Thursday 11 April 2013

No Rose Tinted Memory for Thatcher


In light of the entirely predictable, spineless, tow-the-line reaction of many politicians and commentators to “Lady” Thatcher’s death, and of the media reaction to those celebrating her death, I feel it is time to pause writing about travelling in Indonesia in favour of a rant on this subject.

Barack Obama is of the opinion that the “world has lost one of the great champions of freedom and liberty”
Nick Clegg thinks the fact that he “can shun the tenets of Thatcherism and yet still respect Margaret Thatcher is part of what was so remarkable about her”.

Short memory Barack?  Still respect her Nick?  Isn’t there a line somewhere that, once crossed, loses one the respect they may otherwise have earned, regardless of one’s subsequent death?  Gary Glitter crossed that line and lost the respect that his music – not that I liked it anyway – had earned him.  While not personally interested in seeing this as a time to party unlike some, it must be said that supporting the Apartheid regime in South Africa and providing political and military support to mass murdering dictators such as Chile’s General Pinochet, Indonesia’s General Suharto and Cambodia’s Pol Pot to name just a few constitutes stepping so far over said line that respect cannot be afforded to this horrible woman in death any more than in life, nor can she be remembered as “a champion of freedom and liberty”.  A more honest quote from those representing opposing political parties would be appreciated, such as this from my sister:
A wicked woman

“Margaret Thatcher is dead. She was Prime Minister from age 4 to 15 for me, so I spent my years growing up to loathe this woman. I know opinions are divided, mostly depending on where you grew up geographically and economically. Those born in the south east with a silver spoon no doubt saw boom and prosperity. But I grew up in the north east surrounded by poverty and saw the fallout from her actions. Families and communities were torn apart and many took decades to recover, if they did at all. For the good of the economy, eh? She taught me that the economy is more important than people to Conservatives. I've invested and expended so much mental energy in my adult life in loathing this woman and now she is gone forever. I don't quite know how I feel, but this is certainly momentous.”

Society has a bad habit of ignoring reality where a dead person is concerned.  Sure, families must grieve, but that doesn’t mean the history of the deceased person should be rewritten in a more positive light.  Why should someone be paid more respect in death than in life?  Should we hide the fact that we loathe everything they stood for and firmly believe they caused a staggering amount of human suffering?  Led by our mass media, our society really can show appalling double standards.  Remember Jade Goody, the reality TV star loved and hated for essentially being stupid?  The UK media and many of our citizens turned on her after she made racist remarks to a co contestant in an episode of Big Brother.  I was more of the opinion that she was ignorant than racist.  While not excusing racism, I hope most will agree that there is a big difference between a wealthy, educated racist such as BNP leader Nick Griffin inciting hatred, and a fool used to political incorrectness who puts her foot in it and whose main crime is that of ignorance.  What she said was unnecessary and offensive and her career was all but over because of it.  Not long after this, with her popularity at an all time low, she was diagnosed with cancer.  All of a sudden she was brave Jade. Her popularity then skyrocketed as her health deteriorated culminating in her death not long after, the nation feeling guilty for ever having said a bad word about her.  While not passing judgement on this, it does serve to highlight the point that our perception of individuals, often encouraged by our tabloids and televisions, changes if that person dies.  While tolerable it may be with regards to relatively harmless loudmouths like Jade Goody, this is lunacy when it comes to political leaders, especially those who were responsible for overwhelming human suffering as opposed to an ignorant racial slur.   While any civilized person will have sympathy for a deceased politician’s family, surely one shouldn’t forget how they truly behaved in life and in the Houses of Parliament.

So it is infuriating to see publications and politicians across the world amplifying this woman’s qualities (maybe I shouldn’t use a plural as the only quality I can think of is that she was strong willed), while brushing under the carpet the not insignificant evils of destroying communities, slashing funding of hospitals, redistributing wealth from the poor to the rich, providing economic and political support to a who’s who of twentieth century dictators and arming Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge, Cambodia’s terrifying regime, responsible for the death of two million people – around a fifth of its population – as it tried to regain power after being ousted in an operation led by neighbouring Vietnam.  That’s right.  Her government armed and provided military training to a regime which rivaled that of Hitler’s Nazi Party when it came to murdering innocent people.  And this was after the mass slaughter.  Maggie couldn’t claim to have armed them while being ignorant of their intentions.  No, they had already murdered 2 million people and she still did what she could to help them regain power.  Imagine if after Hitler had been ousted from power, the Nazis had retreated into the mountains and our government’s leader had provided arms and expertise to assist them in trying to take back power of Germany.  Would such glowing tributes be offered on their deathbed if they had been guilty of this, and would those fiercely critical of such a person be derided for speaking up?  Well that’s what Thatcher did for a similar regime on the other side of the world, and yet she is going out in style, with a multi million pound funeral paid for with money from the not so deep pockets of many of those from communities which she destroyed.

I am originally from Bishop Auckland, a small town in the north east of England situated near many coal mining communities whom Thatcher went to war on.  One tactic was to shut a mine, on which the livelihoods of those living close to it depended, and then kick them out of their homes.  It had to be done so the reasoning went because there weren’t any jobs. No longer could they live in the close-knit countryside community they had grown up in, with their shared history, extended families, local football teams and small businesses supporting one another. Many would have to move to Newton Aycliffe, a sparsely populated vast area comprising a large industrial estate and a town of scattered streets, often with many hundreds of metres of featureless grass and concrete between each cluster of houses where few people knew their neighbours as well as one did in the small towns and villages immediately to the north.  It didn’t cross her mind to provide a bus service for her citizens to travel the ten to fifteen miles from the pit villages into Aycliffe so they could keep their homes.  Or rather, it did, but she was bent on destroying human solidarity as well as the mines.  So people were forcibly evicted and scattered throughout factories in the new industrial estate, if they were lucky to even get another job.

I'm not interested in partying because of anyone’s death but considering her impact on the lives of so many people I am not surprised that many have chosen to do so.  It is a travesty that criticism of such celebration seems to deserve column inches in our newspapers more than criticism of Thatcher’s past policies.  What is the bigger evil?  People partying because a politician has died or a politician’s acts contributing to the death or misery of thousands, if not millions of people across the world?  I would like to challenge those who think such high spirits are in bad taste to ask themselves if they would condemn those who celebrated the death of Thatcher’s old friends General Pinochet and Saddam Hussein, and if not, why exactly should the goalposts be moved in this instance?  I have never celebrated the death of anyone and am not starting here, but I don’t think anyone should show restraint in shouting from the rooftops about what a callous failure of a human being this woman was, in order that history doesn’t allow us to look back with rose tinted spectacles and subsequently make the mistake of welcoming another one of her ilk into office again, if we haven’t already done so in David Cameron.

Sunday 7 April 2013

Rubbish and Jellyfish

Samalona island

On my recent holiday in South Sulawesi I decided to try snorkeling for the first time.  It may seem strange that a 31 year old, well travelled man living in the world’s coral epicenter had never been snorkeling before, but this is down to a phobia I have of being underwater, which probably developed after almost drowning as a child.  I can swim fine, but as soon as my face is submerged I feel panic and always have for as long as I can remember. Being fascinated by nature however I decided it was time to try snorkeling, and who knows in future maybe even diving too.  

I had been told by a friend about a beautiful, tiny island off the coast of Makassar called Samalona that was far enough away from the industrial port city to enjoy unpolluted waters.  I had to charter a boat to get there, which involved a bit of haggling.  I can’t blame the guy for trying, but powering a small motorboat while smoking cigarettes for the 20 minute crossing and back, hanging around on a beach for the 3 hours in between just isn't worth 400k rupiah (about 25 pounds) considering the cost of living here.  You can easily live off that amount for a week.  So I got him down to 250 and boarded his vessel. We embarked from a small and disgustingly polluted beach in Makassar's harbour.  I had to wait on the still docked boat for fifteen minutes while he went to get more gas for it.  Looking around I could see rubbish and decay everywhere, especially in the water when I looked over the edge.  It was as if someone drops their weekly groceries in the water every day, such was the volume of plastic, metal and card, complete with brands and logos. 

World's most beautiful beach?  Makassar harbour
Eventually we set off, arriving a short time later.  Being a popular tourist spot for those living in Makassar, a city similar in size to Glasgow, and for travelers using the city as a hub to see other parts of Sulawesi, I had the not unreasonable expectations that this little island would have one or two pleasant beachside cafes or restaurants where one could enjoy freshly caught seafood in pleasant surroundings.  I couldn't have been more disappointed. There were two places to eat, both in the centre of the island, both in run down shacks with dirty plastic seating.  You could take your food to the beach – the island takes less than a minute to walk from one side to the other, but all that was on offer was bog standard fried rice or instant noodles along with a variety of snacks often found in corner shops.  As for the pleasant surroundings, it seems that a consensus has been reached among the 5 or 6 families who live here that the randomly scattered presence of piles of corrugated iron and discarded gas bottles among other debris doesn't constitute a problem when trying to attract more visitors.  There are signs up asking readers in three different languages to keep the island clean, yet it doesn't seem the residents let alone the tourists understand them.  The people were very polite and friendly, and I really felt for a lovely woman in her fifties who offered me my noodles for free – I insisted on paying – when she scribbled down her e mail address and phone number explaining to me that there are rooms upstairs and wondered if I knew more people who wanted to visit her island.  It’s harsh, but apart from the snorkeling there is absolutely no reason to come here unless you already live in Makassar.  Considering divers have a plethora of destination choices here in Indonesia, most of which also offer a reasonable environment on land as well as a chance to see marine life, how could I possibly suggest to a friend that they spend any time here?

After eating I hired the snorkel equipment.  I really was pathetic. It is no doubt amusing for onlookers used to snorkeling to see an evidently inexperienced, half naked, lanky foreigner struggling to walk on the beach with his flippers on, having put them on too far away from the shoreline, almost falling over with every step, eventually turning around and completing the short journey walking backwards and almost falling over again.  Things went from bad to worse as I had no idea which way round to put the breathing apparatus in my mouth and after figuring it out and finally getting my head underwater the goggles kept slipping off, allowing water into my nose, which immediately brought out my phobia of drowning even though I was obviously in no real danger and only had to pop my head back above the water and adjust the mask.  Eventually I managed a degree of success, keeping my face under for six or seven stints of about 30 seconds each before the water came in again.  I later learned one possible reason for this was that I had a beard which makes it difficult for the apparatus to remain watertight. After only around five minutes of this hopeless flapping around, in which time I was briefly dazzled by an exotic array of brightly coloured cretins, I felt a sharp pain on my arm.  This coincided with the water getting in my mask for about the fifth time, and with the disappointment of the island itself I figured all I had to do now was passively hear ‘Someone Like You’ by Adele to make this a thoroughly unsuccessful day.  I put it down to sunburn I had suffered the day before, hoped it would go away, adjusted my mask and went back under.  Almost immediately I felt another pain, and then another, this time both in my back, thought ‘Fuck this’ and headed back to the comfort of the part beach part building materials dumping ground.  I had red spots on my back and arm where the pains were.  A concerned lady inspected me and said something in Indonesian, most of which I couldn't understand, but I did notice the words “long hair” while she was extending the length between her hands after gesticulating something circular.  With the clues I had to go on, I assumed that meant I had been stung by a jellyfish.  She then explained that it was painful at the time but it would soon be ok and I shouldn't worry.  So I got my things together, hopped back on the boat, with a fat freeloading (not that I minded) breast feeding mother who wanted a cheeky ride back to the mainland and left Samalona behind forever.  I wouldn't recommend it unless you are already living in Makassar and are a clean shaven experienced snorkeler who feels at home on a sun drenched building site.

Tuesday 2 April 2013

The Hands of History



To the north of the city of Makassar lies a region called Maros which features spectacular, forest covered vertical rock formations jutting out from the otherwise flat landscape.  It really will be difficult to appreciate any natural beauty the UK has to offer once I get home after witnessing South Sulawesi’s breathtaking landscapes, which also hide archaeological treasures.  I have always been fascinated by caves and have only recently had the opportunity to visit any.  So it was a welcome surprise when after arriving at Leang-leang national park to explore, a ranger led the way through an area suited to the set of a fantasy movie and then, unexpectedly, up several flights of metal stairs (the only blot on otherwise picturesque surroundings) attached to the side of a rock face and into a cave about a hundred metres up the side of a mountain.  I don’t know why I find such environments so intriguing, maybe it has something to do with the excitement most of us felt as children upon finding a secret area outdoors that can be used a ‘den’; or maybe because such areas are so untouched by humans that it almost feels like you’re on another planet.  We entered a small area which I assumed represented the total volume of the cave, but then were shown a gap about the size of an elongated, skinny man, so proceeded through it and found a much larger area mostly in darkness but with occasional spots of sunlight filtering down from the cracks in the rock scattered above.  There was also what I can only describe as a natural window in one wall of the cave looking out to the park below.  Among my sillier thoughts at this time was the idea that this would make an awesome place for the typical crowd found in a Newcastle based hippy’s house party to get the decks fired up and the people dancing.  Shortly after this, our guide climbed onto a ledge and pointed at the rock above him.  Like a fool it took me about twenty seconds to properly notice what he was pointing at, initially thinking he was simply showing me an interesting texture of rock, which it was.  Then when I did notice the hands, as you can see in the picture, 
I wondered how it had taken me so long to notice them.  These hand prints are over 5000 years old.  I find that mind boggling.  Whose are these hands, what is the story of their lives and their people?  What was happening here, thousands of years before the Roman Empire and on the other side of the world?  In another cave not far from this one, we were also shown shells embedded in the rock, implying that this place, far above sea level, and inland, had once been underwater.  One can easily experience a momentary appreciation of just how tiny our lives really are when faced with relics so old, and when also considering that even such a large amount of time represents many times less than one percent of the time life has been on earth.  This trip was all made possible by a very kind woman from  Makassar called Chicha who had messaged me on couchsurfing, a website for travellers to meet each other after I had posted a request for guidance.  I didn’t really know where places like this were, but she picked me up  at 6am after I had travelled overnight for ten hours, took me to meet her family who cooked for me, before being my guide, and then dropping me off in the city later that evening.  It seems there are good people who just want to help all over the world.