to put to her of the kind children put to a parent when they feel she can no longer take care of herself."

"She does feel like one of those Roman aristocrats, waiting to be handed the fatal draft," Mr. Coetzee read in a steady metronomic beat, his words falling off softly over the hushed room. "For the general good one should drink it down without a fuss."

Costello is an acerbic woman, who uses words like "deplore" to bemoan the fate of the world. "You can deplore to me as much as you like, mother," says John, her dutiful son.

She is given to gnomic pronouncements like: "It is not just the grand sweep of history I deplore. It's the detail."

Sitting with them in the twilight, the woman tells her grown children a story, as she used to when they were little. It is about a man who goes to a strange city for a job interview and hires a call girl. "He is free with her as he is not free at home with his wife," she says. Later the man runs into the prostitute at his new job, where she is a secretary.

What exactly does the man do to the call girl? the children ask. The mother answers, "the demands a man can make upon a woman that I find shocking." It is "the humiliating of beauty," she says, but offers no further details.

As expected, the woman's children ask her to move nearer to them. And she refuses.

The story concludes with her suggesting that the three of them go to a nearby restaurant and "have a pleasant evening together."

Mr. Coetzee had finished reading. He provided no other opinions about any issue. He took no questions from the audience. Intent and expressionless, he left the podium and made his way to a nearby table, where he ended the evening signing and selling his books.

New York Times

Heh...