Richard Peters -in the Sai Kung Country Park

An Epistle to Hong Kong - Chapter 3 - "Hong Kong and the Future"

This final of the trilogy is an attempt to review the current zeitgeist of Hong Kong, to suggest directions it should now pursue and to make summary of our time living in Hong Kong. Blogs are essentially rants, often angry and best forgotten, but this post is written with a sense of the gravity of impending times. So please allow repetition of what was said in the first of the trilogy, that I make appeal to that which moves a person and that it should strike a resonant chord in order to provoke discourse and, hopefully, action. It is also noted, with some serendipity, that this is my 100th post!

In the previous post a brief sketch of the political background was given along with brief outlines of education and the undelrying theme of the centrality of wealth acquisition. Although within this excellent city there are innumerable fascinating examples from which to choose, those in this post are language and ethnicity, domestic helpers, and housing and accommodation. This post has caused some difficulty, not least because the intention was to steer away from sounding like another useless complaint against the inescable negative foibles thrown up by life in the Pearl of the Orient. In fact, the beloved city of Hong Kong and its beloved people have a charmed place in the world – one that requires wisdom and intelligent direction.

Language and Ethnicity

In our time here Hong Kong's population has increased by at least 1 ½  million to a little over 7. This statistic appears to contradict the fact that the fun-loving boys and girls of the city are simply not having enough babies to effortlessly sustain this growing economy – 0.9 per child-bearing woman, way below the required replacement rate of 2.1. In fact, the increase has been achieved largely through immigration. The city has always been a transient place and because of the nature of work here will probably always be thus, nevertheless each year more settle than leave (or die). The constant and consistent population growth has been one of the largest engines of this perpetually expanding economy fuelling the demand for housing, services and infrastructure and constantly prompting the expected sale of government land to this end. More on this later, but future economic dependency must surely encompass other dimensions and not merely rest on the bedrock of lucrative land sales to already-profitable individuals and companies. Hong Kong and the world deserve something better.

94% of Hong Kong's population is ethnic Chinese, either home grown or specially imported (everything, even the people, are imported from China). That ethnicity, however, is somewhat difficult to ascertain because the perception of one's origins –Guangzhou, Shanghai, Beijing, Bognor Regis– can get a little blurred after a few years domicile in Kowloon City. Obviously this is a very personal thing, but has to do with an established and local mind-set: Hong Kongers are tearful, flag-waving Chinese only up to a point! Even ethnic Chinese returning here from western countries can find it hard to fit in and may forever feel like outsiders: their co-patriots sneeringly call them bananas – yellow on the outside, white on the inside. Apart from the more obvious minority skin differentiations amongst South Asians, real ethnic identity appears, therefore, to be focused on mother tongue usage, particularly at home. Some families may speak three or more languages each day, but prefer one when seated around the dinner table. Indeed, it is possible to walk down Nathan Road and hear 20 or more languages and dialects being casually spoken, and yet most are able to get by using Cantonese.

Getting by in Cantonese, however, can be a minefield of uncertainties. It may begin with a puppy-like glimmer of semi-encouragements, grow in to a confusing mix of happy discoveries and semi-encouragements only ultimately to miserably sit a constant and dismal puddly reminder of overall linguistic failure. How is it 20 million people learn this language as babies but I can't ask the time properly? There are no tenses, for God's sake! God knows I've tried – indeed I cannot recall how many times I have given taxi drivers simple directions in the clearest, best-remembered Cantonese only to be met by furrowed brows that deepen with each more sinicised repetition until finally something clicks, there is a long "Ahhh!" and those very same words with identical nuance and tone is parroted. I swear, and sometimes audibly, that they bloody do it out of grudging and deliberate obduracy... Sorry, I promised not to rant!

By the way, there's no Knowledge required of taxi drivers as there is with the London cabby – Hong Kong's taxi drivers simply queue up to buy their license, get in, start her up and wander about, puzzled passenger within, until they find the required address – or not! If they don't know where they're going they may a) 'fess up with a "You show me?", or b) bluster merrily until the see by your red-faced interjections that they're going the wrong way. And don't get me started on the evaporation of taxis in the rain or at 'changeover' time, whatever that is, or of charging double for the tunnels, or the shameless shouting down the phone to their mates, or of belching, farting and drinking beer whilst driving or of leaving bottles of taxi driver's lemonade at the traffic lights... Upon our emigration in '98 drivers we learned a lot about Hong Kong from good and amicable taxi drivers, but they have ceased bothering to chatt, amicably or otherwise, in English at all. They are a belligerent lot, as are taxi drivers in any city of the world, but surely it's time the public required them do a better job, one worthy of Asia's World City? Sorry – this has become an extended taxi rant!

Sadly racism, like many other negative and primitive hindrances in our social make-up, appears to be near-universal on this planet. Although Hong Kong was no stranger to racism in the past, largely by the colonial Brits, public and physical demonstrations of a racist nature are pretty much unheard of or kept carefully hidden behind the closed doors of slang Cantonese in schoolrooms or unleashed from the carefree tongues of market traders. Funny foreign names, especially south asian ones, may merely provoke titters or unequivocally act as surreptitious hindrances to flat viewing and job opportunities. Having said that, as outsiders in a new culture the Mem and meself felt no outward hostility upon our arrival and, apart from the odd quizzical checks askance on the minibus or at the local Wellcome supermarket, we have felt entirely comfortable and fully at home here: I guess compared with some we're lucky. In truth, it has been hard to leave this comfort zone. For the local population racism may not be fully recognised or even viewed for what it is, but it is a cancer that requires excising – from all walks of life and if legislation is required then so be it: only good can come from such a focus.

Domestic Helpers

If in this city, as elsewhere, wealth is the indicator of status then those at the bottom of the Hong Kong heap are the most despised – the homeless, those with menial jobs, asylum seekers, anyone with dark skins. Included in that are the ubiquitous domestic helpers, the invaluable labour force of around 274,000 – that's 4% of the population. Many of these poor girls from the Philippines, Indonesia and Sri Lanka may be expected to work more hours than their employer is awake, daily scour floors and walls, provide gourmet meals on every occasion, keep the car spotless inside and out, endlessly child mind, care for elderly parents, provide security when the family are elsewhere AND sleep without air-conditioning, sometimes in a shed on the roof or on the kitchen floor with the dog (this is still expected by some employers). This they do for the minimum wage provided: HK$3,920  (US$505) per month. The employer may also be expected to provide a food allowance of HK$875 (US$112) per month. Whilst this sum amounts to more than a lawyer or doctor would acquire outside Manila, Jakarta or Colombo, in practice these human beings are often expected to work under near-slave-like conditions and may suffer from endless berating, beatings and sexual abuse. Other than their holiday time, their only glimpse of their own children growing up at home may be the occasional photo or phone call. In addition, the employer may take away their passport and not pay wages for months only to ultimately plant jewellery in their suitcase and call the police. Then there's the case of a helper 'falling' from an apartment window when that troublesome payment time ultimately came round. In reality, accused domestic helpers don't have a legal leg to stand on (it's their word against the employer's), they will almost certainly be jailed only to be deported, never again able to obtain employment in HK or elsewhere unless desperation drives them to choose somewhere like Saudi Arabia.

Why do some put up with all this? Permanent employment in Hong Kong means that their families back home have the chance to escape poverty; it's probably very few of us reading this blog share a similar background. Millions of people rely on regular incomes sent home to alleviate suffering, build houses and pay for their family's education (remittances account for a yearly US$24 billion injection into the Philippine economy). So it's ok to have a seat with the family at a restaurant (glass of water if you're lucky) in order to chase the fidgety children around the tables all evening whilst the parents get on with the business of eating and having a good time, it's ok to be daily shouted at, to be cursed, to keep all your possessions locked in a suit case: the monthly remittances are Western Unioned home and the families offer thankful prayers on Sundays and late-night phone calls in return.

Unlike the United Kingdom, many Hong Kong families, including our own, have employed domestic helpers, enabling both parents to work, the dog to get walked, the house to be cleaned and the children be safe at home. To obtain a good reliable helper is an achievement in itself and for some she becomes an extension of the family. Any helper will tell you that being employed by a gwailo family is often a better and less demanding deal for them too. So, it's not all that bad for some in ole Hong Kong: each Sunday after church they gather in their thousands at any available open space and do what Filipinas love the most – sitting around chatting, eat chicken wings and letting off a bit of steam. Sometimes they'll get a group together and sing and jig about to the sound of guitar and tambourine, praising God for his miracles in their lives. If they're lucky they may find love interest, maybe a serious boyfren' or even husban' – the answer to the whole family's daily prayers...

Perhaps one way to view the way domestic helpers are treated is as an indicator of the health of Hong Kong society, a barometer of social trends regarding the way Hong Kongers think about their city and those within it. And yet – to broach discussion on such things with many-a local Chinese is to court a certain amount of ire. Long-gone are the days of the poor pig-tailed Chinese amah who sweatily argued for cheap bean sprouts at the local market stall, baby on hip. Some of my students saw domestic helpers only as lazy, opportunistic, money-grabbing spongers that the local population only endured because they needed squeaky clean clothes each morning and a squeaky clean car to drive the kids to school. I've seen so many children (and parents) get a little too used to proxy parenting; picking up after them, tidying their rooms, walking five paces behind them carrying their bags to school, their only care when sick. These permanent babies never learn how to pick up after themselves or use the Hoover or know how to iron or even cook and wash-up and it is almost certainly expected that they will have their own domestic helpers in adulthood. So ingrained are they kids to this life that in classroom discussions it was sometimes hard for them to see that the difference between indentured slavery and the lot of some Hong Kong domestic helpers can oft be slim indeed. Yes, it may be worse in other countries, but that doesn't make it right in Hong Kong.

Accommodation

On paper Hong Kong has it all – a welfare state by which all needs are met from cradle to grave. In truth, this society deals a mixed hand to those that require benefits. When all eyes are turned upwards it may be hard to look down. School and kindergartens are packed sometimes with 40, 50 or even 60 to a class. Hospital wards are infamously crowded because of the economic benefits of meeting their needs en masse. Some patients decide not to return home to their even-more crowded apartments and stay for years, even if each ward has 24-hours of TV blaring cartoons and Cantosoaps. 'Retirement' homes are truly dreadful, dingily-lit waiting rooms of death where waist-height partitions separate the unfortunate and uncomplaining old folks.

Even in this land of superstition and ancestor-reverence the bodies of the dead are sometimes forgotten and left for the government to deal with: after the customary burial time the relatives are supposed to disinter the fleshless remains for transference to ossuaries or commit the remains for final cremation. This rather unpleasant duty, however, is increasingly not done by the more fussy of families – a constant headache for the government's Cemeteries and Crematoria Department. Land prices are so high that 'coffin spaces' in government graveyards are not held in perpetuity! After six year's interment, and regardless of family consent, the space is re-used, the remains disinterred and cremated and then re-interred at the Sandy Ridge cemetery near the border with Shenzhen.

Hong Kong land prices hold such a vaunted premium and command a value way above their actuality in raw materials. As mentioned earlier, land sales are one of the most-revved engines of the economy and forms a permanent grip on the average Hong Konger's psyche that one of the litmus tests for any des res area is the number of realty or estate agents shops. This is how the engine works:

• the government mandarins are ever-seeking politically-expedient ways to generate income and regularly does so through the tried-and tested selling/auctioning off of gazetted sites dotted all over the territory,
• the boys who 'have' (corporations/powerful and rich families) put in their tender for development as close as dammit to their margin of profitability,
• the sale usually goes to the highest bidder,
• most of the planning gets whizzed through and processed pronto (unless some bearded lefty cries the frightful words 'environment' or 'heritage'),
• building starts using imported (and illegal) cheap Chinese labour who get killed in accidents,
• by this time the realty agents with connections to the developers begin pitching – this results in multiple besuited property agents on the streets eager to escort potential customers around showhome apartments or office space in cut-throat competition,
• all flats/offices are bought immediately and then sold again for profit – square feet of sky can exchange hands several times before the builders even get there,
• by this time the average Wong or Chan family have scraped together enough dough to put up the deposit for an apartment, office or retail space is a slightly different kettle of fish,
• the flat is rented out to cover cost of mortgage or the retail/office rent is set for maximum income within the allotted lease (usually 2 years) with the management taking note of the success of the business.

The whole economy benefits from development – the government coffers are filled, the developer's stock value increases, the workers get paid, the café owners sell lunches and taxi and bus drivers transport to and fro, the Wongs and Chans get a foot on the property ladder (and a little social caché), the new occupants get a home and service providers get income. Above all, the financial institutions of Hong Kong benefit from every transaction at every level.

So what's wrong with this system? It is that people are considered less than the dollar at each point in the process: yes, there isn't a Hong Konger who doesn't like it when the government is in the black, or that work is plentiful, or that they are able to buy and rent new properties, but people come second to the mighty dollar. This inevitably leads to social problems for some – overwork and stress, bad borrowing and the inevitable complications for family life and overall social stability. It has also led to staggering inflation in the housing market to impossible and unsustainable levels – since 2009 property prices have risen by a staggering 110%! Great for developers, very very bad for first-time purchasers or low-income families that may wayit for years from the Housing Authority Department.

The bubble that is the Hong Kong housing market has long-been expected to burst. Thus far price have consistently risen largely on the backs of cheap borrowing and a plethora of mainland Chinese investors hoping to put their cash into something more solid than that available in China – something beyond their shores yet not too far away. The Hong Kong housing market has hitherto seemed the most secure of investments. But all good things must come to an end and just as in 1997 property prices inevitably took a dive, and sank all those chained with them, it looks like that time may be immanent.

For many the government policy regarding housing appears to have been mostly the latter of an all-or-nothing approach, a timid floundering around the edges aware only of the political value of everyone's greed and unbridled success and unable to take on the necessary and steely boldness of governance faced with tough decisions. No-one wants to be told they can't make as much money next year as they did this, or that their property's value may not actually equal the price paid, but if the government had not been so hands-off in the past few years then the expected property crash would not be so severe and uncontrolled. In truth, it's what has been experienced the world-over since 2008, but by its very nature Hong Kong has been immune to this.

The expected property devaluation, however, will not be the real issue for many Hong Kongers. Human cogs in the various machines of wealth, many are happy merely to put rice on the table and hope not get ill and take dips in wages or have to pay medical costs. At the very bottom of the ladder are those who can afford little more than a box to inhabit, such is the chronic state of public housing. Over the years, and with limited success, the government has tried many grand housing schemes, such as clearing slums and erecting massive public housing estates and even building new towns in the boondocks, but people vote with their feet and overcrowded and often dangerous private housing is rife.

Apart from cardboard boxes under flyovers, the infamous cages have always been the very cheapest accommodation in the city. These squalid, Dickensian conditions just should not exist in one of the world's richest cities – they are another testament to what is wrong in eden: their inhabitants the detritus of society, the poorest, most powerless and least heard of all Hong Kong's people.

To Conclude

Many Hong Kongers do not realise they have such an amazing role to fulfill as those who really have it all – money, opportunity, political awareness and individual conscience. Perhaps growing up in the territory has engendered amongst many a sense of entitlement without responsibility (whereas it could be argued the converse may hold more sway over the border). It could be argued that Asians relish the comfort the certainty that comes with the collective mind. Craftily formed, this collective mind of Hong Kong could be that best suited to bridge east and west and become a model for the rest. As exemplars of enlightened pan-Asians, others would look to the 'Hong Kong Way' as the most successful in financial, social, political and even religious considerations. I believe the wonderful tolerance and acceptance exhibited by many Kong Kong Chinese could be the watchword for success.

Instead, and unfortunately, there sometimes appears to be the worst of both where individual greed is seen as unquestioningly good, unhindered material self-interest the ultimate goal of life and rather dull middle class social mores are bludgeoned into the lives of the rest. At the moment it looks as if Chinese investors will be able to take advantage of overseas stocks: Hong Kong is once again ready to capitalise on a massive rush of investment from domestic mainland Chinese. But I hope that's not the sum total of Hong Kong's projected achievement potential. It also looks like Hong Kong will remain closed to outsiders, especially the domestic workers who now cannot apply for residency no matter how long they have lived there. The poor, the real poor of Hong Kong do not benefit from such investments either directly or indirectly.

So, what should be done to improve things?

• Change government policy and, as in Singapore, make English the official language – this will encourage trade across continents and make Hong Kong less dependent on cronyism and Beijing-focused sinophiles.
• Change government policy over discrimination and racism – ensure equality of opportunity for all regardless of the colour of their passport. This also will make Hong Kong a better place to do business and comfortably live without hindrance.
• Change government philosophy regarding intervention in the marketplace – ensure the sale of land occurs using different priorities in order to take heat out of housing-based economy, encourage diversification and make housing fairer for all. In particular, it is vital to take matters in hand regarding the Small House Policy.

In fairness, the Hong Kong government does promote socially-aware policies through its social health and welfare departments, but they seem a little like diversions from the real business of making lots of money. Please don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating a Socialist revolution, but the current system favours none but the powerful and well connected. And a lifetime of acquisition means that they're not likely to share their wealth anytime soon and will use the government to defend their money, their lifestyle and their means of income. In the end it all comes down to power and who has it.

I am not proposing that the Hong Kong government leads the way. There's enough good people out there who work for and with charities, indeed it's big business now, and God-only knows how much tax avoidance is done through charitable donations from businesses great and small, but we live in the 21st century and the role of individuals is now greater than ever before. Just as the government surely encompasses more than merely lawmaking, citizens should be more than mere consumers and now be giving more thought to what happens in their city and beyond. The alternative is simply to ignore any and all problems and merely hope the government is competent and diligent enough to pick up the pieces and that's where we are now.

Unrestricted laissez-faire capitalism has given us the Hong Kong we see today, warts n' all. Perhaps it's time for something else, something better and something good. It won't be easy and it may be painful, but in the end the struggles for a better society make it worthwhile.

Related articles

An Epistle to Hong Kong - Chapter 1 'In the Beginning'

An Epistle to Hong Kong - Chapter 2 - 'Muddling Through'

From the Republic of Ireland to the Czech Republic

How to Stop Giving to Charity

An Epistle to Hong Kong – Chapter 2 – 'Muddling Through'

In this second of three epistles, inasmuch as a blog purports to be entertaining, I want to show that wealth acquisition is the overriding fixation of this culture which, when combined with aspirational education and a hands-off political culture, ensures focus is fixed on the self. I want to show how the city's success story is generally built on wealth acquisition and that this has only come about through hard work, good connections or education.

We settled in Hong Kong in 1998, one year on from the handover of sovereignty from the British colonial government to the Beijing authorities. This transfer of power, so feared by many of the population that had only 20 years previously escaped across the border from the terror of Red Guards and the Cultural Revolution, meant that British, Canadian, American and Australian passport holders had either already fled or had emergency plans to do so if things went tits-up! When the shiny People's Revolutionary Army tanks didn’t thunder down Nathan Road to crush the dissenting cries of the capitalist running dogs between the cracks of the blood-strewn pavements, everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief. But no-one really knew what would happen once the Chinese were through the border.

In fact, it made sense for Beijing to keep things the way they were and keep their eyes firmly on other, more-lucrative-still future prizes, such as Taiwan. Besides, they had to slowly begin the process of sinicisation, the fickle Chinese population of Hong Kong being both patriotic and unpatriotic, depending on the topic of discussion: on reunification of Taiwan with China everyone agrees, on autonomy for Tibet, everyone disagrees, or is it vice versa? As with any urban population, there have been divergent views and firmly entrenched positions to defend. I like to believe that as teacher of Philosophy and Religious Studies, which I will discuss a little later, my hand was one of many on the spoon that helped stir the pot.

In the intervening years when I've confessed to living in Hong Kong some have felt compelled to ask whether the place has changed much since Beijing swapped flags – of course not! 2nd July 1997 everyone got up and went to work, got paid, ate lunch, had their babies, buried their grandmas and made money in the same old way. I can't help wonder if the British had extended the lease on the New Territories for another 100 years the end result wouldn’t have been much the same...

The simplistic view, and this thinking is still found a-plenty in newspapers of 2013, is that China is great – no, it’s really great. The glorious handover meant the enabling of the poor, downtrodden Hong Kong Chinese to cast off the maleficent hegemony of the nasty British imperialists to join in the beneficent hegemony of the ever-loving motherland.

You must remember that for the Special Administrative Region until 2047 things will, in theory, remain business as usual – a full 50 years of 'non-intervention’ from their chauffeur-driven Mercedes-owning mainland Chinese masters. By then all 426 square miles are expected to host a people as unbendingly patriotic as the rest, and by which time anyone who was involved with the handover will be long dead. Thus, the disturbing establishment of a form of democracy by that Whore of the East, the last governor Chris Patten, was seen by the Communist Party's powerful elite as a deliberate unsettling process for Chinese reintegration. Democracy has not, is not and never shall be popular in the People's Republic of China.

In truth, I thought the chippies* would take over. Over the years many companies were happy that the government would not "frustrate the operation of market forces" as the long-time financial secretary Sir Philip Haddon Cave put it and continue its policy of positive non-interventionism. Surely if a government did not intervene with the natural order of things then the market would be allowed to set the trends and to get on with generating wealth. With the return of Hong Kong to the PRC, perhaps one of the most planned economies of the planet, it was inevitable that it would seek to increase its involvement in the running of all things. Thus, when a measure was introduced to positively integrate more of its work force into the economy, supplanting the nearly 150,000 expats that departed in the years around handover, it was apparent by those doing business that setting artificial targets for the appointment of Chinese, either from Hong Kong or more frequently from mainland China, did not correspond with income generation. Businesses, operating on their strict adherence to a laissez-faire creed, simply went back to employing the right people for the right jobs, regardless of their origins. What was therefore identified by all of this was that the local population required an increase in skills for the market, clearly the responsibility of the underfunded education system and ultimately the responsibility of government. Some chippies may have got work, especially those educated overseas, but thus-far they have remained a fringe phenomena.

Some of the richest people on the planet live in this city where finances have never dipped into the red (indeed, last year many of us received cash because the government felt it needed to spend some of its vast reserves). Wealth creation, however, appears to have followed several well trodden routes. The first is the old style – hard, hard work, night and day. This has always been the bedrock of Hong Kong wealth generation. Although it is becoming harder to make ends meet by working thus, there are still a myriad of small shops that just about tick over, thousands of tired market stalls that are open all hours to ensure returning local customers get 'the usual' and unknown numbers of delivery companies, in the now-ubiquitous Toyota Hiace vans with ridiculous spoilers, that carry anything anywhere to anyone. It has always been in the Chinese psyche to carry out these mercantile tasks and without doubt they do it very well

The next route to riches is to club together: Grandma's lifetime savings combined with living at Mum & Dad's (or with in-laws) in their tiny flat with the addition of siblings putting a portion of their income into the pot helps to set up family businesses or fund property acquisition. It is a tried and tested method that has enabled families to expand their wealth opportunities in stocks, deals, property or business growth. Hong Kong families may not always be happy, but they are strong.

Another route is to be well-connected with 'older brothers' that may offer business assistance so closely akin to cronyism or nepotism as to be indistinguishable. These leg-ups need not necessarily be through legal means and they are never merely benevolent. The final route that seems to have taken hold now is really a secondary route that has only emerged as a result of combinations of any of the other means – property development at home and overseas, a topic for further discussion in the next blog.

The most interesting element to emerge from our time here is my new evangelical belief in accountancy. I used to wonder how so many local people could afford new Mercs and Beamers each year until I discovered that many of these vehicles are owned by their companies as good depreciable assets. All electronic goods are immediately written off! In fact, if we had to do it all again it would be on the back of a 'business' wherein all our assets were lumped together and through which all our income could be beautifully channeled. It's really only the salaried class (such as honest, humble teacher folk) that keep the tax system functioning; everyone else has a proxy adulterous relationship with the taxman through their accountant!

Coming to Hong Kong may have been fortuitous for us and, as mentioned in the previous post, has allowed us to have a pretty amazing time here, but this great city has allowed so many to do much better than us and to grow seemingly without limit. Wealth creation may have provided opportunities for good Hong Kong people, but it has also caused waste, destruction, corruption and, conversely, poverty. More on this in the next post.

Not having worked in any other industry here I can only really discuss Hong Kong education, and that provided by the English Schools Foundation in particular. The ESF was set up in 1967 to provide "modern liberal education" for (mostly-) British expatriates. Before that schooling was a matter of choice – either one sent one’s sproggs across the seas back to one’s native land and into a boarding school or one signed up to a local school. The most prestigious of these were well established institutions such as the catholic Grant Schools of St Paul’s (1851), of St Francis’ (1869), St Mary’s (1900) or Sacred Heart Canossian (1860), the Anglican Diocesan Schools (1869) and King George V^th School, established as the Kowloon British School in 1894. The colonial government saw the sense of supporting its English-speaking movers and shakers and provided money to support the education of these future captains of South China's commerce and industry. The ESF, now dominated by expat Chinese, still receives a direct subsidy of HK$23,659 per secondary pupil on top of the substantial fees of HK$98,000 for students in secondary and HK$102,000 for those in the 6^th Form.

These substantial sums means that the organisation receives quite a hefty sum from government and parents for the 17,000 students that pass through the doors. Much of this has been passed on to attract and retain good quality teachers in this overseas ‘hardship posting'. That parents are eager to cough up the readies so that their precious little ones can be included in this system is testament to two things – the well-publicised stellar performance of many of its top pupils and the inherent prestige that the institution has hitherto carried.

As a teacher coming into this system it was abundantly clear that busy, heads-down, studious HK classes and muddling, fidgety, English kids at a comprehensive school calling everything they didn't understand 'gay' were miles apart – perhaps even light years apart. I felt I was able to do something here, something I had great difficulty doing in the UK – teaching! In fact, any pressure generating within an ESF classroom was not because of control or improvements in discipline or upping grades, it was caused by trying to meet the incessant demands of these little academic sponges. I actually didn't quite like it to begin with!

It is an expectation of Hong Kong parents that their children work hard. This is to ensure that they gain the best grades possible, an indication of good investment and maintenance of family honour. Do not, however, confuse these amazing grades for personality or remarkable individual characteristics: that usually comes with a more worldly maturity in mid-20s, a necessarily delayed factor arrived at after University study and/or travel. A typical student's day may begin by rising before 6 a.m. to be ready for the school bus. Many do not eat before classes begin which, depending on the school, may be anytime from 7 until 8.30 . At the end of the day after-hours activities begin – sports or martial arts/music lessons or practice/cram school. Unless they are eating out with parents, these children often may not get home until early evening by which time they are expected to study again with homework. This may continue well into the wee small hours, depending on how diligent or distracted they are. And the whole process continues next day, except many children will suffer from sleep-deprivation, a self-inflicted torture. They are well-organised, highly-stressed and often overworked, a preparation for a well-organised, highly-stressful and overworked life they will inevitably lead where chasing the dollar will be the overriding objective. Existential angst be damned – few, if any, question all this because failure at any level brings shame and angry parental disappointment.

The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, the book that describes the strict disciplinarian Chinese parenting, may have been slightly ironic in tone, but it has described a crystal clear reality for a great many Hong Kong students. The uncomfortable truth is that this hard, aspirational parenting is a global phenomena by no means limited to the Chinese.

I enjoyed teaching – most of the time. Many students came into school with no preconceived ideas, others with such confirmed opinions that it was a real sweat to oil the hinges on the gates of their perception. It's not that they didn't care, it's just that for many philosophical and psychological ideas were just not important. It is easy to see how this situation has come about. I remember meeting one troubled parent who, on showing me the book we used in class, complained that there were no answers at the back, nothing to confirm that the reader was on the right path to academic success. I had to explain that this book was all about forming the right questions: as she walked away shaking her head I could almost hear her thoughts of incredulity. The right subjects to choose are Business Studies, Economics and Chinese (Maths, English and Science are mandatory), the wrong ones are Art, Drama, Music, History, Design & Technology, Physical Education, Philosophy & Religious Studies. When asked why, students repeat a parental mantra that the chosen subjects will undoubtedly help them get on in life. No amount of discussion about interests outside education, about golf handicaps or backhand strokes in tennis can shake this belief until mid-way through their studies, by which time it would be too late and they are committed: and every year it would be the same.

With such an unfortunate, blind focus on the means to wealth creation, it has seemed inevitable that many Hong Kongers appear to see no further than the basic accumulation of worldly goods, the tangible assets of work and industry, even if that means being surround by them in their living space, all stacked up to the ceiling in neat PriceRite plastic boxes. Shopping is, after all, Hong Kong's best-loved sport: whole families will go out to spend the day in gargantuan shopping malls such as Pacific Place or Festival Walk. Orderly snaking queues form down whole streets for discounts or the acquisition of free gifts. Although many are too proud to beg, pensioners will nevertheless fight each other for free rice from temples – even if their fruit money has increased! The most frequent time for banks to be robbed is in the weeks before Chinese New Year when those desperate for cash to pay for all the expenses in that season turn to even-more desperate measures. And I fear to even mention horse racing and the Jockey Club, the biggest game in town!

Throughout much of my teaching time the students' heroes were often the most financially successful, such as Bill Gates and Li Ka-shing. Wealth, even avarice, contentment through acquisition and one-upmanship is properly understood – they could almost be seen as sparkly aspects of the same golden virtue: wealth is good. Even Chinese New Year can be seen as legitimising and celebrating this in both real and symbolic forms; lai see packets full of money, the placement of decorative yuanbao gold ingots, the centrality of flower blossoms that symbolise prosperity. So if the most important yearly festival confirms these ideals, it is no wonder it has become a unquestioned tenet of life. This may be not, of course, be limited to Hong Kong society, but it certainly dominates the flavour of it.

In fairness, Chinese history has been nothing if not eventful. Natural and man-made disasters have swept countless millions away leaving those still alive to ponder the meaning of it all. Through the troubled lives of forbears who lived in interesting times a widely-held assumption has filtered down that the only one to look after number one is number one. That's not to say welfare associations have been unknown in Chinese history or that government agencies haven't done wonders over time, but pity belongs to the weak and unfortunate. A fall from financial grace brings social embarrassment – people stare.

So, to recount this fairly lengthy blog entry, Hong Kong is a politically stable and sometimes rich society with a populace that is generally left to do as it pleases – Ayn Rand would have been proud. Many people, however, have become severely stressed because culturally-inspired aspirations surrounding wealth can only be met through expensive  education and/or fortuitous connections, things beyond the means and social orbits of the vast majority of the population. Wealth, therefore, may only be realised in the next or future generations after much hardship, through a lucky break or by consenting families pulling together. The Hong Kong Chinese, however, have established what is perhaps their best weapon in dealing with life's vagueries – a fantastic sense of humour.

I love the city of Hong Kong, the people and the countryside in which we have been lucky enough to have lived. Unfortunately, in our years here things have got tighter in terms of wallets and wages, tolerance has become less of a freely-available commodity, the environment has quickly worsened and the lifestyles to which many Hong Kongers have become inexorably committed are unsustainable. These are the troublesome topics I will waffle upon in my next blog entry and where I propose a solution.

*Chippies – Chinese yuppies

From the Republic of Ireland to the Czech Republic

Well, as far as the future is concerned, one thing is about as far in the bag as one can say with certainty – we leave Hong Kong in January 2013.

We've been in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (such a politically over-cautious term full of control-driven Chinese socialist idealism) since 1988. For good or ill, back then the territory still had its distinct Anglo flavour. This has diminished through design and disfavour and risen again through style and choice. A pivotal moment came when the MTR announcements were changed from a distinctly clipped British accent to the whiny quasi-Southern Californian that it remains today. On the barricades provocative political kids wave the old colonial flag in the faces of the Beijing masters as much to score a point as to pretend they love the life that probably ended before they were out of nappies.

I will write more about Hong Kong, about working here, the people and the politics on a later occasion. But to wrap up this intro, whether I like it or not Hong Kong is in the blood and unless I'm caught buggering the Chief Executive in LEGCO I'll undoubtedly turn up back here, bad penny-like, again... and again...

What precipitated our oncoming departure is the same thing that brought us here: work. The Memsahib's, to be precise. Back in 1998 she and I travelled by wheezy old British Rail to a job interview with Hong Kong's English Schools Foundation in the Big Stink. Nervous moments passed for me as behind the panelled doors of the St James Club the muffled conversation continued into the afternoon. What I was not to know for quite some time was that the Mem was demanding that her gorgeous, sweet-smelling husband (of Newly Qualified Teacher status) should also be found favourable employ with the ESF. To this firm request they duly and correctly complied and after some brief stints of supply at certain primary schools in the region I obtained a proper job teaching music at Kowloon Junior School.

The cause of our imminent departure is to work in the Czech Republic. But the choice was not simple – Ireland also beckoned with a juicy, fat, Guinness-soaked finger. The only way to make a decision was to visit both countries and this we duly did in mid-December.

Whichever way you cut it, Ireland is a special, not to say amazing, place. There's something beguiling about being at the edge of things – the Atlantic Ocean or Europe, depending on which way you're facing at the time. It was a terrifically important part of the world for the megalithic tomb builders thousands of years ago, the sun's daily death into the western sea had obvious religious and symbolic overtones. The enlightened religious houses of the early medieval period sent many successful missions into the darkened dark age Anglorium and even further afield into Europe. Today, Irish intellectualism (not a cheap gag) is a marvellous green-tinged twinkly thing long interconnected with a host of American, British and European movements. To be connected with it through Limerick University would be exciting, dynamic and future-oriented. With enough beautiful local Guinness in the blood, who knows where it could lead!

Despite driving from Rosslare 'Europort' -such an exciting sobriquet- into the rain-sodden landscape covered in low, misty cloud and puddles nearly as deep as the sea we'd just crossed, it was with happy hearts we stopped at lovely Wexford, a comfortable place of pretty shop fronts on the high street, grey seals in the harbour and fine culinary fayre in the exclusive (not to say expensive) fine-dine restaurants. It's a great little city.

Cork is also a magnificent but much bigger town. Feeling more like a regional capital than a provincial town, its shopping crowds testify to the presence of many Euro-weighted pockets, even if the country is said to be permanently on the verge of, if not beyond, bankruptcy. Limerick is its smaller cousin, a little more modest in size and scope. Perhaps it was down to the season of goodwill, but on every corner on every intersection could be heard the jangling of buckets of change, carolling children's choirs and good causes a-plenty fearlessly promoted. The Irish truly have the tenderest of hearts.

Having visited Blarney Castle, the Mem took to her interview whilst I took to finding a suitable place to live. I have mentioned on a previous occasion how much fun it is to sit staring at the sunset and consider living right there in the holiday destination. This was always on the cards as far as this trip was concerned and down by the River Shannon the little village of Killaloe shone out of the County Clare countryside like a beautiful bright new pin – dimmed somewhat with it being the middle of winter. The deserted St Flannan's Cathedral, hitherto completely unknown to me, had an ancient and ethereal attraction matched only by the nave's astonishing acoustics. The Irish countryside is full of old buildings going to rack and ruin: barns, farmhouses and townhouses, the mind raced with fantasies of converting these damp shells into fine, warm, liveable dwellings.

One worrying element to our trip was the tendency, to our eternal shame, to slip into a stereotypical Oirish accent at any given moment, begorrah, with the accompanying Father Ted-esque 'Drink', 'Feck', 'Arse' and 'Girls'! There are times when I needed to be reminded not to shout those expletives before elevated members of the clergy – unless they did it first.

We returned back over the water and hurried to overnight in Stroud, a place we once thought we would make home. Down to the Prince Albert for lovely pints of local ale, the whiff of woodsmoke, live jazz and good company... But the flight to Prague was on the morrow.

This must have been one of the least-planned trips we've ever mounted. Assuming, like expats everywhere, that everyone speaks English, we didn't even know the price of a common-or-garden cab into town! Each capital city is the most expensive element in a country. We were, however, quite pleasantly surprised by the cost of things, being equivalent or marginally less than Hong Kong, the UK & Ireland.

The quality of Czech food also seemed tip-top. But the best was the beer – the ubiquitous Pilsner Urquell as light as spring water and as flavoursome as any tap-poured micro-brewery output can be!

One could, however, happily travel around the Czech Republic on next-to-nothing, stay at very cheap hostels and pensions and merely drink in the architectural splendour of the place. To say it is a jewel is to cheapen it. Even the new central city building work is done in sympathy with its late medieval or baroque surroundings. We were frequently, and pleasantly, open-mouthed at the richness of even the meanest streets. Of course there are whole ghettos of bleak, graffiti-covered communist-era blocks just as in any city, but far removed from any touristy site worth seeing. The low house prices outside Prague are also breathtaking: we could buy a castle with the change in our pocket (well, nearly)!

The little town of Olomouc (pop. 102,000) is somewhere you've never heard of. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, the medieval centre of town is chocolaty-box-cobbledy-street loveliness, or at least it was at Christmastime without the 24,000 student population.

Palacký University has been around since 1573 and has quite a reputation in Theology and Philosophy in addition to Education, Science and Law. The Special Education Department want to become better-known within the English speaking world outside the Czech Republic and have recently printed its first English bi-annual publication. This fits in quite nicely with the Mem's plans for world domination.

Although cold, the people felt warm and friendly. Many spoke English (I suppose that's a good thing). The country feels like it has one respectful and retrospective eye on the values of the past and another, exciting and positive, very much fixed on the future. It is a culturally rich and youthful place. It's got a bit of everything!

So, the deal's done. And it's a good'n! We may be earning less in terms of what can be cleared in London or Kowloon, but koruna-for-koruna (written acronymically Kč, by the way) you can buy more giant pretzels in Moravia -or so we're led to believe.

This is possibly the last (and probably the longest!) blog of the year. If you've kept up this far then you're either a fan, a friend or a masochist! In the new year I may put this blog to bed and begin another more keenly Česká republika-focused on our new doings!

So farewell to 2012 and wherever you are and however you see it in, I wish you all a very Happy New Year for 2013.

2 Starry Days -Blush, l'Arpeggiata and Michelle Yeoh!

Well, as weeks go this one is pretty good. Pop, renaissance music and a star-bejewelled film premiere. I'll try to be brief...

Thursday 2nd February

Pop!

It's been a long time since I went to see a pop star (whatever one of those is). I don't know if Kylie the Minogue or a Madonna are real pop stars or whether the title 'King of Pop' should have ever been applied to the late Michael 'I-just-wish-I-could-understand-my-father' Jackson. For me, 'pop' denotes etherial childhood memories of such musical luminaries as the Bay City Rollers and Gary Glitter, but any search through a catalogue of such artistes talentueux now sees them listed under the headings 'Glam' or 'Pervert' (quelle est la différence?). Maybe the identification of 'pop' back in thum days lay more with bizarre titles and lyrics –can someone tell me what Suzi Quattro meant by Can the Can or the point Noddy Holder was on about when he sang the following,

Gudbuy T'Jane, gudbuy T'Jane,

She's a dark horse see if she can.

Gudbuy T'Jane, gudbuy T'Jane,

Painted up like a fancy young man.

'Pop', therefore...surely, must refer to POP-ular –meaning that someone actually likes the stuff (note my powers of deduction). The title of 'Supreme Pop Group', however, must eventually be applied to those Norsk-Dansk types who formed Aqua and famously got rich on Barbie Girl proving along the way that there's no such thing as a bad multi-platinum record!

Blush are a relatively new all-girl 'pop' outfit from this part of Asia. With eye-catching token Filippina, Chinese, Korean, Indian and Japanese, they've been wowing the crowds hither and thither and are promoted well enough to be hitting the big time supporting more established acts such as B.o.B, Far*East Movement, Black Eyed Peas and Justin Bieber –whoever they are. 

The girls and their entourage turned up in front of the un-cool educational edifice of KGV School to serenade da kids during lunchtime –no, that's wrong: to 'whoop' them into a pop-fuelled, teenage frenzy! And this they duly did judging from the numbers of rubbery day-glow wrist bangles and signed posters greedily grasped by the sweaty and impressionable 11- and 12-year olds after the show. I think the industry term for this sort of activity is, 'establishing a fan base'

No matter who you are, a KGV School audience is fickle –even Mozart himself would have to compete with Pokemon card tournaments, boys football on the field, Minecraft computer worlds and nonchalantly half-nibbled chicken legs. They got through... eventually... when the man on the mixing desk pumped up the volume.

Watching them strutting their funky stuff in the full light of day, I warmed to their act –actually, they were quite good, even if I am slightly positively-prejudiced: I taught the delightful Alisha Bushrani a few times over the years and it was really enjoyable to see her doing well (all teachers say that sort of drivel, but it's true). We had a brief chat later on that day: their recent push onto the bigger stages of the world means there's now a chance for them to do even greater things –which I am not at liberty to divulge. You heard it (that is, nothing at all) here first, folks... 

Renaissance Classical!

You might image that all that teeny-bopping perspiration was enough for one day, but I was bored during a holiday afternoon last week and bought a load of concert tickets for the 40th Hong Kong Arts Festival. I wasn't too sure about this particular concert, but it was promoted well and, after all, it's hard to go wrong with music from the renaissance. So in the evening, off me and the Memsahib did trot to the City Hall.

Music from the Renaissance this may well have been, but not like wot I has hearded before. I have listened to Monteverdi's Toccata from Orfeo oh I don't know how many times, often performed with a prim, over-inflated pomposity that would have stretched the corn of cornyness even during the renaissance, but this concert held an improvised and exciting novelty which at times made me wonder whether I was listening to completely new music. L'Arpeggiata brought the renaissance alive –not as museum-pieces, but as the excited breath of a dancer holding your hands as you both speedily twirl around the dancefloor: I could scarcely stay in my seat! The marked difference between the rather polite unflappable concertyness of most classical music performances and these Neopolitan and Italian emotion-filled expressions of life could not be more marked.

The wonderful Lucilla Galeazzi had us all eating out of her hands, such was her capacity to engage –just listen to this Youtube clip. It wasn't all jiggery-pokery and some of the more reflective pieces were mournful and truly Italianate, such as can be demonstrated here.

But you can't win 'em all, as the sleepy soul in the seat in front of us ably demonstrated, awakening only at the conclusion of each piece to join the chorus of clapping. I guess when you're tired then you're tired, but unnerving thoughts about the state of my sanity would enter my mind if I'd paid good money to sit in a room with hundreds of other people to leave two hours later with only the barest recollection about what I was doing there and why everyone around me was applauding...

Friday 3rd February

Film!

We all like being the first one to see a movie. I responded lightning-quick to an email from Amnesty International inviting me to see the Asian premiere of The Lady, Luc Besson's new film about the rise of Aung San Suu Kyi from Oxford Academic's wife to famous stateswoman promoting Burmese democracy upon the world stage. As such, we received Wonka-like Golden Tickets in the mail to the screening at the Grand Cinema in the vast, meandering Elements mall that overlooks Hong Kong harbour.

This is primarily a love story about a married couple, perhaps an unfashionable topic for some –no seedy sex, no devastating dénouements, no unfaithful connivances or earthquake-like betrayals, no Hugh Grant, just the tenderness of a marriage that is threatened and finally overwhelmed by power-hungry generals, the painful needs of a poor country and, eventually, terminal illness. I cried.

Quite simply, Michelle Yeoh is Aung San Suu Kyi, long speeches in Burmese language notwithstanding. A tough role for anybody, particularly when the actress must portray vulnerability and strength, assailability and determination, she crafted a believable character who's endearing morality is miles above that of her opponents. That Suu, as she is tenderly called, survived at all is testament to the work of many others as well as to her resilience. But survive she does receiving a Nobel Peace Prize along the way largely because her husband, played by the great David Thewlis, tirelessly fought for her submission to the Norwegian Nobel Committee.

Michelle Yeoh is perhaps best known for her nature role in martial arts epic Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and as the feisty Chinese Bond Girl in Tomorrow Never Dies. She arrived with Luc Besson and his beautiful current (and third) wife Virginie Silla –a good producer in her own right: there then took place a photographic orgasm, the flash and video lights of every camera in the room erupting to capture the moment without knowing quite what it was they were trying to capture. The usual speeches over, all Golden Ticket holders (the unbearably stylish, the duffel coated worthies and the mundane) poured past the barriers and A.I. yellow t-shirted ushers into each of the cinema houses. As we sat waiting, the same celebrated trio arrived to deliver another pep-talk. Michelle looked the most nervous and inclined the audience to go with the emotions of the film –excellent advice! Go and see this film. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Film over, the stars once again popped in to each cinema to wave and receive warm applause. Miss Yeoh knew several audience members and stopped for kisses and kind words. On our way out a nicely dressed couple stood near the exit –Luc and Virginie. With a handshake I congratulated him on the film and asked whether it was shot in Thailand. He said that the first few minutes and the forested footage and landscape were shot in Myanmar within about a week –that was all the time they were given to get essential footage. (Some of that, such as the massive, iconic, golden Schwedagon Pagoda, must have also been digitized for backgrounds.) He went on to add that most of it was filmed in Thailand. I added that I was moved by the film which he was quite glad to hear: another fan was still crying next to them.

A good end to the week hob-nobbing with the stars (sorry I wasn't brief at all). I should, of course, now conclude with a quippy sign-off such as, I suppose even stars are real people, but I just can't. The point to be made now is that this Amnesty event highlighted the plight of an entire people under brutal dictatorship (what other kind is there?). Although things may seem to be improving, there's still a question mark about what will happen next –it could all go tits-up with recent positive gains all reversed. Please take a look at the Amnesty site. Why not drop them a bob or two: Myanmar Amnesty International.

Happy New Year

 

Here's wishing you a very peaceful and prosperous new year of 2012.

If the last 12 months has taught us anything, it is that we should never take our eye off the ball as far as national and international events are concerned: who could have predicted the seismic changes brought about by the so-called Arab Spring, the deaths of Osama bin Laden and Gaddafi the tyrant, the hope of the new country of South Sudan or the problems caused by the population of the earth reaching 7 billion?

Final curtain calls were given to Pete Postlethwaite, Susannah York, Elizabeth Taylor, Michael Gough and Peter Falk.

No more notes will ensue from Gerry Rafferty, Gary Moore or Amy Winehouse.

We'll never see one more splash of paint from Lucian Freud or Cy Twombly.

The astonishing moves by Joe Frazier, Gary Speed or Sócrates are now things of the past.

The world has lost the much-loved political intellectual Václav Havel and the much-hated mad and bad Kim Jong-il.

Not even an apple a day could keep Steve Jobs here.

Out here in ole Hong Kong, many Chinesey folk hold back and really only celebrate Chinese New Year which officially begins on 23rd January. Our last Year of the Dragon, in 2000, saw many interesting changes -Vladimir Putin and George Bush were elected presidents, Israel left Lebanon after 12 years occupation, the submarine Kursk sunk in the Barents Sea, the International Space Station received its first residents. We had a billion less people.

We'll be sailing into stormy economic waters, particularly with regard to the question of the Euro. If people stop popping to the shops to buy 'stuff' then millions of Chinese will be without work and that will affect the ability of Chinese government to effectively control its people. Eek!

Who is to say where our future lies. It's supposed to be the year that our b'ak'tun cycle ends (according to the Mayan long-count calendar), which could mean the earth ends or that we bump into the planet Nibiru. Hmmm... that might not be so nice. All I can say is that you should make sure you live each day to its fullness.

Oh and I might just pop by from time-to-time with a little comment or two. Cheers!

Looks like we're in the shit!

Greece was always a spectacular location for an excursion; The Roman legions under Mummius, the Ottomans directed by the 15th century Sultans, Mussolini and his Julia Alpine Division (although they didn't get very far) and Hitler's Twelfth Army (who did). Of course, since those times more peaceful invasive forces have set their sights on things hellenic, have taken retsina in the tavernas and have left their towels on loungers all the way from the co-capital of Thessaloniki in the north to the teensy-tiny island of Petrota south of Crete. If anything, Greece has not had any difficulty selling itself -we have all at one time or another wanted to go there. The only problem is that now no-one wants their money to go there!

So why has this economic crisis affected Greece quite so badly? Well, unfortunately it's largely the Greeks themselves -they've spent too much and recovered too little and that's affected everyone else in the Eurozone. Let's blame it on 'Greek Culture'. There's something in the old Greek character which is content to cock a snoot at anyone in authority, particularly the government and the tax man. This may be a residue from left-wing political ebbs and flows during the middle years of the 20th century, but it remains a significant self-satisfying factor which the younger generation must overcome and change. God alone knows what the future will hold for young Greeks...

Perhaps I should tell you what's wrong by means of a little story:

Suppose you were Greece back in the 1990s and you were invited by your neighbours to join a mighty-neighbourly club -and bit of an expensive and exclusive European club at that! This club would bring benefits, such as the opportunity to further your own domestic causes by simply chatting to all your new-found friends in the club house(s). It would also bring financial stability by offering the chance to dip into the club's vast finances -all of a sudden the dreams of upping the kids' pocket money, building that much-needed extension and bbq patio and of buying the wife a fur coat would become a reality. Popularity at home (that irresistible political temptress) would be assured. In fact, the more that would be spent, the better things would get.

But then the unexpected occurred -an economic downturn. Everything suddenly became more expensive, your accounts at the shops became worthless and, when you asked around, everyone else moaned in chorus about feeling the pinch. Oh dear. The neighbours in the club were still able to gain access to yet another club (the Money Club), but you couldn't. And you couldn't because although your popularity came at a price, there was no way it could be maintained (something the Money Club didn't like). Support at home began to wane. Your friends said they could help you out, but only if you began improving your much-cherished domestic arrangements (particularly the ability to pay those pesky shop accounts) and completely gave up on popularity. In fact, if you hadn't begun doing this then you would also get your friends into trouble and your club membership review would be brought forward. Your piggy bank was long-since empty and, besides, now belonged to all the other club members (and even some non-members). Some whispered that even if all your friends came to your aid, paid your bills, helped structure your domestic arrangements and somehow encouraged the 'other club' to cough up enough cash to pay the rent then it would be amount to more money than you could ever pay back. In fact, it would be your fault that all the others lost their piggy banks too...

I know this is a slightly silly and flawed rhetorical device, but I hope it makes the point. Greek membership of the European Club may not have caused the crisis in the first place, but their 'culture' (one familiar to many other southern European countries) has been crucial in directing it's demise -borrow lots and don't pay it back. Instigating painful measures from without to remedy the situation on Terra Grecia within will in the end, I fear, become merely punitive to the young (tax paying) Greeks who never acceded to the decisions that got the country in the mess in the first place. These extreme domestic measures will certainly not stop the international monetary system's blessed freedoms from further wrecking an already crumbling edifice.


Our friends the Greeks have been put on the austerity naughty step before. Even before membership was accepted, difficulties in their economy were observed. According to the BBC on 1 Jan 2001, "To qualify for euro membership, the Greek Government had to adopt a tough austerity programme, making deep cuts in public spending." Sound familiar? It's obvious that they just weren't tough enough. Maybe the 'culture' was deeper than the 2001 cuts could reach.

Even worse, the recent statements notwithstanding, the rest of Europe now seems unable to know exactly what to do or how to do it. Charles Calomiris, the Economist who predicted the fall of Argentina back in 2001, recently described the whole sorry state in Greek Economy Watch thus:

Europe is living in denial. Even after the economic crisis exposed the eurozone's troubled future, its leaders are struggling to sustain the status quo. At this point, several European countries will likely be forced to abandon the euro within the next year or two....The only way out of this conundrum is for countries with insurmountable debt burdens to default on their euro-denominated debts and exit the eurozone so that they can finance their continuing fiscal deficits by printing their own currency. Here's a hint for Europe's politicians: If the math says one thing and the law says something different, it will be the law that ends up changing.

So what's to be done? Bugger all as far as I can see. Setting up an artificial pan-European currency seemed like a good idea at the time -one worthy of investment, cooperation and integration. The Old Europe of international and internecine rivalry and bloodshed evaporated in a blending of economic love and well-being. The trend to allow a ridiculous insouciant market lead all our lives for better or worse must be addressed, but I don't think many chancellors or government  economists could ensure financial health and certainty on the ground where the real people live. Neither could (or would) many of them have admitted foreseeing that continual borrowing, spending and borrowing again would result in eventual ruin for us all, but it all seems so bloody obvious now -with hindsight.

We're in a right mess that is likely to worsen, that's for sure. Are there any solutions? Probably not. Things are dependant upon wiser minds than governments can usually tolerate. Political solutions untenable with current thinking may be required. In the end, we'll all lose money - lots of it. At least we have our friends and family (which brings a measure of happiness to us all). Of course, that does not mean we should give up and if ever a time was needed when pressure could be brought to bear upon our elected representatives it is certainly now. Without it they can only make things even worse.

How much for your kidney?

Having just watched the long-awaited and fairly well acted X-Men: First Class, the Memsahib and meself visited the Festival Walk Broadway (one of the few big chain of Elec/Tech stores here not in the all-pervasive octopus-like grip of Li Ka Shing) and spied many-a gleaming Appley product. All these things are much cheaper now than even two or three years ago and, although Apple maintain that they are clean and green, it's no secret that this is down to Foxxconn's questionable labour practices: employee coercion, suicides, explosions and other horrors have been frequently reported. How much is too cheap?

Anyway, I 'needed' to buy an expensive cover for my new iPhone 4. This product is, of course, precious-ish and I want to keep it from acquiring scratches whilst in my pocket (I'd still like to know how that bloody happens). But I'm not sure I'd go as far in my desire to have such things as a youthinasia (not euthanasia -ha, that's my hilarious little GCSE jokel) wot sold his kidney for an i-Pad and iPhone. I cannot think of a reason to sell my kidney for anything, but then I've never been that desperate. A few years ago I was deeply moved when a friend donated one of his to an old military buddy. I probably speak for many when I say that I would most likely do the same for a loved one. Gratis.

The full BBC report says that you too can give your kidney to a worthy cause for a mere $3,392, even though the practice has been made illegal in China since 2007. Always ready to exploit an opportunity, kidney purchasers (apart from the Hannibal Lecter liver-loving kind) have been doing the world a great service in freeing the people of Nepal, India and other impoverished places of their unwanted kidneys and exchanging them with these vast sums of cash (as far as the recipients are concerned) -sometimes even as much as the lucky Chinese chap currently in the news. This link to a peculiar 'blog' (part-Russian/part-Indian) puts you in contact with unlucky Indians who have opted for cash over kidney.

Of course, trading human kidneys in China has been a long-profitable trade often sanctioned through the complicity of corrupt officials. This trade, however, is not limited to wealth-challenged countries, but also includes the far-flung reaches of Lancashire. 

So there you have it, some people think electronic products are better than their own urinary system. I suppose it's all a matter of values -it's legal in Iran! It's unlikely this trade will ever disappear altogether and some say the process should be legalised and monitored. Should we be allowed to do what we wish with our own bodies? What price could we put on our various parts? How much for one of your eyes, your lungs, your other choicest inner parts? Would cannibals be allowed to bid? Perhaps we should harvest them as a matter of course, hand out iPads and put the objectors in a Chinese jail...

'Oui!' to 1000 Years of Annoying the French

I have always loved France –close enough to home to be accessible, far enough away to be different, holidays there were fun and full of the nicest things possible; cheeses, wines, meats, restaurants, boulangeries, beaches, interesting and helpful locals –well, maybe not the last one. One year we were holidaying in Languedoc,went to la plage and set about frolicking in the sea, tanning on the sands and trying not to peer too long at the topless French ladies –fwoarr! With a keen eye for a quick franc, the local supermarket had set up a stall in the car park for waffeur-thin steak et frites and we happily queued. Grabbing my newly fried frites, I proceeded to cover them all in lovely French tomato ketchup only to summarily squirt the biggest massive splurge of said red sauce all over the poor seller’s crotch (much to his severe annoyance): the container having just been refilled, the nozzle pointed away from my lovely chips.

Such an unfortunate incident, I think, properly illustrates our trans-marche relationship. More often than not, les anglais have squirted their tomato ketchups (and worse) onto the noble Gallic crotches (and other tender parts) and this has led to war. And just as jobbing steak frites sellers have cursed the holidaying rosbifs, so the kings, emperors and presidents of the nation of franks have cursed their cousins across the water: the last 1000 years have been punctuated with at times incredibly violent international relations. But we are the best of friends now, n’est-ce pas?

Stephen Clarke has made this slightly weighty (517 pages) romp through history about as entertaining as a English-type who lives and works in France could. What’s catchy is the way in which each well-known Franco-British historical scene is set up with the usual accompanying myths and legends only to have them re-examined and re-explained from the perspective of our divergent yet mutual histories. Beginning with the wicked exploits of William the Conqueror (who was not French actually, but Norman –about as French as the next Dane) and concluding at the right royal diplomatic faux pas of 2008 meted out on Nicolas Sarkozy which involved showing him lots of pictures of Waterloo (the battle, not the station), the book is a joy to read. It’s obvious that he’s used up his two years compiling these stories in lots of reading. Each chapter, however, has that I’ve-just-read-a-few-books-about-this-topic-therefore-I-will-write-about-it feel to it and the book occasionally seems a little formulaic.

Here’s a few of Clarke's important historical observations:

·      William the Conqueror died whilst fighting the French

·      Joan of Arc was tried and sentenced by the French

·      The Burghers of Calais were not executed by the English (or even at all)

·      Mary Queen of Scots was, to all intents and purposes, a French princess

·      France lost America because of a cow

·      The English invented champagne

·      The guillotine was invented in Halifax

·      The stormed Bastille contained only 7 prisoners –four forgers, two lunatics and one count accused of helping his sister run away from her husband

·      Napoleon nearly became an English mariner

·      The French did not invent croissants, baguettes or steaks grillés

·      The innocent sounding WWI song, ‘Parley-vouz’, is about patriotic French Mademoiselles who serviced British soldiers hundreds at a time

·      de Gaulle took part in the D-Day landings 8 days later with only 177 French soldiers

In short, the French view the past through Tricolore-tinted glasses, but then don’t we all with our histoires? The English love and admire French style and elegance and early morning hot chocolate croissants from le boulangerie du village, the French love and admire English pop culture, cool Britannia and decent packets of biscuits.

Stephen Clarke’s other book, A Year in the Merde, plods the well-worn track of The Innocents Abroad, a Mark Twain novel, has become an international best-seller, printed in France as God Save La France. He has said of living in Paris, "I love France because here you are working for a living and not vice versa". Ah, the wisdom of it.

We get on now because it’s in our interests. But, as Stephen Clarke says in a France 24 interview, our mutual past has a habit of rearing itself up and interrupting the best of intentions with troublesome recollections. So it is that each Frenchy that descends onto the platform of Waterloo Station is unhappily reminded of Napoleonic defeat and national chagrin.

Ah well –plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose…

The Bombing of the Arjana Restaurant in Marrakech

Another outrage, another easy target. The Argana restaurant was a popular eatery with wonderful views over the Jemaa-el-Fnaa square. Brenda and I walked in and ate there last year. It was a fun place with excellent multi-lingual waiters. We ate whilst watching the late afternoon light cast long shadows over the busy stallholders and mysterious fortune tellers as they set up on their pitches for another night of noise and entertainment. 

Morocco is no stranger to terrorism. But the formula for much Islamic terrorism, wherever it appears, seems to follow a fairly tried-and-tested route that begins with desperation which, with a little admixture of poverty and a dash of politicised religious principles, leads some down the path that ends with the sort of scene at the Arjana restaurant in Djemaa el Fnaa square. So, we can blame religion. Or can we?

Each suicide bomber, however, has his reasons for their actions and it is very hard to profile what is 'typical'. In all cases it appears that zealotry by itself does not a terrorist make. That the bombers adhere to a puritanical religious motivation cannot be denied, but throughout the ages strictness in terms of faith and practice has not resulted in similar acts. Contrary to the simplistic finger-wagging of anti-religionist such as Dawkins, it is not the depth of experience that turns a faithful follower into a frothing fanatic. I would argue that religion, in many cases, may not be the poison, but is more likely to be the cure. 

Travelling around Morocco last year we were aware of the great impact made by international tourism. Along the roadside every few miles are little rickety tables selling something local whether that be prickly pears or lumps of impossibly coloured quartz or fossils. Setting down next to one of these is to invite instant attention -so desperate are the locals for some cash. Yet without these few pennies life would be even tougher and the kids' old shoes might just have to be fixed rather than replaced. In the cities the scene is slightly different and opportunities for the hard-working, the quick and the savvy are at hand. Tourists (such as muggins here) are easy prey and, often more than not, will have only fuzzy ideas about the value of something unless it has a neat price tag around it.  Add confusion over differences between currencies and they'll usually hand over more than they should. A life of crime may often begin with such simple exchanges with greed motivating the spiv to move onto more slippery scams.

Those without opportunity or connections may therefore resent the wealth and lifestyle of the rich. It is as well to dwell on the thoughts of our Marrakech taxi driver who whilst trundling his battered cinquecento through the impossibly narrow streets of the medina clearly expressed his usease at single European ladies that take advantage of handsome young Moroccan boys for sex (except he was too polite to use the term). This is nothing new of course, but that the morality of the exchange was still up for discussion illustrates that  Moroccan society still has a problem with the cultural values the tourists import.

For many Moroccans those opportunities for a quick buck might never arise. But even that will not inevitably lead people to blow themselves up in a touristy restaurant. Indeed people may live in relative poverty all their lives with a modicom of happiness and even self-respect. Perhaps this is the time for King Mohammad VI to show his true colours -he's already done a lot for Morocco and is widely respected.

In the recent past suicide bombing has been largely linked to perceived injustices, particularly in strife-torn regions such as Palestinian territories, Iraq, Pakistan and Afghanistan. Bombers may do what they do in response to invasions, corruption in power or politics. If one includes the perceived purity of religious sanctions for their actions and understand sizeable rewards for the families is forthcoming, then  it begins to look like a noble thing.

Some suicide bombers, however, are coerced into their activities. Vulnerable groups, the suicidal, and even children are sometimes given little option other than to do as their operational directors command. Their families lives may be as stake.

The difficulties with suicide bombing is knowing the motive of the backers. Some, such as the groups associated with al-Qaeda or Hamas, want to destabilize the region, polarize opinion and step in to fill the power. The murky world of these financial backers is linked to a simple but radicalized view of Islam (Salafism or Wahhabism), a retrospective glorification of the ideal early golden years of the religion when the religious warriors conquered large parts of the ancient near-east. In this regard blowing up mosques, particularly of those Muslims they regard as 'errant' such as Shi'as or Sufis, is an extension of the purification of the religion -God knows his own!

The attacks on non-Islamic or soft western targets (aka tourists) accomplishes many things such as raising fear or highlighting attention to issues that might otherwise not be covered in the western press. It's all about power.

So, if suicide bombing is so effective, why hasn't it been used extensively in the past? Suicide is banned in Islam. Interpreting the few passages of the Qur'an that mention it is an activity fraught with many difficulties (tenses and plurals, etc), but it is clear that this is not a route down which Muslims are supposed to go. So why do some do it? Effective jurisprudence: some scholars (with anti-western axes to grind) have interpreted the Qur'an in a way in which prejudices and half-truths are accepted and aggressive action justified (I'm afraid it was ever thus in all religions). Radical and reactionary these instructions may be, but they have led to a bit of a backlash amongst many in the ordinary Muslim majority. It's just not... respectable and people don't want it any more. There are even arabic TV ads that seek to change people's opinion of it.

Barring the hornets nest of 9/11 and the issues surrounding the Tamil Tigers, by far the most effective suicide bombs were used during World War II. A total of 2,800 Kamikaze attacks were waged against the allies in the War of the Pacific largely as a response to the decline of Japan's military capacity and the decision not to surrender. 'Death before dishonour' may have been the rallying cry that motivated the young pilots, but their efforts were ultimately futile.

Sitting in the Argana restaurant was a pleasant experience. I hope to do it again. I think, however, that a lot of Moroccan soul-searching will have to elapase before we are back in the square enjoying the madness of Marrakech. After all, the last thing Moroccans need is for their tourists to keep themselves (and their dollars) at home. 

Hallowe’en vs Guy Fawkes

I recall as a kid being asked by a teacher to divide the page into 12 and pictorially represent each month. Some months were easy –February for snow, August for holidays (not any more –we have to be back at school mid-August these days), December for Christmas. I remember that the autumnal months were particularly exciting –October was for Hallowe’en with all the spooky stuff and November Guy Fakwes Night with the accompanying fireworks spectacular, AND both those days were within a week!

My dear old mum was not pleased with my artwork. “Hallowe’en is an American festival. We don’t do that one.”

I fumed and protested: the idea that a festival entirely set up for the kids, for sweets and practical joking was too good to excise on my mother’s mere patriotic say-so. But each year came and went and Hallowe’en remained unobserved: not as much as a “BOO!” as a boo-hoo! I swore that as an adult I would insist that trick-or-treating would be at least as important as Christmas gift-giving and singing stupid old carols.

As parents, Brenda and I welcomed Hallowe’en with the kids. Moving to Hong Kong made it easier to admit foreign customs (even American ones). They saw the fun side of things and made it their own –Hallowe’en’s trashy and crass and all the better for it! Embracing the darker side of life, the aspect of skulls, death and spooks reminds us all the there’s something else out there which we don’t understand and making a joke of it takes the sting out of the tail.

Actually, Hallowe’en has its origins in Ireland. As a custom, it’s perhaps no-more than two centuries old. It’s folklore is steeped in a deep Celtic past and the true origins are lost to common memory. It takes place at the beginning of winter and is associated with end of the all life of one year and heralds the beginning of another. It has been appropriated by neo-pagans as Samhain, the ancient harvest festival. The next day is All Saints Day, the day in which all saints have homage -both the living and dead. It's also our Wedding Anniversary.

Guy Fawkes was a revolutionary English Catholic who plotted to blow up the King, his family and Parliament in the old Palace of Westminster. Dramatically discovered at the last moment on 5^th November, he was gruesomely tortured and confessed to all. Had he succeeded, England would almost certainly have reverted to the old faith and the history of the British Isles and beyond would have been very different.

The celebration of the capture of the traitor Guy Fawkes has always been widely celebrated in England. His effigy has been made into ‘guys’ thereon. His gunpowder treason has never been forgotten and has been a reminder of Popish plots to undermine the Crown or The English Way. Indeed, an Act of Parliament made the celebration of November 5^th an official holiday and was held thus until 1859. The guy is ceremoniously placed on the very top of the bonfire, his burned form captivating children and adults alike.

It is unlikely many of us English burn our guys with an anti-catholic verve. And the stuffed shirts, trousers and balloon heads still dragged around town simply represent the necessity to raise sufficient money for exorbitant Standard fireworks.  This, of course, cannot be done here in Hong Kong where anything gunpowdery is strictly controlled. And that may be a good thing. After all, do we really want to be exporting a custom tied to the torture and execution of Guido Fawkes and his like?

On 31^st January 1606 two of his fellow plotters were hung, drawn and quartered. Guy himself, although weakened from torture, followed them to the scaffold to await his fate.  Having asked King James I and the State for forgiveness, he was helped by the hangman to climb the ladder. He managed to jump and break his neck, so avoiding the excruciating pain and suffering of castration, live disembowelment and dismemberment that would have been his awful lot. The sentence was carried out on his corpse and the parts summarily displayed in the four corners of the kingdom.

Brenda loves the toffee apples, hot potatoes and chestnuts of November 5^th, but I’m more content with bands of happy face-painted kiddies knocking at the door for sweeties and not too bothered about standing about in a muddy November field around a smoky bonfire with dangerous, expensive and disappointing fireworks filling the air. 

Empire of China 1 – Empire of Japan 0

Pay tribute, kow-tow and be in awe of the great and glorious PRC!

So the China-Japan crisis has finally blown over with the release of the Chinese trawler skipper, Zhan Qixiong. His actions may have been part-panic part-belligerence, but he certainly caused one of the biggest international brouhahas in recent times. The Japanese have pleaded their case that the incident was not worth pursuing against the deterioration in international relations. It is clear from the customary near-hysterical rhetoric that the Chinese would not back down –never, as a matter of principle over pragmatism, as if national pride was a stake.

This sort of boating incident regularly happens all over the world. Coast Guards are supposed to intervene when faced with illegal fishing out there in the big blue yonder. Why, then, did this event threaten the stability of the region and lead to such unhappiness on the part of both governments? Why did the Chinese take such an unyielding, intransigent stance over a fisherman?

It has, of course, to do with history and how each nation sees itself.

The little Senkaku Islands (or the Diaoyu Islands if you’re Chinese) are a string of uninhabited islets between Taiwan and Okinawa about 340 miles from the Chinese Coast. They hold much potential not so much as opportunities for flag-waving by each of the three nations (Japan, China and Taiwan) so much as the staging posts for the mineral extraction on the East continental seabed. Just as the Russians staked a claim on future mineral wealth extraction from under the Arctic Ocean by planting their flag on the seabed, so are the unstated aims (of the acquisition of huge potential undersea gas fields) that underpin all diplomatic exchanges. But that won’t stop nationalists having a field day. 

That the fishing boat collided with the Japanese Coast Guard vessel is not in question. Whether the skipper was acting with malicious intent, negligence or sought to endanger other marine traffic is not so clear and will not now be judiciously assessed in a Japanese court. In fact, that’s not really the point. The incident highlights several religious, historical and social factors; most prominent for me is the Chinese Confucian perception of China and its relationships with quarrelsome neighbours.

China always sought tribute as part of its’ Mandate of Heaven which is something like the divine right to rule. The gods of heaven approved of the incumbent of the throne and rewarded his perfunctory religious and imperial activities with a wealthy China and happy subjects. Of course, only one premier enjoyed this privilege and only one nation (the biggest) would expect it without question. A Chinese emperor, therefore, could hold power only as long as the gods approved and the oligarchies kept him in power. Moreover, to fund the great imperial mechanism within which they thrived taxes had to be raked in and the bordering nations needed to know their place. That is why there was such emphasis on harmony –of both the celestial and earthly kind. It also meant China not only enjoyed this ‘right to rule’, but took pains to actively seek it. If earthquakes, disasters and famine stalked the land, it was surely a sign of godly disapproval. If rebellion caused the end of one emperor the gods, it was presumed, were happy with the new one! To the victor truly went the spoils. Under the de facto legitimacy of the Chinese Communist Party, the Beijing boys enjoy their rather strict harmony –perhaps even more so now they have added monetary, military and political clout as a means to secure it.

This stubborn need for legitimacy is as much a part of Chinese thinking as moneymaking, ostentatious displays of wealth and gambling. They give the Papacy a run for it’s money in terms of infallibility. Even the characters for China 中國 (which mean ‘Centre Country’) refer to a self-perception of China as being at the centre of the world. This is not hubris nor a projection of power, but a recognition of what a properly-ordered and divinely-sanctioned society must surely be. To the Chinese imperial mind-set no other nation was as civilized and none so blessed by the gods. The Emperor and the Forbidden City in Beijing were at the venerable centre of known universe and the further one traveled, the more barbarous the people. It was, indeed, the duty of the Chinese to influence their neighbours with all the munificence they could muster. Thus, even the invasion of Tibet in 1950 was and still is seen as ‘liberation’ and henceforth the Tibetans should show gratitude for the saving intervention of Mother China.

In the past, the neighbours therefore knew their place and paid tribute, either with words or gifts. It showed the order of things. From the words of Mencius,

"If one should try to prevail over others with force, their minds do not submit even though the people outwardly succumb to force. But if one prevails over others with virtue, then their minds are inwardly joyful and they submit sincerely, just as the seventy disciples submitted to Confucius. As The Odes says, “From west and east, from south and north, everyone submitted.”

Historically, the imperial policy was that no other nations could possibly be of equal status as China. It took a short drugs war with Great Britain and the Treaty of Nanjing in 1842 to force an amendment of this view. The unequal treaty, of course, meant a modification of the Chinese self-image, particularly with regard to the ceding of Hong Kong. Such loss of face in the intervening years was only really rectified after the 1997 handover.

Chinese loss of face also followed Japanese meddling in mainland China from the latter part of the 19^th century onwards. After the Meiji Restoration this once-vassal state took 20 years to modernise whilst the imperial Chinese languished in outdated opinions of its own greatness. The Japanese took their technology to war with the Chinese on-and-off for 50 years. Hence, the Chinese may now buy Japanese products, drive Japanese cars and eat sushi, but everyone knows who the real bad guys on the block are. Chinese school history books say it, the government says it and the recent actions of those wicked criminals across the Yellow Sea prove it.

So, to sum up, the Chinese government objected to the way one of its citizens was treated by a historical enemy and summoned more than enough invective to paint the Japanese once again as the bad guys. Their justification not only focused on the perceived unlawful detention of its skipper but also the question of ownership of the off-shore islands and historical perception of neighbouring states. There was no question of backing down to a lesser power in the sinosphere. The Chinese had nothing to lose but face and that just wasn't going to happen. Not now, not ever. With a Mandate of Heaven, China continues to teach the barbarians who's in charge. 

Contemporary Topical Latin Poetry and the Pope

I don't normally post other people's stuff, but I had to include this heard on the World Service driving home this afternoon. It's by a bloke called Adam Taylor who is, I believe, resident poet for the BBC, or perhaps only with the WS or maybe just for The World Today programme. The poems are read proper-like by a BBC announcer on the WS -there's a link on his website.  

Encyclica Britannica

Saluto populi.
Orbi et urbi.
Disturbi et perturbi.

Et tu Britannia.
Tua culpa.
Et sui generis.
Et orbis tertiis.

In nomine patris
et filii
et embryonicus sancti,
quo vadis?
Ad hoc?
Ad liberalismus?
Ad secularismus?
Ad egalitismus aggressivemus?

Toto est causa
per rex delinquante
in flagrante,
Rex Henry Octus.
Imperium in imperio.
Homo hereticus
et diabolicus.

Pax Britannia
est contra et versus 
pax Vaticana.

Habemus Papam,
Pontifex Maximus
et Germanicus.
Rottweiler Dei.
Capo di Tutti 
Cardinales.

Pontifico,
dogmatico,
pugnatico

contra relativismus
et homosexualismus
et matrimonia samesexismus,

contra contraceptum
et condominium
in Africanium.

Nil desperandum,
ego est pro.
Pro status quo.
Contra quid pro quo.

Pro memorabilius
et collectibilius
cum Benedictus.
Contra consumerismus
et materialismus.
Non est Christmas.

Pro dickensium
et chastitum
et celibatum.

Et paedophilio?
Mortificato
et discombobulato.
Convocato et censura
in camera obscura.

Et ultimato, declarato:
Anglicanis Prodigalis,
reverto ad Papa,
ad paterfamilias.
Ego Benedict.
Ego veritas.
Nil disputandum,
non est erratum.
Papa Benny
est infallibus.

 

Burn the Qur’an, burn the Bible and Dr Who

The (Reverend) Terry Jones [surely no relation to the Python below who is clearly a nicer bloke] relented and the Holy Qur’an remains un-cindered. A victory for public opinion? A direct result of national and international anger and political and military pressure? Happy with his 10-minutes of airtime? Thanks to Mr Jones we peered over a very steep cliff down which protrude many jagged rocks upon which we could crash (and probably no bottom either). There are but a few activities that whip up the passions more than book burning. Extremists know this and have used it in the past to rouse the great and generally unmoveable populace.

Book burning for religious and political reasons (and for sheer vandalism) is nothing new. In 2008 in Or Yehuda, Israel (and in 1984 in Jerusalem) Orthodox Jews burned any copy of the New Testament that came into their hands. Only 77 years ago, the Nazis proudly built bonfires containing all works connected in any way to Jews, such was their racial hatred. In 1204, the Crusaders barbarically destroyed the amazing library in Constantinople. In 48 BCE, troops under orders from none other that Julius Caesar burned the great and historic library at Alexandria, a loss that amounts to the most severe broken link between the ancient works of the classical and our modern worlds. Sadly, there are hundreds more examples of such literary abuses.

In the long and bloody history of book burning, or libricide, no religion or nation seems to been spared. It is, of course, a form of censorship, the banning not so much of the books, but of the ideas within. Anyone with a modicum of intelligence will know that the world changes when minds change and for that many books have been responsible. Books are, therefore, dangerous things. History, it is said, is written by the winners, but the losers often lose not just their place in the world but also their thoughts. The Inquisition of the middle ages waged a crusade against the Cathars in the Southern Europe and burned not only their heretic bodies, but also nearly all of their heretical Gnostic literature. They were successful. There are no more Cathars.

So, what would have changed had the Qur’an been burned on 9/11? Well, everything and nothing.

The everything is simple –the sight of the holiest aspect of Islam going up in flames would further arouse anti-American sentiment across the Muslim world. By further, I mean that where that is already demonstrable it would be seen even more. Even the moderate masses with TV images of a burned Qur’an fresh in their minds would take to the streets of the capital cities. Some with violent intentions would target anything overtly Christian or Jewish and the police would directly receive their anger. Undoubtedly people would be killed, further exacerbating the situation for many governments who would then be seen as siding with the offence. Crackdowns would ensue and thousands jailed. There’s nothing like a dose of prison to set minds rock-hard and for such to readily accept the black and white fundamentalist religio-political thoughts of those such as Sayyid Qutb or Abul Ala Maududi: our way or the highway! The world would be even-more rent by religious extremists. Actions of the Defenders of the Faith against soft targets, such as tourists, would be justified, celebrated and imitated… and so-on.

The nothing is also quite clear. For some, a clearly defined external hate-figure is more important than internal reflection or, God-forbid, intellectual development. Thus, those that despise the Great Satan and all of his works are already out there hating, conspiring, demonstrating and propagating their polemics and invectives. Yet one more example of rampant anti-Islamism in the West further confirms their self-righteous zeal. Yes, there would be demonstrations and killings, but there already are. Do the extremists need another excuse? Nope. Do the troops in Iraq and Afghanistan need more hostility? Nope. Are they expecting it? Of course.

Religious and political books are not the only things burned. The infamous Bonfire of the Vanities in 1497 saw wonderful medieval works of art perish in the flames because of the priest Savanarola’s firebrand preaching. The straight-laced New York Society for the Suppression of Vice sought an end to pornographic publications and saw itself as a guardian of public morality. It took to smashing plates and presses that produced ‘objectionable’ books long before anyone thought of using the First Amendment. Quite clearly it failed. In the United Kingdom Mary Whitehouse of the National Viewers’ and Listeners’ Association similarly disapproved of increasing public lewdness on TV not only of such comedic luminaries as Benny Hill and Dave Allen, but also Dr Who! Dr Who? Not quite on the order of burning a Qur’an, I know, but perhaps the thin end of the wedge…

Whatever you think, the threat to burn a book says more about the burner than the book. If your world is spiralling out of control and the enemy is at the gates, perhaps a symbolic pyre of pages is a cathartic act or a sanctimonious offering. Do folks really feel better after the immolation of ideas? If so, perhaps we should all do it. First choose your opponent (preferably a dead author or one who belongs to a minority), gather all their works and torch away. You could even sing a little song to celebrate your virtuous position in trampling their nefarious outrages. But be careful: as Ray Bradbury described in Fahrenheit 451, books can also be remembered. Now that’s downright dangerous!

 

Belfast Ale (and past Belfast Ails)

August 7^th Day something

Belfast Ale

Beatrice Kennedy restaurant, Botanic Avenue, Belfast

Having eaten lots… and I mean lots… over the past few days, the thought of going out to eat more would have seemed greedy, if we did not have some flimsy excuse to justify our piggishness: so to Beatrice Kennedy’s, a mere amble down the road from the Ibis Hotel, for an “exciting range of dishes”.

This standard Victorian house has been traditionally decorated in period dark greens and reds, landscape pictures hung and the odd ornament here and there, all of which conveys that established semi-antiquarian feel. The publicity write-ups were good and the menu, although short (six starters and six mains listed), covered all bases: certainly the steak and salmon were well prepared and, although not spectacular, certainly hit a mark (burp!).

We considered a wine to accompany, but were, as said earlier, just not hungry enough. The Belfast Ale was therefore a welcome diversion. A short head on a weak cola-coloured clear ale, the presence was initially understated, but in tasting filled a full and pleasant palate. The lasting effect was of a strong hoppity-hop accent and extremely maltyness –almost to the point of malt extract. It went down quite well and, if I had chosen a lighter course I think I would felt contented, but like a fool I ordered another and, on top of the steak and truffle mash, suffered for it: So much for my pursuit of Epicureanism through wanton noshing at the trough –perhaps a simple salad would have sufficed (and then a jog home and yoga and meditation and…)

Staying in Belfast has been interesting (and a wee bit chilly). Ostensibly we have been here so that Brenda could attend the Inclusive and Supportive Education Congress conference held at Queens University. But what has been of nearly as much interest has been exposure to Northern Irish culture, and perhaps working class NI culture at that, with the attendant outwards displays of ire and identity, tribal tattoos and inflexible invective. “Fair do’s to ‘em!”

I think it’s fair to say that most English-types (and many expats in HK for that matter) have created distance from our religious and tribal origins. There are few of us willing to lay down our lives to defend our identity as Wessex men and women, or East Anglians, Mercians or Northumbrians. Perhaps only those whose national identities have been threatened, such as the Irish, Welsh or Scots, have defended them as ferociously (although there are undoubtedly similar thoughts held by some Cornish, Cumbrians and the inveterate Yorkshiremen). Let’s not kid ourselves; English history is one of conquest. But despite the embarrassing World Cup St George’s bunting fluttering from Astras and Escorts throughout the land (as a kid the flag was always the Union Jack), few English would take to the streets to protest anything and none but those on the maddest radical racialist fringe would get fired up against their Irish Catholic or Scottish Protestant neighbours. Few would raise anything more than an eyebrow (at most a frosty few lines to The Times) in order to defend the Church of England, the established religious institution of the land with the Queen as head. Some might find time in the pub to voice disapproval of the prevalence of Mosques, but they wouldn’t dream of burning them down or knee-capping their Muslim neighbour’s teenagers. We have our freedom of speech and our tolerance for others, our love for eccentricities and delight in exotica. We had an Empire and direct threats of obliteration, barring the menace of Hitler, did not occur since the times of Napoleon. Perhaps, if the few extremists amongst the Muslim minority would get fired up, take direct action and cause a bit of mayhem, at most we’d call for greater police protection, but for now English sectarianism is wholly unpalatable.

This hasn't, however, always been the case. Popular English violent protests against anything Papish took place during the 16-18^th centuries, but perhaps took on more racist overtones following the large immigration of Irish Catholics at the onset of the industrial revolution. They came to work in the new factories, they helped build canals, roads and then railways. Their wave of immigration, of course, was one of many: such a regular occurrence since these Islands were first detached from mainland Europe, there is about as much chance of finding an 'indigenous Brit' as there is the Loch Ness Monster. For many it is a matter of interest alone, and perhaps not a little pride, that some may have Catholic Irish or Scottish Presbyterianism or even Jewish blood coursing through their veins. The last great wave of Irish immigrants, however, that arrived during the catastrophic peaceful decades that following the Napoleonic wars heralded a great change in British demographics, but to no more effect than shuffling cards. The Irish, Scots, Welsh and the English are a common people with different histories, accents, literature and power. And it is, as far as I’m concerned, the last point which holds most true.

That power is held in London is accidental. Had the Romans been defeated, or the Saxons or Normans for that matter, then perhaps the British capital might be Oxford, Winchester or even Slough: imagine that and be grateful!

I have great sympathy with those who have been denied power or the access to it: the world is full of such as these. And perhaps that is why the tenuous Belfast Agreement has held since 1998: it finally addressed the genuine grievances of a sizeable section of the community that had little satisfaction through the instruments of established British government.

It may have taken a thousand years to bring about union of English, Scots, Welsh and Irish, and this has undoubtedly come partly through economic pressure and partly through the sword. As much as an Independent Scotland and a United Ireland may bring out the William Wallace or the Michael Collins in many, the truth is that cash walks when bullets fly. Belfast is clearly prospering and long may it continue to do so. The defensive working class agendas proudly on display may hark back to a strong siege mentality, but growth can only occur with freedom. Perhaps the freedom from the demons of the past can be summed up in two lines I saw on the side of the Garrick Bar in the city centre:

 

“A nation that keeps one eye on the past is wise.

A nation that keeps two eyes on the past is blind.”

 

 

Looks like another Tory Dawn

I must say that, despite the hype and the hyperbole of the election campaigns and the tension and drama of election night, we're still left with the same old same old...

     

  

I'm certainly not a Tory, nor do my sympathies lie much with Labour. In many ways, I thought this election would throw up some change, some great seismic activity that would genuinely alter the way in which British politics is done. I suppose I've always been an optimist...

I suppose it's a good thing that the Greens got someone in at Brighton and that the BNP didn't get anywhere at all.

Watching the election on the BBC News website on-and-off during the day, it has become obvious that voting has been traditional and safe.

Having said that, it appears the big issues of the day have been fairly well aired. The leaders' debates were a welcome change from cosy fireside chat Parliamentary Broadcasts (although I'm sure those unashamedly continued). MPs, however, are still tarnished with the expenses scandals and Britain is still in a bit of an economic depression. Perhaps it was being suddenly faced with a choice that the voters opted for the familiar and only ticked the party names they knew. 

From outside the UK it seems Gordon Brown is an embattled, unpopular PM. He seems awkward and cumbersome, stuttering at the despatch box and barely able to fence off Cameron's boyish goads. Cameron, for that matter, appears polite and polished -the sort of well-mannered man your mum would enjoy having round for tea. Nick Clegg is always the Third Man, an apparently sensible guy who is included because he is well-liked and enjoys the multi-cultural mix of the new 21st Century United Kingdom.

Many reasons have been thrown up for the Conservative result -a reaction to thirteen years of Labour rule. Perhaps enough time has elapsed since the last Conservative government for the voters to forget quite how that felt: Thatcher and then Major keeping the blue flag flying throughout the 80s and most of the 90s. The Labour party, I suppose, has kept their majorities in many areas because they still have substantial support at grass-roots level. They were wise to keep Tony Blair away from the limelight.

And so to the Liberal Democrats. Clegg, despite having a favourable time of it in the debates and being a relatively young-ish leader of a young-ish party with what appears to be a different perspective, has not been able to break through the barrier that transcends good will into votes. And that's why they have always demanded a change from First-Past-the-Post to Proportional Representation. The trouble is, if that system was in place then the Conservatives would have an outright win of about 36% and the Libs would still trail third with only 23.

But I have another theory: it's the wives. Who would you rather have opening the door of No 10, taking your birefcase and enquiring with a smile, "Did you have a nice time in Brazzaville"?

Samantha Cameron has been the focus of much Fleet Street column inches. Sarah Brown has tried hard, but remains a bit of a Plain Jane. And Miriam González Durántez? Who she? She Nick Clegg woman!

 

There are, I am sure, as many reasons to vote as there are voters. Maybe the hung parliament will mean a jiggling political dance that thrusts newer faces to the fore. Maybe it will re-focus our political thoughts and generate meaningful debate about the direction our parties (and country) is headed. Or maybe we'll be ham-strung as in days of yore with another Lib-Lab Pact, which never worked in the past and will as likely sound the death-knell for Labour as it did after 1974.

Perhaps we should leave it to Private Eye to cut to the quick. A great front page, I think it's summed up the silly side of this Election, Leader Wives-Yes it's the Core! Vote

Saucy Sarah              Sexy Sam            The Other One

This election promised much, yet delived the same. It was so much fun, I think we've set ourselves up for another later this year.