A wasted exercise

The tracking by satellite of a wild cougar through California sadly ended with the healthy young animal being trapped and shot. It's only crime was to successfully locate a food source - a part-time farmer's livestock.

I don't deny the need to protect that livestock from predatory cougars (or even coyotes such as we saw in the wild yesterday)... I do though feel more could have been done in the name of science, if not biodiversity, to protect both.

Why collar and track predators if you aren't going to protect the subject of your study? Why do this sort of study at all? What was learned apart from it's ability to cross highways - possibly via underpasses specifically built for that purpose?

The reports and photograph portray a very healthy, wild animal. Surely it could, and should, have been relocated and studied further!

The lack of objection to the animal's destruction brings into question the State's competence to manage, let alone study, wildlife in California.
Photograph by courtesy of: http://www.ejphoto.com/cougar_page.htm

The Big March against bullying

A new initiative to draw attention to bullying and in particular that of lesbian and gay youngsters is sadly very timely. In the last week I think there have been three suicides recorded here in the United States where we are on holiday. The most recent followed a university student being filmed and outed by his room mate and another student.

I watched a chat show this morning on which Whoopi Goldberg took a prominent part (I am a great fan of her) and was saddened that the underlying homophobia was over looked in favour of lessons on ethics and awareness of the immediacy of today's information technology. Of course those involved didn't want the outcome they have caused and received... I do not dispute that, but cannot help feeling that the environment in which these young people were being "educated" carries a large share of the blame - as do their families. A life has been lost for no good reason at all and there is a danger in forgetting that it was a gay man who has died needlessly on account of his sexuality. This is as barbaric as the appalling crime in the Islamic world against women who have been raped and been brave enough to report it.

There will be sympathy expressed for all the families involved: I hope those directly involved reflect every day of their lives on the enormity of the deed they have done.

Gay bashing and bullying isn't a cyber crime - when it leads to this sort of event it is murder and should be treated as such.

Amazing advances in technology

I am constantly amazed by the technology I keep stumbling across: today it is a programme for my iPod that enables me to scribble this blog from my sun lounger beside a pool in Palm Springs. No pen or paper, no wired computer: just my iPod and finger.

As a hack blogger I am sure this post will need serious editing at some point but .... the freedom of this little computer and a wifi connection are staggering attainments in my mind.

I have attached a photograph from Kyoto to link with my earlier tweet today about Basho, one of Japan's greatest poets and whose writings I am enjoying on this holiday!
"Disturbing the stillness
of an ancient pond
a frog jumps into the water:
Deep resonance."

So there: some more blogged thoughts on this and that as I scribble and sketch my day through!

Rhodesian Pioneers Day

Exactly 120 years ago to today, Cecil Rhodes's pioneer column reached what was to become Fort Salisbury (Harare). My grandfather, Alfred James Maclaurin, was a member of that amazing group of people who left the comparitive safety and comfort of the Cape to explore and settle in the unknown.

History has not been kind to their memory. Written off as murderers and opportunists intent on self enrichment, they were a vital part in the wider influence and colonial achievments of Britain. Without them I would not be sitting, working and enjoying a massively superior standard of living to theirs. 

The pioneers didn't just settle and acquire benefits for themselves: they changed the lives and fortunes of the people that they encountered. Some will argue that it was an unwelcome and unwanted invasion - but throughout the course of world history that has always been the case. Their vision was driven by a desire for greater wealth (mankind never changes), their quest was brave and the risks, enormous.

With invasion and adventure, domination and influence, has also come improvement and advantage. The invading force needs to consolidate its position, and that can only be done with the co-operation of the host. The  military interventions in Afganistan and Iraq have  both highlighted the need for "civil" as opposed to "military" solutions to lead the way to eventual peaceful resolution. Christianity and Islam cannot take hold over a people without converts.

And so it was that the Rhodesian pioneers settled, brought new medicines, a different education, a new religion and eventually a new political system. Wild veld, or bush, was turned into rich agricultural farm land and the rich minerals mined.

Today - I salute, and remember, the positive sides of that incredible risk and spirit of adventure. I honour the memory of my grandparents and my parents who continued - to my advantage - that determination and drive to improve our world, the World. I don't deny that there were costs to the people who saw their world being turned upside down as a consequence - but the wider good cannot be disputed.

A recent discussion I heard asked the question - at what point does "dirty" money become "clean". At what point do we decide that the individual's actions are no longer based solely on self-interest but community benefit, that pocketted cash becomes the acceptable coinage of share markets? The British South Africa Company's 'charter' may have been fraudulently acquired, but after the initial embarrassment, Britain took full advantage.

No one could ever have predicted the events of a hundred years later when Robert Mugabe decided to use Rhodes' pioneers as the justification for using ethnic Zimbabweans to kill each other and destroy their ability to live, let alone prosper, in the 21st century.

All within one hundred and twenty years that wonderful African landscape that was populated by hunter/gatherers, developed into a British colony, then grew into an industrialised nation exporting minerals and agricultural goods around the world, has returned into one of civil strife and, sadly one that exports people desperate for their own survival and protection from their neighbours, rather than wealth.

What will it look like in 120 years?

9/11 - A response

Today's date has gone down in our recent history as one that marked a turning point for the world. Acts of terror that had been fed on an uncaring attitude and lack of compassion, have been followed by even greater numbers of dead, more terror around the whole world and higher levels of political and religious extremism.

Karen Armstrong has written in the Huffington Post today:

9/11 and Compassion: We Need It Now More Than Ever

"The anniversary of 9/11 reminds us why we need the Charter for Compassion. It should be an annual summons to compassionate action. The need is especially apparent this year. In the United States, we have witnessed an upsurge of anti-Muslim feeling that violates the core values of that nation. The controversy surrounding the community centre near Ground Zero, planned by our dear friends Imam Feisal Rauf and Daisy Khan (who were among the earliest supporters and partners of the Charter) has inspired rhetoric that shames us all. And now we have the prospect of the Quran burning proposed by a Christian pastor, who seems to have forgotten that Jesus taught his followers to love those they regard as enemies, to respond to evil with good, and to turn the other cheek when attacked, and who died forgiving his executioners.

If we want to preserve our humanity, we must make the compassionate voice of religion and morality a vibrant and dynamic force in our polarised world. We can no longer afford the barbarism of hatred, contempt and disgust. At the same time as we are so perilously divided, we are drawn together electronically, economically and politically more closely than ever before. A Quran burning, whenever it is held (it appears to have been delayed for questionable reasons by the pastor behind it), would endanger American troops in Afghanistan and send shock waves of distress throughout the Muslim world. In an age when, increasingly, small groups will have powers of destruction that were previously the preserve only of the nation-state, respect and compassion are now crucial for our very survival. We have to learn to make a place for the other in our minds and hearts; any ideology that inspires hatred, exclusion and division is failing the test of our time. Hatred breeds more hatred, violence more violence. It is time to break this vicious cycle.

courtesy of bbcimages

In response to the prospect of a Quran burning, some people planned readings of the sacred Quran. Others are organizing interfaith gatherings on September 11. Each person who has affirmed the Charter, each one of our partners and associates, will know how best to respond in his or her own community. It is an opportunity to protest against the hatred that is damaging us all; to sit and do nothing is not an option. Instead of looking at one another with hostility, let us look at the suffering that we are seeing in so many parts of the world -- not least in Pakistan, where millions of people have been victims of the flooding. On September 11, let us all try to find something practical to do that can, in however small a way, bring help and relief to all those in pain, even -- and perhaps especially -- those we may regard as enemies. We are all neighbours in the global village and must learn to live together in harmony, compassion and mutual respect.

Imam Feisal Rauf is a Sufi. Over the centuries, Sufis, the mystics of Islam, have developed an outstanding appreciation of other faith traditions. It is quite common for a Sufi poet to cry in ecstasy that he is no longer a Muslim, a Christian or a Jew and that he is at home equally in a synagogue, mosque, temple or church, because once you have glimpsed the immensity of the divine, these limited, human distinctions fall away into insignificance. We need that spirit today -- perhaps especially near Ground Zero. Here I would like to add some words of the great thirteenth-century Sufi philosopher Muid ad-Din ibn al-Arabi, which I have found personally inspiring:

Do not attach yourself in an exclusive manner to any one creed, so that you disbelieve all the rest: if you do this, you will miss much good; nay, you will fail to realize the real truth of the matter. God, the omnipresent and omnipotent, is not limited by any one creed, for He says, "Wheresoever ye turn, there is the face of Allah" (Quran 2.109). Everyone praises what he believes; his god is his own creature, and in praising it he praises himself. Consequently he blames the beliefs of others, which he would not do if he were just but his dislike is based on ignorance.

It is time to combat the ignorance that inspires hatred and fear. We have seen the harm religious chauvinism can do; now let us bear witness to the power of compassion."

Former Roman Catholic nun; Author, 'Through the Narrow Gate'

Posted: September 10, 2010 08:24 PM

Today of all days, we need to stop awhile, and take stock, lest we pass yet another golden opportunity to stop the carnage.

As useless as - a banana tree in Japan?

One of Japan's greatest poets was a man called Matsuo Basho (1650-1722). He is credited by many with lifting haiku into "the realm of perfect poetry".

Basho was born Matsuo Kinsaku but later known as 'Toshichiro', and occasionally, 'Chuemon'. In 1664, his first two poems, hokku, were published under the pen name 'Sobo'.

In 1666, he moved from the city of Ueno to Kyoto's Kinpukuji Temple, and there studied Japanese and Chinese classics, as well as calligraphy. He returned home briefly in 1671, but the following year moved to Edo (Tokyo). It as there that he met the poet, Soin, a metaphorical poet whose influence on Japanese poetry was then at its peak and, subsequent effect on Matsuo so great, that he changed his pen name again: this time to Tosei. His poetry changed dramatically as well to a much freer, more metaphor filled style and this is illustrated by a poem written on a home visit from Edo:

                                        My souvenir from Edo

                                        Is the refreshingly cold wind

                                        Of Mount Fuji

                                        I brought home on my fan.

In 1680, one of his admirers built him a small house in Fukagawa, in a relatively isolated spot near the Sumida river. Another of his fans presented him with the roots of a Basho tree (a type of banana) and this was planted beside the house which he then called "Banana Hut".

                     The leaves of the Basho tree are large enough to cover a harp. When they are wind-broken, they remind me of the injured tail of a phoenix, and when they are torn, they remind me of a green fan ripped by the wind. The tree does not bear flowers, but unlike other flowers, there is nothing gay about them. The big trunk of the tree is untouched by the axe, for it is utterly useless as building wood. I love the tree, however, for its very uselessness ... I sit underneath it, and enjoy the wind and rain that blow against it.

Yet again, the much admired and talented Matsuo Kinsaku changed his name: this time to Basho (Banana tree) and with that, went on to change Japanese poetry and the art of haiku for ever. 

                                                   Breaking the silence
                                                   Of an ancient pond,
                                                   A frog jumped into the water -
                                                   A deep resonance.

Greatness can lie in the most mundane of things.  Even the seemingly, most utterly useless of objects (a tropical fruit tree in Japan) can contain great Art; and from Nature, great minds draw their inspiration. Thus it is that in William Blake's "world in a grain of sand," Basho's banana trees can be found growing.

(For more: read Penguin Classics: NOBUYUKI YUASA's introduction to "The Narrow Road to the Deep North and Other Travels" by Matsuo Basho).

Anne Frank's tree is felled

It was sad news this week about the final demise of Anne Frank's tree in Amsterdam. Ironically, where the authorities had failed, nature won. The Horse Chestnut tree, weakened by age, fungus and other disease, was hit by the very high winds that have swept through our corner of Europe - bringing to an end a very noticeable - but mini- drought.

The campaign in recent years has been fiercely fought on both sides and last year it seemed the preservationists had won. However, I take heart from the fact that the attention resulted in numerous cuttings being propagated from the dieing tree and that almost certainly a new one will be planted. This great tree had become a hugely important symbol of freedom and the fight against facism that Anne Frank has come to represent.

“23 February 1944

“The two of us looked out at the blue sky, the bare chestnut tree glistening with dew, the seagulls and other birds glinting with silver as they swooped through the air, and we were so moved and entranced that we couldn’t speak.”

“18 April 1944

“April is glorious, not too hot and not too cold, with occasional light showers. Our chestnut tree is in leaf, and here and there you can already see a few small blossoms.

“13 May 1944

“Our chestnut tree is in full bloom. It’s covered with leaves and is even more beautiful than last year.

The world must never forget the spirit of that little girl and the heroic battle that her parents and those protecting them made. It is not just an inspiring story of humanity: it is the very essence of human sacrifice in the face of human barbarity. I will certainly never forget visiting that house.

So where there are chestnut trees - let her spirit live on!

The impending austerity programme

In my search for a new Sunday paper to read, this week I tried the Independent on Sunday (the "Indie on Sunday"). Their top story focused on the proposals made by members of the public for reducing the government's deficit.

The list contained a mix of the obviously sensible and the not so - however, in all of it the thread that doesn't appear to be present is that relating to consequence.

Consumption by its very nature requires production, transportation, marketing and selling. To each of those there are jobs and additional consumption, production, etc.

By suddenly removing the consumption of the public sector - are we not in danger of creating a very painful rod for ourselves (and others) further down the line? For example: one of the ideas is "to plant more herbaceous plants and stop planting pansies". I am actually in partial favour of the idea of stopping mass plantings of annuals in municipal planting schemes - but for environmental rather than economic reasons. However, my reasons aside, what happens if every local authority stops planting annuals in its parks and town / city improvement schemes?

The seed merchants go broke first of all; followed by the nurserymen and there's the consequent unemployment of their seasonal workers (ie people at the bottom end of the skills and income scales). The truckers / delivery people are next as there is no longer anything to deliver. The councils will cut back on their gardeners / horticultural operatives (not really a big saving there as they are all on minimum wages).

The city managers / Town Clerks will of course still stay put - but instead of overseeing a pleasant town centre, will be watching the grass grow longer between cuts, the shrub beds choke on bindweed and litter. More and more people will grow more dissatisfied with venturing into the centre on account of the physical state of it, and the numbers of unemployed, semi-skilled people sitting around either begging or drinking the last drops of their unemployment benefit cheques.

I'm thinking of replacing my six-year old car. I've four years left (maybe less!) until I retire - so it makes sense to buy one now to see out my days of employment. However, the new mood sweeping the country suggests that this is not such a good idea. Despite the appalling lack of interest being paid - I am actually being encouraged to save; to stop spending; to join in the new hobby of seeing how little we can spend. 

So like a cancer, the discontent and economic decline spreads; government department savings become the necessary source, not of investment or services, but of benefit payments to those unemployed by the austerity programme.

To avert a pensions crisis, the age of retirement is being moved back steadily. The effect will be to increase the number of grey haired, slower moving / thinking people such as myself and a decrease in the snappier / sharper young people leaving schools, colleges and universities. Mrs Thatcher and her colleagues did away with the manufacturing sector in Britain, in favour of a service economy being fed, clothed, financed, and powered by cheap resources and labour abroad; we are likely to now see more and more young people queuing for fewer and fewer "service" jobs that, ironically, fewer and fewer people can afford, or will want, to spend their money on anyway. Yes we do need people with experience to run our services - but not at the cost of ensuring the generations following us are able to also gain experience of their own.

Bored, young people with limited skills and plenty of free time at their disposal are an absolute feeding ground for those already aggrieved or feeling dispossessed to proselytize their extremist, often fundamentalist, positions on the politics of the community and eventually the state. We are potentially about to unleash a dark age the likes of which our generation has never seen. It was no accident that Hitler came to power on the back of an economic recession and political disasters and discontent that arose from the treaty terms forced upon Germany at the conclusion of the First World War.

The banking sector was bailed out despite having been the major cause of the recent recession. It's future was seen as being critical to our economy. The banks have responded to their rescue by the tax payers (who are ironically about to face their own economic ruin as a consequence) by shoring up their reserves and screwing down on investment by the private sector. The ugly faces of international capitalism (bankers' bonuses and extortionate fees) are going to figure highly in my vision of the impending apocalpse.

Governments, not banks, have the ultimate control of our economies. It is time politicians sat up and took stock of the real situation. I am not proposing spending more than we have in our coffers. I am suggesting a sensible Government spending and borrowing programme that reduces excess, removes profligacy and through a programme of investment in the capital infrastructure of the country, spends its way out of recession. Adding, as at present, to a burgeoning population of young, unemployed people, will be disasterous.

An unusual request

A SHORT STORY

It had started as a normal working day with the usual traffic in telephone and email requests that passed the time, however, by lunchtime, I was filled with intrigue:

Three plain clothed police officers had arrived in my office in late morning, presented their credentials and informed that I was bound by some legal duty to keep their meeting and mission in absolute confidence.

Satisfied that I would co-operate with them, they told me that an inmate of a prison had made what appeared to be a death-bed confession and indicated that a key part of the evidence was to be found in one of the cemeteries in my care. In my experience, the police are incapable of speaking in normal English and these three were no exception. They didn't elaborate on what the evidence might be but, being a would-be Sherlock Holmes for the moment, I immediately suspected "murder most foul". What better place to conceal a corpse than a council grave yard?

They asked numerous questions about the cemetery starting with confirmation of its physical address - 174 Paxton Avenue, and then they wanted to know about the people working there and particularly if any had suddenly left (which they hadn't).  The address seemed particularly important. They wanted me to provide the grave yard's full history: how long it had been in existence and what areas had been most recently developed and opened. As it happened, we had only a couple of years before asked a member of our staff to design a new garden for the internment of ashes. But I guess, because ashes aren't corpses, they didn't seem to think that relevant. They were though, interested in an area of older memorials in a particularly quiet part of the cemetery frequented by foxes. After my explanations and some discussion between themselves, they left, leaving behind the business card of the most senior of the group "just in case you think of something else". I added it to the rest that are stacked randomly in an old cigar box on my desk .

A few weeks later a Home Office archaeologist arrived, asked me similar questions about the cemetery at 174 Paxton Avenue and in particular seemed intrigued by the quaint combination of letters and numerals that divide the cemetery burial sections into plots and individual graves. Later he walked slowly around it paying particular attention it seemed, to the old, less visited sections and then left without any further comment. Inevitably in time the story was allowed to drift into local anecdotes of the history of Paxton Cemetery. There might be the victim of a murder interred there, but where's the news in that? It's a cemetery, isn't it?

Five or so years passed when the colleague who oversaw the daily running of all the cemeteries for me and, who co-incidently, had designed the new garden for the internment of ashes at Paxton Cemetery, unexpectedly stated that he wished to leave. I asked the usual questions as to why, and, having received all the answers expected, accepted his resignation. In due course he cleared his office in Paxton Cemetery and left.

About a month ago, we received a request from him for the right to purchase an ashes plot. There is nothing unusual in that as many people buy graves and ashes plots "in readiness", and given that he had spent many years working there, it also fitted that he would probably want his own ashes interred there. I duly handed the request over to the clerk who dealt with these requests and thought nothing more of it. 

This morning, the deeds having been prepared, the paperwork was returned to my desk for authorisation. It was then that I looked at the plot number he had requested. I reached for the cigar box of business cards.

And now, from my office window overlooking it, I can see that the cemetery gates are closed. There's a police car in the drive, another by the site office and a team of people in white overalls moving back and forth between other vehicles and a tent that they've erected over the now no longer "new" Ashes Garden and, I'm guessing, looking closer at plot number 174.

Looking in the mirror

SHORT STORY:

One afternoon, some years ago, I took a stroll through the park behind us here in Chiswick. After a while it started to rain so I ducked under the trees to take shelter and let the shower blow through.

Sitting on a log near by to my left was a middle aged man with a woollen hat and spectacles, looking into what looked like a small compact mirror. I couldn't help but wonder what on earth he was doing and watched closely. As if on cue, he looked up and smiled. "Wondering what I'm doing, I expect," he stated rather than asked.

"Well, yes, I was," I replied, trying hard not be embarrassed for having obviously stared too hard.

"I'm watching the squirrels up that tree behind me," he paused. "If I stare at them  directly they become scared; but if I just sit here and pretend not to see them they approach on their own terms."

Not knowing how to respond, I just nodded.

After a few more minutes of rain and silence, he laughed. "You don't believe me do you?"

"Well .... actually I do find it a bit ...."

He laughed again. "Yes - you got me there! No actually I was sitting here wondering what I look like and thought that this was as good a spot as any to stop and look at myself."

"Of course," I responded, hoping like hell not to sound alarmed or worse still, taken-in by his ruse.  "So what do you look like?"

"Aah - now that is the question, isn't it? Well ..." he paused again, " what I see is a silly old fool who had someone he loved to bits but took for granted, a lover he didn't love but took for granted and, now what's taken me for granted is this ... " he turned towards me so that I could see the unmistakeable dark purple and red rash of a sarcoma that started across the left side of his face and disappeared down his neck behind his shirt collar.

"I'm so ..."

"Sorry? Don't be! This is the price of my thoughtless self indulgence. And now that the rain has stopped, please be off and leave me with my mirror and ....." he didn't finish, but resumed staring into the small mirror.

I stammered a quick good-bye and walked on.

It rained again today and this afternoon, caught by a passing shower, I stopped under what i think was the same tree. Whilst staring into the rain-sodden shrubbery, I could swear something like a warm hand gently touched my neck and brushed past my left cheek. I turned quickly, but all that was there was a grey squirrel blowing its cheeks and flicking its tail impatiently on the branch about three feet behind me.