War or Peace?

 The Chinese leader recently stated that we must chose between war or peace. In response USA renames its Department of Defense, now to be called Department of War. Warrior ethos apparently. I think it is time we learnt from our past errors. 

So here is chapter 50 of Vasily Grossman's novel Life and Fate, recounting the horrors of the seige of Stalingrad. Confiscated and banned in USSR it describes two totalitarian states, one Fascist, the other Communist, ripping the world apart and sending millions to ignominious death. It is a terrible warning of what we are capable of, although it also offers a ray of hope. 

Before slaughtering infected cattle, various preparatory 
measures have to be carried out: pits and trenches must be dug; the 
cattle must be transported to where they are to be slaughtered; 
instructions must be issued to qualified workers. 
If the local population helps the authorities to convey the 
infected cattle to the slaughtering points and to catch beasts that 
have run away, they do this not out of hatred of cows and calves, but 
out of an instinct for self-preservation. 
Similarly, when people are to be slaughtered en masse, the 
local population is not immediately gripped by a bloodthirsty hatred 
of the old men, women and children who are to be destroyed. It is 
necessary to prepare the population by means of a special 
campaign. And in this case it is not enough to rely merely on the 
instinct for self-preservation; it is necessary to stir up feelings of real 
hatred and revulsion. 
It was in such an atmosphere that the Germans carried out the 
extermination of the Ukrainian and Byelorussian Jews. And at an 
earlier date, in the same regions, Stalin himself had mobilized the 
fury of the masses, whipping it up to the point of frenzy during the 
campaigns to liquidate the kulaks as a class and during the 
extermination of Trotskyist-Bukharinite degenerates and saboteurs. 
Experience showed that such campaigns make the majority of 
the population obey every order of the authorities as though 
hypnotized. There is a particular minority which actively helps to 
create the atmosphere of these campaigns: ideological fanatics; 
people who take a bloodthirsty delight in the misfortunes of others; 
and people who want to settle personal scores, to steal a man's 
belongings or take over his flat or job. Most people, however, are 
horrified at mass murder, but they hide this not only from their 
families, but even from themselves. These are the people who filled 
the meeting-halls during the campaigns of destruction; however vast 
these halls or frequent these meetings, very few of them ever 
disturbed the quiet unanimity of the voting. Still fewer, of course, 
rather than turning away from the beseeching gaze of a dog suspected of rabies, dared to take the dog in and allow it to live in their houses. Nevertheless, this did happen. 
The first half of the twentieth century may be seen as a time of 
great scientific discoveries, revolutions, immense social 
transformations and two World Wars. It will go down in history, 
however, as the time when — in accordance with philosophies of race 
and society — whole sections of the Jewish population were 
exterminated. Understandably, the present day remains discreetly 
silent about this. 
One of the most astonishing human traits that came to light at 
this time was obedience. There were cases of huge queues being 
formed by people awaiting execution — and it was the victims 
themselves who regulated the movement of these queues. There 
were hot summer days when people had to wait from early morning 
until late at night; some mothers prudently provided themselves with 
bread and bottles of water for their children. Millions of innocent 
people, knowing that they would soon be arrested, said goodbye to 
their nearest and dearest in advance and prepared little bundles 
containing spare underwear and a towel. Millions of people lived in 
vast camps that had not only been built by prisoners but were even 
guarded by them. 
And it wasn't merely tens of thousands, or hundreds of 
thousands, but hundreds of millions of people who were the obedient 
witnesses of this slaughter of the innocent. Nor were they merely 
obedient witnesses: when ordered to, they gave their support to this 
slaughter, voting in favor of it amid a hubbub of voices. There was 
something unexpected in the degree of their obedience. 
There was, of course, resistance; there were acts of courage 
and determination on the part of those who had been condemned; 
there were uprisings; there were men who risked their own lives and 
the lives of their families in order to save the life of a stranger. But 
the obedience of the vast mass of people is undeniable. 
What does this tell us? That a new trait has suddenly appeared 
in human nature? No, this obedience bears witness to a new force 
acting on human beings. The extreme violence of totalitarian social 
systems proved able to paralyze the human spirit throughout whole 
continents.A man who has placed his soul in the service of Fascism 
declares an evil and dangerous slavery to be the only true good. 
Rather than overtly renouncing human feelings, he declares the 
crimes committed by Fascism to be the highest form of 
humanitarianism; he agrees to divide people up into the pure and 
worthy and the impure and unworthy. 
The instinct for self-preservation is supported by the hypnotic 
power of world ideologies. These call people to carry out any 
sacrifice, to accept any means, in order to achieve the highest of 
ends: the future greatness of the motherland, world progress, the 
future happiness of mankind, of a nation, of a class. 
One more force co-operated with the life-instinct and the power 
of great ideologies: terror at the limitless violence of a powerful 
State, terror at the way murder had become the basis of everyday 
life. 
The violence of a totalitarian State is so great as to be no longer 
a means to an end; it becomes an object of mystical worship and 
adoration. How else can one explain the way certain intelligent, 
thinking Jews declared the slaughter of the Jews to be necessary for 
the happiness of mankind? That in view of this they were ready to 
take their own children to be executed — ready to carry out the 
sacrifice once demanded of Abraham? How else can one explain the 
case of a gifted, intelligent poet, himself a peasant by birth, who with 
sincere conviction wrote a long poem celebrating the terrible years of 
suffering undergone by the peasantry, years that had swallowed up 
his own father, an honest and simple-hearted laborer? 
Another fact that allowed Fascism to gain power over men was 
their blindness. A man cannot believe that he is about to be 
destroyed. The optimism of people standing on the edge of the grave 
is astounding. The soil of hope — a hope that was senseless and 
sometimes dishonest and despicable — gave birth to a pathetic 
obedience that was often equally despicable. 
The Warsaw Rising, the uprisings at Treblinka and Sobibor, the 
various mutinies of Brenners, were all born of hopelessness. But 
then utter hopelessness engenders not only resistance and uprisings 
but also a yearning to be executed as quickly as possible.People argued over their place in the queue beside the bloodfilled ditch while a mad, almost exultant voice shouted out: 'Don't be 
afraid, Jews. It's nothing terrible. Five minutes and it will all be over.' 
Everything gave rise to obedience - both hope and 
hopelessness. 
It is important to consider what a man must have suffered and 
endured in order to feel glad at the thought of his impending 
execution. It is especially important to consider this if one is inclined 
to moralize, to reproach the victims for their lack of resistance in 
conditions of which one has little conception. 
Having established man's readiness to obey when confronted 
with limitless violence, we must go on to draw one further conclusion 
that is of importance for an understanding of man and his future. 
Does human nature undergo a true change in the cauldron of 
totalitarian violence? Does man lose his innate yearning for 
freedom? The fate of both man and the totalitarian State depends on 
the answer to this question. If human nature does change, then the 
eternal and world-wide triumph of the dictatorial State is assured; if 
his yearning for freedom remains constant, then the totalitarian State 
is doomed. 
The great Rising in the Warsaw ghetto, the uprisings in 
Treblinka and Sobibor; the vast partisan movement that flared up in 
dozens of countries enslaved by Hitler; the uprisings in Berlin in 
1953, in Hungary in 1956, and in the labor-camps of Siberia and the 
Far East after Stalin's death; the riots at this time in Poland, the 
number of factories that went on strike and the student protests that 
broke out in many cities against the suppression of freedom of 
thought; all these bear witness to the indestructibility of man's 
yearning for freedom. This yearning was suppressed but it continued 
to exist. Man's fate may make him a slave, but his nature remains 
unchanged. 
Man's innate yearning for freedom can be suppressed but never 
destroyed. Totalitarianism cannot renounce violence. If it does, it 
perishes. Eternal, ceaseless violence, overt or covert, is the basis of 
totalitarianism. Man does not renounce freedom voluntarily. This 
conclusion holds out hope for our time, hope for the future.

 

 A reminder for politicians and voters alike

Here is an extract from the Pullitzer winning novel by John Hersey, A Bell for Adano. 

The Americans have just liberated an Italian town after 17 years of fascist rule. Democracy is new to them, so the protaganist of the novel explains:

"Democracy is this: democracy is that the men of the government are no longer the masters of the people. They are the servants of the people. What makes a man master of another man? It is that he pays him for his work. Who pays the men in government? The people do, for they pay the taxes out of which you (they) are paid."

Timely, I feel.

                                                        Man up, Jesus

I hear Mr. Trump wants to rename the Gulf of Mexico and change it to the Gulf of America. Well while he's about it, why not change the name of Our Saviour to something less woke. Joe, for example. Because let's face it, Jesus is a leftie, a bit of a hippy, and has never done a day's work in his life. Maybe we could rebrand him, get him to set up a franchise of local carpenters or something. Toughen up that weak image. Get rid of all that helping the poor and needy, the infirm, the low lifes. 

Christianity is a softie. Other religions have Gods that take no shit. The Greek and Roman gods didn't mess about, neither did the Jewish one. It is true that the Catholics had a run with the Inquisition, and Calvin was a toughie, but in general all this 'turn the other cheek' nonesense is merely a sign of weakness.

No chance of an atheist President in the US of A, so the Church will have to stop dabbling in socialist ideas and progressive experiments like understanding and compassion and get back to its roots. 

Praise be to Joe!

May nothing come between us

May Nothing Come Between Us

 

- Nothing.

Said with a momentary raising of the eyebrows, a slight tightening of the muscles around the mouth, an almost imperceptible tilt away from him. A facial shrug.  She tucked her hair behind her ear in an attempt at nonchalance.

 

The rising, open-ended intonation suggested that his question had come too late.  Perhaps if he had been more attentive. Maybe if he hadn’t been so absorbed in himself. If he were only a little less condescending. Unstated reproaches hovered over her like a halo.

He had picked up on it earlier, during the meal. She had been building up to this moment: it was difficult to say exactly when, but there had been a straightening of the back, an over-exaggerated display of table manners, brusque gestures, clipped words, almost formal politeness. Now it had come to a head.

What could have set her off? He knew she would never say, she never did; this was not an invitation to a discussion, there would be no debate. He was supposed to know, and know only too well. To her it was obvious, and therefore it had to be obvious to him too. And if it was not obvious to him, well…

It could be any one of a thousand details that had occurred over dinner. Was it the food, the way he had prepared the table? Had he ignored her while he ate? Had he unwittingly maligned her friends or family in any way? Had he, or could he be interpreted as having, criticised her look, her diet, her attitude towards something or other? Her emotional stability? And if so, why hadn’t she picked up on it at the time, thrashed it out, got it all out into the open? Why bottle it up until the cork flies?

 

He had asked the question with that virtual sigh, the here-we-go-again sound in his voice as if talking to a tiresome child. How he managed to get into those few words his sense of calm, his infinite patience, his poorly disguised disdain for what he no doubt considered to be over emotional women. Then the paternalistic spreading of his hands. What is it now? What is it this time?

How he undermined her self esteem, questioned her worth, smugly and insidiously highlighted her insecurities. Constantly, over and over again, with that air of superiority and infallibility that she was only too accustomed to. It lingered in his tone, in his gestures, in the way he expressed himself. They had had this argument before, so many times, but once more he would refuse to accept it.

He would cling to facts now, like a lawyer. She would be asked to pinpoint where exactly his flaw was supposed lie. That gave him the chance of cross-interrogation. There would be mitigating circumstances, claims of misinterpretation, appeals to context and intent. But he knew, he knew full well. He did not fool her. Yet still he pretended to have no idea of why she was upset. Why? To avoid the discomfort of the admission of guilt, of the recognition that between them there was an issue that needed to be confronted, that required honesty, sincerity, a little soul searching. On his part too, on his part especially. And he expected her to believe that he had no idea of what she was talking about. After all those years together? Seriously? Innocence personified. And denial, always denial. He preferred to sweep it under the carpet. Let it pass, look the other way. In the hope that eventually it would all go away, evaporate. Such a childish attitude.

 

He knew she thought he was well aware of why she had fallen into that dark mood, and he suspected that she also thought, for some inexplicable reason, that he consciously ignored the cause of her concern. Why would he do that? After all that they had in common, after all the time they had voluntarily shared together, why would he do something like that?

He tried to avoid thinking in generalisations, deliberately suppressing thoughts like ‘women are more emotional’. That was not acceptable. He must not judge humanity on the few personal examples he had experienced in his own life. Suffice to say that in this particular case she was over-reacting, as well as being extremely incommunicative.

 

She adopted a nothing’s-up, I’m-ok, not-at-all-bothered face. Resigned, in fact. Unfortunately. Did he imagine she enjoyed feeling hurt? Did he believe it was all the result of her fertile imagination, or some kind of inner desire for self harm? If he were not such an insensitive man. There were, she knew, others who would respond with more understanding, more empathy. Men who were not afraid to open themselves up, to accept their short fallings, men who really cared.

As always he would attempt to brush it all off as just another storm in a teacup, another little tantrum. Leave her alone and it’ll pass. Anything rather than talk about it, face up to the truth and admit it. He’d hold up his hands and say ‘what is it?’ in a pathetic attempt to deny his responsibility. As he always did. It was frustrating to say the least.

 

There was no eye contact. She tried to behave as if everything were fine with the world, but her jerky movements gave her away.

 

He was tired of this game by now. It was pointless, repetitive, so typical, verging on the comical. He had learnt over the years that there was no remedy, no possibility of a speedy reconciliation; he had tried so many different approaches without success. Any number of witty comments sprang to mind, but they would all have to be silenced if peace was to reign. Once again he decided, given the situation, to refrain from attempting humour or irony.

Still, he had to try something, at least make an effort to return to normality.

 

She realised that tradition and ritual demanded that he ask her again, as if it were something that could simply disappear, as if it were merely one of her little moods and she could just snap out of it at will. There would be a hint of anger and exasperation in his voice, thinly veiled under a guise of affection. But it would not come accompanied by an apology or a real desire to talk. It would just be going through the motions.

 

 

Said like a door closing. Not slammed, but firmly shut, followed by the click of the lock.

- Nothing.

 

 

Shattering the Glass Ceiling

 

It is sadly true that the so-called glass ceiling exists in so many spheres of human activity. From politics to the arts, from finance to international relations, an inexplicable imbalance persists.  Yet there is one area where this absurd disequilibrium does not occur with such frequency- music.

In the world of music there is an automatic recognition of talent. It makes no difference whether you are female or male, black or white, rich or poor, believer or atheist, old or young. Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone, Billy Holiday. All of them revered and adored for their immense talent. Janis Joplin, Joni Mitchell, Patti Smith. The list is enormous. And not only in the Anglo-Saxon world of pop and rock and soul. Celia Cruz, Lola Flores, Edith Piaf, Maria Callas. So many amazing voices and compositions, and not a hint of sexism or racism involved. Undoubtedly all of you could add to this list; the glorious voices of Arabia and Asia, of Africa and Australasia. And so many more.

In music there is no race or religion or age or sex. You either have it or you do not. Maybe we should all learn that lesson and apply it to other walks of life.

And may Ella Fitzgerald sustain that high C and shatter for once and for all that ridiculous, senseless, oppressive glass ceiling.

 

Business. As usual.

It is interesting how one little letter can shape our world view. We have replaced values, in plural, with its singular counterpart, value. To be deemed good, or worthwhile, an activity needs to generate revenue, make a profit, stimulate the economy.

A child who spends hours in front of a screen playing video games is not wasting their time or ruining their health, they are contributing to a booming industry which makes millions every year. An influencer is not admired for the things he or she says, but for the vast sums of money earned by promoting goods. That they are little more than a modern day sandwich board is by the by. They are rolling in it.

The President of Madrid is not praised for the number of lives she managed to save during the pandemic, but for keeping the bars open. Economy first.

Culture has given way to trade. A work of art is only recognised as such if it has a price tag. In fact all human endeavour is judged solely on the amount of money it is capable of making. Our heroes are the multi-millionaires, people whose wealth outweighs any other naïve concerns such as equality or human rights.

Value before worth, productivity before creation. Business as usual.

 

¡La Democracia Española es Perfecta!

Después de unas declaraciones de Pablo Iglesias, donde dice que la democracia española no es completa, la reacción ha sido la de siempre. En España, la política es concebida como un partido de fútbol; unos gritan ‘tarjeta roja y expulsión’, mientras el otro bando clama  ‘si ni le ha tocado’.  Si sales en defensa de sus palabras, eres un comunista, chavista, marxista etcétera. Si no, entonces eres facha, de derechas, casi franquista.

Pero la cuestión permanece. ¿Es la democracia española mejorable?

Felipe González hizo un trabajo inmenso durante su presidencia, sin duda. Eran tiempos difíciles, con la dictadura recién terminada y con l violencia de ETA como banda sonora. Modernizó el país durante la famosa transición, y España entró en el club de las democracias occidentales.

Pero la transición nunca se completó. Sigue habiendo mucho corporativismo. Erosionar privilegios ganados a lo largo de muchos años es una tarea ardua y lenta. Jueces,  grandes empresas, fuerzas de seguridad, ilustres apellidos, notarios, médicos… la lista es larga. Sin embargo todo este baile de amiguismo e intereses cruzados sigue ocurriendo en la oscuridad. La prometida transparencia nunca termina de llegar.

Los partidos políticos nos han enseñado a base de escándalos que tienen mucho que aprender. Cajas B, mordidas, tráfico de influencias y, finalmente, como siempre, impunidad. Aquí no existe la palabra ‘dimisión’, y mucho menos el término ‘accountability’, que ni se molestan en buscar traducción.

No es sólo España. En el Reino Unido acaban de descubrir que la reina, a través del llamado consentimiento de la reina, ha podido influir en las leyes que podrían afectar a su fortuna. En los  Estado Unidos el dinero de las grandes compañías a menudo decide el resultado de las elecciones.

Señalar las debilidades de un sistema no debería ser visto como un ataque al país, ni a todas sus instituciones. Más peligroso es obviar estas deficiencias y mirar por otro lado. Porque todo es mejorable.