outsidein »

  • CAF on Togo

    January 31, 2010 @ 11:09 pm | by Bryan

    I sometimes wonder whether the ability to inhabit an alternate universe is a necessary qualification for entry into officialdom. How else does one make sense of CAF’s (The Confederation of African Football) decision to ban and fine Togo’s national football team for pulling out of this year’s Africa Cup of Nations?

    I’m struggling to understand how that kind of decision is reached. The football body’s executive committee met to discuss Togo’s exit from the competition, and then what? Someone said, “Sad as the fatal attack may have been, it’s imperative that we uphold Article 78 of our constitution?” And then what, the rest of the committee said, “Oh yes, article 78 … once you let go of things like Article 78, the whole game falls apart?”

    Who reads the 78th article of anything? The first 10 or 20, maybe, but the 78th? And even if the entire executive committee was intimately acquainted with that article, even if they thought it was vital that it be upheld, didn’t any of them have the decency to point out the obvious? That the sanctity of life, respect for the dead, simple decency – that these things trump rules, constitutions, articles and even the whims of big men in dark suits?

    The decision to ban Togo shames CAF. Either Piers Edwards is right and there’s a horrifying political dynamic to it – in which case CAF is guilty of trying to manipulate a tragedy for political gain – or my made up scenario isn’t too far from what really happened – meaning that CAF’s top brass are callous beyond words.

    In either case, they occupy a universe that is very different to the one in which ordinary fans of African football dwell. There may be a lot wrong with my continent, but the sort of attitude towards life that CAF has demonstrated is ordinarily only thought of as the pathology of criminals, bandits and the completely unhinged.

  • Thursday Book Club

    January 28, 2010 @ 11:03 pm | by Bryan

    Sources of the Self

    I’m curious to know how many people have bought the book and have started reading it. Any initial thoughts?

    We’ll discuss chapter 1 next week.

  • Cork, 3 years on

    @ 10:59 pm | by Bryan

    I moved to Ireland a little over 3 years ago, and lived in Cork City for close to a year. Honestly, my memories of the place aren’t pleasant. I don’t know whether that’s because Cork is a hard place to break into socially, or if I just transposed all my negative immigration experiences and feelings onto the city.

    I was asked to speak at an event in Cork last night and was definitely more nervous about seeing my old neighborhood than my speaking engagement. When I lived there, I was part of an invisible underclass. Well, invisible in one social sense, and a very obvious sore thumb in another. Immigration was a hot topic at the time, and a very emotive one at that. An unemployed black man killing time along Patrick Street during the week at 11 o’clock in the morning was the very image groups like the Immigrant Control Platform were fighting. I can’t even begin to compare my time in the city with the experiences of people in segregated America, but were it not for my time in Cork, I’m sure the following passage from W. E. B. Du Bois’ The Souls of Black Folk would have a different ring in my ears:

    Between me and the other world there is ever an unasked question: unasked by some through feelings of delicacy; by others through the difficulty of rightly framing it. All, nevertheless, flutter round it. They approach me in a half- hesitant sort of way, eye me curiously or compassionately, and then, instead of saying directly, How does it feel to be a problem? they say, I know an excellent colored man in my town; or, I fought at Mechanicsville; or, Do not these Southern outrages make your blood boil? At these I smile, or am interested, or reduce the boiling to a simmer, as the occasion may require. To the real question, How does it feel to be a problem? I answer seldom a word.

    I didn’t feel like a problem last night. I wonder if that’s because having real problems tends to make you turn away from silly ones? Maybe the country’s current difficulties have brought perspective to the issues around immigration. Or maybe I’m just out of touch – part of the group Du Bois (wrongly in my opinion) calls the talented tenth; those minorities who have been assimilated into the mainstream.

    It’s probably a little of both. I was sad to leave Cork this morning because I feel less ‘other’ there now. Whatever the reason, I suppose immigration is one of those things that, at both the individual and collective levels, gets better with time.

    I’m left feeling pretty optimistic.

  • Pirates

    January 26, 2010 @ 2:46 pm | by Bryan

    Rihanna has released a version of Bob Marley’s Redemption Song in order to raise funds for people in Haiti. As the pop star told Oprah, “This song, for me, any time there was a difficult situation, I always listened to this song. It’s so liberating. Even now, I listen to it when my back is up against the wall. I feel the people of Haiti need to hear something inspiring.” Hmmm….

    Redemption Song is my favorite Bob Marley track. Rita Marley said that her late husband was already in a lot of pain when he wrote it. I don’t know if that pain is what separates the song from others. Or if it’s the simplicity of a man singing with nothing but a guitar to aid him. Or maybe it’s the knowledge that there’s something subversive in the lyrics, even if you don’t know what that something is.

    Years ago, in a dingy room in one of the halls of residence at the University of Zimbabwe, a friend tried to explain to me exactly why those lyrics are subversives. Imagine genuinely believing that someone had literally saved your soul from eternal damnation; pulled you out of ‘the bottomless pit’, so to speak. Imagine then that the same person, minutes later, put you in chains and sold you into a cruel, brutal captivity.

    Old pirates, yes, they rob I;
    Sold I to the merchant ships,
    Minutes after they took I
    From the bottomless pit.

    What does that have to do with Haiti’s earthquake? Simply put, I think you, me, Rihanna and anyone else who can afford to get onto the internet and read this, we’re today’s pirates.

    I once lived in a cockroach infested house. They were invisible most of the time and would only come out after we had all gone to bed. But if you got up in the middle of the night and switched on a light, especially in the kitchen, you would see them scurrying towards the closest hiding place. The response to Haiti’s earthquake reminded me of that house; I felt as though I were seeing the same process, only in reverse. Disaster struck, and where many saw international solidarity and good will, I saw a swarm scurrying onto a vulnerable population for all sorts of reasons – some, genuinely there to help; more for chess-like geopolitical positional advantage; and even more for marketing reasons, in order to gain greater brand exposure and recognition for one’s country, company or organisation. And I suppose it was inevitable: a disaster like that, it was bound to have a huge television audience.

    And let’s be honest, under normal circumstances, who cares about Haiti? Who really cares about it’s history? So what if the French and Americans have plundered and sucked it dry? And if it’s political instability is in good part the result of the meddling of Western countries (including the seemingly benign, like Canada) and institutions like the United Nations?

    What if said meddling leads to your financial gain and mine? Thomas Pogge, in several books and academic papers, argues that if we are involved in, or benefit from institutions that exploit or in other ways harm people, even if those people are on the other side of the world, we are guilty of harming those people and have a duty towards them. Pogge, in my opinion, convincingly makes his point, and he clearly demonstrates the fact that we the global aristocrats – we who don’t worry about whether or not we’ll eat anything tomorrow – do in fact benefit from institutions that harm people in places like Haiti.

    But if we took the likes of Pogge seriously, we couldn’t continue to live as we do. So when Senator David Norris suggested on radio yesterday that people in Ireland may be partially responsible for the situation in Haiti, he was unsurprisingly put in his place by his audience. Not only was he told that the Irish are incredibly generous (the Department of Foreign Affairs have been very busy lately because there has been a lot to say about the Irish government’s response to the earthquake), but what happened in Haiti was a natural disaster. It wasn’t, of course. There may have been an earthquake, but the exaggerated loss of life resulted from the structural failures that led to poor infrastructure and administration in that country. Those structural failures, if you believe Pogge, come back to you and I.

    So what are we to do? We’ll express remorse. We might even learn where the country is on the map. Some will give. Some will give a lot, maybe even of their time. They’ll try to raise funds for the disaster relief, and they may even go to Haiti or other miserable places to help comfort the suffering. But for most of us, something else will capture our attention in the coming months. The World Cup maybe. Or we’ll find out that some other celebrity had an affair. Or a row will erupt over whether bankers should be burdened with an additional tax on their second imported luxury car. Whatever it is, we’ll forget about Haiti until its next disaster.

    Institutionally, the likes of John O’Shea and The Economist will do their best to turn Haiti into a modern day colony, only with benevolent colonial masters. Bill Clinton will probably get another term in office, even if it is a smaller one. Naomi Klein will despair as she watches the process she described in her book unfold. Things will probably go wrong. Poor Haitians are likely to go on being the wretched of the earth (or at the very least, the wretched of the Western Hemisphere). And you and I will be the better for it, even if we oblivious to the workings of the world.

    I wonder if that is what Rihanna had in mind when she decided to fundraise for Haiti with Bob Marley’s song? Probably not. But I’m sure Marley would have seen the irony in the fact that I gain financially from this piece. I too am a pirate.

  • Obama a year on

    January 21, 2010 @ 5:09 pm | by Bryan
    YouTube Preview Image

    A year ago I wrote the following:

    …I think Obama’s role is largely symbolic … I think the biggest ‘thing’ he gives his nation and the rest of the world is a sense of hope and possibility. Having lived in places where hope literally sustains people, I would be the last person to belittle the importance of that quality… Tied in to that hope, I think he inspires people to strive for more and better. Again, you can’t quantify the importance of that. But even I, an unashamed Obama fan, have begun to feel that the level of expectation on him in some quarters has gone way beyond the ridiculous.

    It has only been twelve months, but things have changed dramatically. I’m not an Obama fan anymore, and I certainly don’t think that he inspires universal hope. As for ‘Yes We Can’, I personally feel betrayed.

    Why betrayed? Barack Obama ran as more than just a ‘change candidate’. He ran as a man who wanted to ‘transcend politics’; an ordinary human being in high political office. The idea was that the political process in the United States would be simplified, and ordinary people would get to dictate to government and the political establishment, not the other way around – government of the people, for the people, and all of that. I think that’s what galvanised so many people: the idea that the masses would get to call the shots. That of course, hasn’t happened.

    The example that most stands out is the so-called healthcare debate. Even before the ‘debate’ was opened to people, a settlement was supposedly reached with the health insurance industry. A pragmatic move? Maybe, but to then characterise the so-called healthcare reform as a means of ‘sticking it to the man’ was deceitful. And having begun with the health insurance industry in mind, is it any wonder that word of bill being successfully passed resulted in stock-market gains for those same companies? Worst of all, the closest that the public – the ‘we’ in ‘Yes We Can’ – came to a crafting their own healthcare legislation, was being campaigned to by politicians with their own ideas about how to go about things. Not exactly rule of and for the people.

    According to today’s editorial:
    The constant management of expectations, the brokering of compromise after compromise in Congress over health, the recommitment to the war in Afghanistan, the deferral of action on jobs while bankers were “rescued”, and delays in closing Guantánamo, have contributed to [President Obama’s] gradual alienation from his Democratic base.

    True, but more than those things, I think it is the feeling that though he may be a decent man with good intentions, the president is still at heart a politician in the mould of other politicians. His decine in popularity has to do with the fact that there will be no earthshaking change under his tenure, that as things stand, really, ‘we can’t’.

  • Thursday Book Club

    @ 4:42 pm | by Bryan

    Sources of the Self

    This is still just a reminder. We’ll be discussing chapter 1 of Charles Taylor’s Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity on Thursday, 4 February.

  • A thought

    January 19, 2010 @ 6:18 pm | by Bryan

    I see no value in communities as such – many types of community are nastily oppressive – and the values of community, as understood by the American spokespersons of contemporary communitarianism, such as Amitai Etzioni, are compatible with and supportive of the values of liberalism that I reject. My own critique of liberalism derives from a judgement that the best type of human life, that in which the tradition of the virtues is most adequately embodied, is lived by those engaged in constructing and sustaining forms of community directed towards the shared achievement of those common goods without which the ultimate human good cannot be achieved. Liberal political societies are characteristically committed to denying any place for a determinate conception of the human good in their public discourse, let alone allowing that their common life should be grounded in such a conception. On the dominant liberal view government is to be neutral as between rival conceptions of the human good, yet in fact what liberalism promotes is a kind of institutional order that is inimical to the construction and sustaining of the types of communal relationship required for the best kind of human life.

    …conservatism is in too many ways a mirror image of the liberalism that it professedly opposes. Its commitment to a way of life structured by a free market economy is a commitment to an individualism as corrosive as that of liberalism. And, where liberalism by permissive legal enactments has tried to use the power of the modern state to transform social relationships, conservatism by prohibitive legal enactments now tries to use that same power for its own coercive purposes … And the figure cut by present day conservative moralists, with their inflated and self-righteous unironic rhetoric, should be set alongside those figures whom I identified … as notable characters in the cultural dramas of modernity, that of the therapist, who has in the last twenty years become bemused by biochemical discoveries, that of the corporate manager, who is now mouthing formulas that she or he learned in a course in business ethics, while still trying to justify her or his pretensions to expertise, and that of the aesthete, who is presently emerging from a devotion to conceptual art. So the conservative moralist has become one more stock character in the scripted conversations of the ruling elites of advanced modernity.

    - Alasdair MacIntyre 2007, ‘Prologue to the Third Edition’, in After Virtue.

  • We aren’t even cultural half-castes

    January 18, 2010 @ 8:40 pm | by Bryan

    We want to liberate ourselves politically so that we can express our négritude, our real black values.

    When we have reached what you call ‘equality’ … there is another problem, the problem which Wright brought up the other day: he is an American. Is he an American? Being an American, is he heir to European civilization or to African civilization or to American civilization?

    …Césaire and I have often asked ourselves this question. Many of us are Marxists. But Marx wasn’t an African. His ideas arise from the situation of men in Western Europe…

    …Today, we are objectively half-castes … much of the reasoning of French Africans derives from Descartes.
    - Léopold Sédar Senghor, 1965, ‘We are all Cultural Half-Castes’.

    Senghor fascinates me. He was one of the founding members of Négritude, a movement which sought to highlight what was positive in African culture, which also served as an intellectual pillar on which African decolonisation was built. At the same time, he was probably as French as one could be. While he was obviously proud of elements of his own cultural background, Senghor was very much taken by French culture. To use his own words, he was a cultural half-caste.

    I thought about Senghor as I was having a conversation with a friend about the differences between rural and urban life; especially our tendency to view modernity, exemplified by urban life, as some sort of lifestyle gold standard. My friend is of the opinion that there is nothing ‘ideal’ about the urban metropolitan lifestyle and that it’s wrong to think of people who live in places like rural Galway (or rural Zimbabwe for that matter) as being in some way inferior. It’s not at all clear that ‘progress’ – the drive towards greater technologicl and industrial advancement – represents anything more than an insatiable appetite for more, or an inability to find contentment.

    While I agree completely, I don’t know if it’s possible to resist the juggernaut that is modernity and postmodern culture. The Senegalese Senghor was overwhelmed by the beauty of the French language and the insight in Descartes philosophy. Today, most of us have to contend with an unrelenting advertising onslaught that points towards fulfillment in material acquisition. I don’t know if it’s even possible for the rural Galwegian, let alone the rural Zimbabwean, to resist that pull.

    In that sense, there aren’t very many cultural half-castes left. Most of us are on our way to becoming, or already are, postmodern cultural pure-breeds … whether we like it or not.

  • My Kristof conundrum

    January 14, 2010 @ 11:43 pm | by Bryan

    Nicholas Kristof wrote a fascinating column titled Religion and Women about a week ago. Were I smarter, I would probably avoid this topic. It’s a potential minefield and I can see myself getting into trouble. Evidently, I’m not that smart.

    Here’s the thing: before I moved to this part of the world, I didn’t realise that ‘patriarchy’ was a dirty word. ‘Chauvinism’, ‘oppression’, ‘exclusion’… these all registered on my bad words radar, but not ‘patriarchy’. And to be honest, it still doesn’t, not without further clarification anyway.

    One of Kristof’s parting shots, for example, was:

    Today, when religious institutions exclude women from their hierarchies and rituals, the inevitable implication is that females are inferior.

    Since I’m not one, let’s take Catholicism for example. I don’t see the Pope ordaining female priests any time soon. But can you blame him? If he genuinely interprets the Bible as saying that women cannot be priests – granted it’s an interpretation that is not beyond dispute – but if he really believes that, and if he really believes that all living matter was created by an all powerful God, and that people should live according to God’s will, isn’t there a problem?

    If in the beginning there really was God, and if God is constant and unchanging, then don’t we have to conclude that God’s views and those of modern liberal society could be different? And if you both believe in God and interpret scripture a certain way, if God really is God, then, isn’t there a very real possibility of ending up with values that are very different from those held by mainstream liberal society? I am completely aware of the fact that some of the worst atrocities that have ever been perpetrated, not to mention plenty of ordinary horrible things, are done in the name of God, or culture or something. Religion and culture are fertile breeding grounds for all sorts of monsters. But that doesn’t take away from the issue at hand, does it?

    Basically, when it’s all said and done, I suppose I’m asking whether or not the mainstream values of liberal democracies are in some ways incommensurable with those of people from other cultural/religious backgrounds. And if they are, how do we sort out a ‘simple’ thing like Kristof’s beef with religious institutions excluding women from heirarchies? And if we can’t sort that out in Catholicism’s case, which has called Europe home for a good while now, what hope is there for beliefs and practices from further afield?

    One last question. Does liberal secularism count as a religion in its own right? Is the case Kristof is making a ‘neutral’/ethical or socio-political one, or is he ‘evangelising’ for secular liberalism?

  • Thursday Book Club

    @ 11:26 pm | by Bryan

    Sources of the Self

    This is just to say ‘thank-you’ to everyone who registered an interest in going through this book here, and to remind you that we’ll be discussing chapter 1 on Thursday, 4 February. The post will go up much earlier in the day and everyone can add their thoughts in the comments section. Hopefully we’ll get a lively debate going.

  • The Drogba effect

    January 13, 2010 @ 11:45 pm | by Bryan

    There was an interesting documentary on TV over the weekend on the history of the noughties from a British perspective. Besides the almost ridiculous self-aggrandisement, it was an incredibly enlightening and thought provoking film.

    One of the things I learnt from it was the term, ‘the Drogba effect’. Didier Drogba is an Ivorian who plays football for Chelsea. As much as it pains me to admit this fact, he is one of the best forwards in the world at the moment. ‘The Drogba effect’ is apparently the effect that foreign born players, like Drogba, have had on the viewership of the English Premier League. It is the richest sport league in the world, most of which is down to global television rights.

    One of the commentators on this documentary compared Drogba to some of the immigrants who have made their way to Britain by means of rickety boats, and other dubious means. He then went on to make the point that in some ways, there isn’t very much that separates Drogba from those illegal immigrants, while in other ways, they literally inhabit different worlds.

    At the risk of beating this issue to death, it got me thinking about John Rawls’ idea of the morally arbitrary. That Drogba is an incredibly talented footballer is morally arbitrary. That he was born into a situation that allowed him to leverage hard work and discipline – or even into a situation that fostered that hard work and discipline – is also in many ways morally arbitrary. That as a global community we esteem football to the level that we do, from the perspective of someone in Drogba’s situation, is in many ways morally arbitrary. He could have been born into the type of situation, and with natural gifts that made him a brilliant goat herder. There would be no such thing as a ‘Drogba effect’ then.

    Thinking about the attack on Togo’s football team in Angola has made the Drogba-anonymous illegal comparison even more grotesque in my mind. There doesn’t seem to be very much separating the perpetrators of that attack from their victims – many of whom, like Drogba, help to bring in billions to a football league worlds apart from where they could have ended up.

    There’s something of a Stephen King quality to the whole thing.

  • A question

    January 12, 2010 @ 11:34 pm | by Bryan

    Peter Robinson leaving Parliament Buildings in Stormont yesterday after he stood down temporarily as Northern Ireland’s First Minister over disclosures involving his family. Photograph: Peter Morrison/AP

    Peter Robinson leaving Parliament Buildings in Stormont yesterday after he stood down temporarily as Northern Ireland’s First Minister over disclosures involving his family. Photograph: Peter Morrison/AP.

    I’m currently trying to get over what a friend of mine (not to mention my wife) would probably characterise as man ’flu. Needless to say, that’s not how I see things. No, the way I see it, I should get a medal for bravery and courage under fire, but I have the sneaky suspicion that’s not going to happen.

    Since deep reflection requires more energy than I can muster right now, I’ll just pose a question. What is it about political power that makes political leaders unable to walk away? I suppose Peter Robinson deserves credit for having the ability to take a six week break from his leadership role, but what would have happened had he just resigned? Would unionism, Northern Ireland’s stability, or anything else for that matter, really been in jeopardy? Or would the world carry as normal without him? What about Harry Reid? He’s probably not going to be re-elected later in the year anyway. Why not just leave now? Hugo Chavez and Evo Morales also come to mind. The idea that Venezuela or Bolivia would be incapable of progressing without one individual at the helm is laughable.

    It doesn’t seem to matter if you’re the Pope, Robert Mugabe, Gordon Brown, or Peter Robinson. Political power seems to have an almost other-worldly hold on office bearers. Why is that? And didn’t Aristotle, or Plato, or one of those say that we shouldn’t have leaders who really want to be leaders, but those that are somewhat reluctant to take on the task?

  • Seriously?

    January 7, 2010 @ 2:57 pm | by Bryan

    Martyn Turner's Cartoon

    The whole terrorism thing is very depressing so I’m going to do my best to stop bringing it up. But I couldn’t let this go! It would be hilarious if it weren’t so tragic! The moral of the story? If you get picked up by airport security hope that the spooks who planted the thing that’s landed you in trouble remember what they did before you’ve spent too long in jail? Yep, that’s it.

    It may also be worth considering that we’re never completely secure. Insecurity if a fact of life. That being the case, we need to think very carefully about the measures we take to add to our sense of security. Full body cavity checks on all prospective air travellers would increase the security of air travel, but most of us would agree that it costs too much in terms of dignity and the norms that sustain society to be deemed realistic. Maybe we need to apply that same thinking to the rest of the discussion on airport security?

  • Thursday Book Club

    @ 2:10 pm | by Bryan

    Sources of the Self

    I’m going to try this again. Starting Thursday, 4 February, I’d like to go through and discuss Charles Taylor’s Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity.

    The book is 25 chapters long. If we look at a chapter a week, we’ll be at it for a good while. We can always decide to quicken the pace, but I don’t have any problems in principle with dwelling on a book for 6 months.

    I’m really hoping that a few people decide to participate in this little venture. It should be very interesting. And who knows, maybe we’ll be able to get the author to participate this time as well!

    Sources of the Self isn’t the kind of volume your local bookstore is likely to have on its shelves, but they’ll probably be happy to order it for you. It’s also available on Amazon.

  • Looking back

    January 5, 2010 @ 11:05 pm | by Bryan

    I remember years ago, being laughed at in a dodgy part of Lilongwe, by Malawian friends. As the only Zimbabwean in the group knew, their incredulity was directed at me. How could it be, they asked over and over again, that millions of people could allow their nation to be run to the ground by one elderly man? Neither of my answers satisfied them. In fairness, “It’s more complicated than that,” sounds like a cop out. But the fact that they pretended not to hear me say, “Kamuzu Banda, anyone?” surprised me.

    There’s probably no better time to reflect on the past than at the beginning of the year. To be honest, 2009 has already turned into a distant, hazy memory in my mind. The only real lesson that I’ve drawn from watching the political and social world over the last 12 months is that Spike Lee was right. Most of us are very much like Buggin’ Out, one of the central characters in Lee’s 1989 film, Do the Right Thing. We will kick, shout, shove, scream, throw our toys out of the cot, cause a stink, and basically do what it takes to be heard … over trivial irritations or purely symbolic issues. When faced with the really significant, most of us tend to embrace our ability to just get on with it. It’s amazing.

    In Buggin’ Out’s case, the fact that he was socially, economically and politically powerless in his own neighbourhood, didn’t evoke much of a response. That Sal refused to put up pictures of black people on his pizzeria’s ‘Wall of Fame’ led to a literal fight to the death. That’s Buggin’ Out for you, and we did a lot of Buggin’ Out in 2009.

    A lot of us were beyond ourselves when the US inaugurated it’s first black president. A beautifully symbolic moment. The fact that he has extended the use of unmanned drones which sometimes kill indiscriminately, has allowed extraordinary rendition to continue and has escalated the ‘war on terror’ has largely escaped notice. We Bugged Out – drawn more to the symbolic than the substantive.
    Slumdog Millionaire. A film that depicted a one in a gazillion story of escape from poverty was celebrated worldwide without a serious concomitant discussion on the poverty that was depicted in the film; at least not one that lead to any real change for real slum dwellers. Worse some of the actors went back to slum conditions after having finished with the film. Buggin’ Out.
    At one stage it looked like the Great Depression II was upon us. People panicked. There was a massive transfer of wealth from relatively wealthy (on a global scale) taxpayers in OECD countries, to ridiculously wealthy financial institutions. The crisis was averted. The underlying structure of the financial system was never really addressed. In any case, it hasn’t changed. We moved on, or something. Buggin Out.
    In July, an American policeman arrested a black Harvard professor who was trying to get into his house. After the police officer, the professor, and the professor’s buddy – the president of the United States – kissed, made up and had a beer, we must have decided that race, class, and power were no longer worth discussing. Buggin’ Out.
    In Ireland, the economy took a beating, taxes were raised and jobs were lost. In response, the government, which I think has been reasonably good at doing what the people asked of them, was vilified. Bankers, who gave people the loans they wanted, were vilified. Developers, who put up second rate buildings that many were happy to but at inflated prices, were also vilified. And a faithful group remain wedded to the idea that the economic problems lie with those immigrants, who manage somehow to take up all the jobs, and at the same time suck dry the nation’s social welfare funds. Buggin’ Out.

    What did I learn in 2009? That there was nothing surprising about the behaviour of the guys in Lilongwe all those years ago. Being completely blind to real things, things that you can do something about (like resisting Banda), while at the same time getting very excited about the purely symbolic, or at best trivial (in their case, a foreign autocrat, and maybe the sense of shame he induced in them over their past that ), is in complete keeping with human nature.

    I do it all the time. Hopefully, I’ll do less of it this year.

  • 2010 pessimism

    January 4, 2010 @ 9:00 pm | by Bryan

    Regular readers of this blog may find the next statement hard to believe. I am, by nature, an optimist. Really, I am. But over the course of 2009, a cloud of pessimism settled over me. And to be honest, I don’t see it lifting over the course of the coming 12 months.

    Here’s an example of where my negativity stems from. Based on conversations with a mix of people in Belfast, it seems as though one of the largest determinants to peace and stability is economic well-being. Money, or more precisely, the process of pursing ‘the good life’ with a reasonable expectation of one day attaining it, can be positively distracting – in a “an idle mind is the devil’s playground” sense. Granted, an argument could be made for the role of things like intrusive body scanners and remote controlled planes that can bomb whole villages to smithereens. But does anyone really think that airport security, a hypertrophied ‘intelligence community’, or wars in far off places will rid the world of people like Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, let alone the people who armed and trained him?

    Once upon a time, before that great IMF idea that was economic structural adjustment, Zimbabwe was a relatively prosperous little country. We were wealthier than most of our neighbours, so we did our bit to keep out the poorer Malawians and Mozambicans. Those who got into the country were tolerated, but I’m pretty sure we tried to keep them to a minimum. And then the IMF came along and in a relatively brief period of time, income inequality within the country soared. People who were relatively well off built large walls to keep out their poor fellow citizens. For the most part, the walls served their purpose, but with increasing regularity, some found ways over them. They would then help themselves to things they couldn’t otherwise afford while the owners of the big houses were asleep. There came a point where we wrecked the country. Things got so bad that even those living in big houses behind bigger walls began to struggle. So a lot of Zimbabweans, rich and poor alike, made their way to neighbouring and distant countries, sometimes illegally scaling real and metaphorical walls and fences.

    So why am I pessimistic? Because, it’s easier to build, buy and install body scanners and to blow stuff up than to try to understand the world on the other side of our walls. The world seems destined to imitate the likes of Johannesburg and Rio de Janeiro, who have found it easier to live with their fear than address the structures that give birth to their underworld. I’m pessimistic because I get the feeling that we’re a year closer to the day parts of the world are relegated to rubbish heap status, while others become fortified cities.

    But I could be wrong.

    Happy 2010.


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