Tony Blairs All between Iraq and a hard place

Cartoon by Martin Schranks

Ken Macdonald QC’s piece in The Times brilliantly exposes Tony Blair’s real position on the decision to invade Iraq:

“Hindsight is a great temptress. But we needn’t trouble her on the way to a confident conclusion that Mr Blair’s fundamental flaw was his sycophancy towards power. Perhaps this seems odd in a man who drank so much of that mind-altering brew at home. But Washington turned his head and he couldn’t resist the stage or the glamour that it gave him. In this sense he was weak and, as we can see, he remains so. Since those sorry days we have frequently heard him repeating the self-regarding mantra that “hand on heart, I only did what I thought was right”. But this is a narcissist’s defence and self-belief is no answer to misjudgment: it is certainly no answer to death. “Yo, Blair”, perhaps, was his truest measure.”

It’s doubtful whether the Chilcott enquiry will reveal anything new, but it’s all very simple really:

Q:  Why did the Americans invade Iraq?

A:  Because there’s a lot of oil there and big bad Saddam while doing nasty things to his own people (but that’s beside the point) wasn’t going to give it to them – and coincidentally America’s own oil supplies are running low.

Q:  Why did the British invade Iraq?

A:  Because the Americans told them to (and apparently there’s a lot of oil there too).

Blair didn’t have the balls to say no to Bush.  Nor do his successors have the balls to tell the Americans to fuck off in relation to the extradition  of computer hacker Gary McKinnon who has the right to be tried in his own country.  Uncle Sam has John Bull in his pocket – just like a paedophiliac relationship between priest and altar boy.  The US has enough power and influence to carry on abusing and Britain is too ashamed to blow the whistle.  While the Vatican UN quietly turns a blind eye, pretending they didn’t know anything about it.

From Sarajevo to Stormont

There’s an article in the latest issue of Foreign Affairs (“The Death of Dayton”) on how the fragile peace in Bosnia-Herzegovina following the Dayton Agreement is under threat from the unstable form of government in the country:

“To prevent any one group from dominating, quotas were adopted in national institutions.
…each representative can veto legislation that he believes undermines his own group’s vital interests. As a result, almost every important issue at the central government level is deadlocked.”
“Almost every public office – including low level public administration jobs – is allotted according to an ethic quota, a spoils system that has led to extensive patronage networks, corruption and inefficiencies.”
“With 160 government ministers and a bloated public sector that gobbles up nearly half of the country’s GDP, the framework is tailor made for those who wish to stoke ethnic antagonisms for political gain. These ethics chauvinists – in particular, Dodik and Silajdzic – preach to their respective constituencies and pledge to “protect” their groups. This in turn weakens moderates who advocate greater national unity and civic, rather than ethnic indentities.”

Sounds depressingly familiar to somewhere much closer to home…

Leone: A Fistful of Dynamite, Part 3: Commentary

And so to the third and final instalment of Phil’s epic work on A Fistful of Dynamite:

Commentary

Despite the fact that Coburn’s accent in the film frequently borders on the “oirish” side, and Steiger’s acting sometimes lapses into hamminess, somehow these blemishes seem oddly appropriate within the wider context of “…Dynamite.” And it certainly does not ruin things for me in the least.

Coburn - Oirish accent fails to convince...Steiger - too fat for a Mexican peasant?

Although I am now in my thirties, and many of my political views have moved to the right as I have become older, “Dynamite” still has particular resonance for me. As a schoolboy studying events in 20th century European history I came to see the leaders of the Russian Revolution as almost robotic figures, or dim automatons from the past. Perhaps this impression was not disabused by the attitudes of people like Lenin, who famously berated himself for enjoying the works of great European composers, because their music caused him to feel warmth towards the men who composed the music (thereby making them more difficult to put up against a wall and shoot if necessary). What a cold-blooded monster, as too was Stalin, and Trotsky also, in his way. Such people found it easier to deal with humanity in the abstract than in reality.  Perhaps ordinary reality was too much for them to cope with.

“…Dynamite”, in spite of what Leone claimed, was a very political film – but not in terms of left-right politics, which are only peripheral. The politics are mostly on a human level. It takes humans to put a revolution in motion, and our revolutionaries in “…Dynamite” are as human as it is possible to get.  Sean’s revolutionary fervour dims by the end of the film, and reminds us in one memorable line that no matter how noble or idealistic the cause is, the means necessary to bring it about can have a crippling effect on the human spirit, and frequently violence can become an end in itself:

“When I first began to use dynamite I believed in lots of things…all of it!

Finally I believed only in dynamite.”

Strangely enough, it is the unschooled and unlettered Juan who, after the Mesa Verde Bank raid, casts a bitter (and very perceptive) judgment on revolutionary idealism, which causes Sean to begin reappraising his views. Sean has just told Juan that “It’s a nice little revolution we’re having here.”  Juan replies angrily:

“Don’t talk to me about revolutions – I know all about revolutions and how they start. The people who read the books go to the people who don’t read the books, the poor people, and say oh ho the time has come to make a change!  The poor people make the change.  Then the people who read the books sit around a big polished table and talk and talk and talk and eat and eat and eat and what has happened to the poor people…THEY’RE DEAD!

So please, don’t talk to me about revolution….

THEN THE SAME FUCKING THING HAPPENS ALL OVER AGAIN.”

How very true, Juan. He could also have plausibly added that frequently the revolutionary cadre who seize the reins of power through force become just as oppressive, cruel, and authoritarian (if not more so) as the regime which they have overthrown.  After all, it stands to reason that what has been gained by violence must be maintained by violence, and violence, whatever political language an idealist chooses to dress it up in, is not pretty.

Ernesto "Che" Guevara - a victim of his own revolutionary fervour?

Nonetheless, I find myself drawn to the revolutionary peasants in “…Dynamite.” These are people with real grievances, dirt poor, who only wish to lead their lives with a modicum of dignity and have enough land to feed themselves and their families, and be free from oppression. Having suffered enough, they are taking the only course open to them, namely, opposing military brutality with force of their own. They are definitely not the indulged middle-class anti-globalization protestors or woolly-minded idealists who prance around Westminster on May Day waving banners and shouting about what they IMAGINE poor people in the third world to be suffering, and patronizing the poor of our world with what they believe is a solution to their situation.  [And neither are they comprarable to the likes of Bono, Madonna et al who in their rank hypocrisy pretend to be concerned about the suffering of the third world, yet live in extravagant luxury.  CW]

Luckily for us today, it seems that the world has lost its enthusiasm for the type of political idealism represented by the Bolsheviks in 20th century Russia, but during the late 1960s and early 1970s when “…Dynamite” was made, revolutionary idealism was still popular. So, by advertising the pitfalls to revolutionary violence, Leone was a man ahead of his time.

I should add also, that Mexico, despite violent upheaval in the early 20th century, did not return to dictatorship, and has remained a democracy since, however imperfect and however many problems of poverty and other social ills it faces. I feel that this is something for which the Mexican people have never received enough international praise and credit.

As if all the food for thought above weren’t enough, “…Dynamite” is absolutely action-packed, has many funny moments to leaven the gloom, a great star cast, a brilliant train crash sequence, monumental explosions, a spectacular finale and a fantastic score from Ennio Morricone. What more could a viewer ask for!

Phil Larkin

A Fistful of Leone: A Fistful of Dymanite, Part 2

Juan
All revolutions attract a mixture of different personalities, ranging from political idealists to criminal opportunists seeking to capitalise on the confusion that the social upheaval brings. Juan Miranda (Rod Steiger) belongs very definitely in the second category, and the film begins with his scruffy form hitching a lift in a carriage full of upper-middle class snobs (Miranda claimed that his father had died and needed a lift to the next town). This first scene is important as it paints a backcloth (although partisan) to both the socio-political nature of the era, and Leone’s own leftist views. The passengers, including upper-middle class Mexicans, an American businessman, and an Archbishop, all of European origin, unlike Juan, who is of Indian origin, roundly abuse him for amusement, and the impoverished peasant class to which he belongs, calling them “animals” who breed like “rats in a sewer”, without morals or “decency.” Even the Archbishop identifies strongly with these sentiments, and refers to peasants as “unfortunate brutes”, indicating how far removed he is personally from the teachings of Jesus on love, mammon, and many other issues. It becomes clear, while these foul creatures proceed in close-up footage to stuff their faces with all types of food, that they support the dictator Huerta for “keeping the peasants in their place.”

However, when the carriage passes through a ruined village it is ambushed by a gang of bandits – Juan’s seven sons and other associates: Juan, the gang leader, had set the whole thing up in advance. They kill one of the most obnoxious passengers, rob and strip the rest, while Juan introduces the only female passenger to his seven sons, each, he informs her, from a different mother (we don’t know whether this is true or not!). He then violates the snobbish woman, and dumps her and the others into a pigsty. From this introduction we learn that Juan has no interest in political idealism and is far more concerned with keeping one step ahead of starvation, and keeping his pockets lined through petty thievery.

Sean

At this point that Juan comes across Sean (John) Mallory (James Coburn), a lone Irishman, who is testing explosives in the mountains near where the carriage has just been robbed. Sean, after an altercation with Juan and his bandits, claims he is merely using his impressive array of explosives to mine silver. However, we eventually realise through a series of flashbacks that he is really an intellectual left-wing revolutionary, who, after involvement in the Republican movement in Ireland, had had to flee the country after shooting a number of British soldiers who had tracked him down after torturing his best friend and revolutionary colleague. Sean, we later find out, shot his friend as a traitor for revealing his whereabouts (Leone gets the chronology of modern Irish history somewhat wrong, but this does not really affect the film’s central message). We also discover later that British intelligence services were in hot pursuit of Sean as he sought to evade his past. His primary reason for being in Mexico is to further the revolution against Huerta by means of both intellect and force.

An accidental revolutionary

Juan (in a very amusing fantasy sequence) sees Sean’s head surrounded by the halo-like visage of the National Bank at Mesa Verde, a bank which Juan has dreamed of raiding since he was taken to Mesa Verde as a child. He sees Sean’s skills with explosives as a godsend, and Sean himself as his key to the bank. Sean, however, has his own ideas, recognising how useful Juan’s skills as a fearless guerrilla fighter could be in the struggle which he knew was brewing. He entices Juan and his gang to the town of Mesa Verde, and introduces him to a revolutionary colleague, Dr Villega, who offers Juan the opportunity to attack the bank, an offer eagerly accepted. Unbeknownst to Juan (but known to Sean all along), the bank at Mesa Verde has been converted to use as a political prison, and these are all released after Juan’s daring attack. This marks the beginning of Juan’s unwitting involvement with the revolutionary movement.

“A FISTFUL OF DYNAMITE: A FISTFUL OF LEONE” Part 1

Phil “The Wild Colonial Boy” Larkin is back with another spaghetti western-themed article.  This time Phil turns his attention to one of Sergio Leone’s lesser known works A Fistful of Dynamite, set in revoluton-torn Mexico in 1913.   The essay is divide into three parts.  Part 1 below sets the scene for the film and examines its historical and political context.

CW

Introduction

“A revolution is not a dinner party, an embroidery, writing an essay, or painting a picture. It cannot be done with elegance and courtesy. The revolution … is an act of violence…”   Mao-Tse Tung.

It is with this quote from Chairman Mao (still alive and influential during the making of the film) that Sergio Leone’s A Fistful of Dynamite begins. As the quote suggests, the movie itself is, by any standards, very violent, sometimes casually so, although never gratuitously so.  And, of course, it is set during a revolution of the 20th Century. 

In my view, “Dynamite” is one of the sadly underrated and almost forgotten works of Leone, possibly because it lacks the “usual suspects” of his previous westerns such as Lee Van Cleef, Gian Maria Volonte and of course Clint Eastwood.  It is also set in a markedly different era and environment than The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly et al. In addition, it was marketed in different countries under various titles, something which may have led audiences to believe that it was not one single film, thereby dissipating the impact it would otherwise have had. In English speaking countries it was sometimes known as “Duck You Sucker!” (a reference to a frequent comment made by one of the main protagonists); in Italy it was called “Gia La Testa!” (literally “Duck Your Head!”).

Sergio Leone, master of the spaghetti western

Interestingly, in France, it was billed as “Il Etait une Fois … La Revolution”, literally, “Once Upon a Time … The Revolution”, which places it as the middle film of Leone’s “Once Upon a Time…” trilogy. I don’t know how comfortably “…Dynamite” would actually fit into this trilogy, but it would seem that French audiences accepted it as such.

Also, “…Dynamite” came out a few years after Leone’s “Once Upon a Time in the West”, a hard act to follow if ever there was one, and the former was always bound to suffer unfavourably by comparison. For many reasons, I believe that “Dynamite” is a highly interesting, very human, and deeply moving film, which, on viewing nearly four decades on, has not lost any of its relevance, and carries clear political lessons for us today, particularly those who are inclined to use the means of violence in a revolutionary cause to re-create the world as they wish it to be.

The Historical Context of “Dynamite”

The film’s central theme is, in essence, the coming together of two disparate figures at the same time and place in history, and the consequent loss of political revolutionary fervour on the part of one man, a left-wing Irish radical, and the unwitting (and unwilling) growth of the same fervour within another man, a petty Mexican bandit.

The film is set in 1913 against the background of the Mexican Revolution, a multi-sided conflict, and a highly confusing and traumatic period in the country’s history, beginning in 1910 and involving, very broadly, a set of uprisings (some spontaneous, and some planned), against the authoritarian dictatorship of Porfirio Diaz.  The Revolution lasted roughly a decade, petering out in around 1920. As with the Anglo-Irish conflict of 1919 – 1921, and the Irish Civil War of 1922 – 1923, there were elements of populism, agrarianism, socialism and anarchism amongst those carrying forward the revolution.  However, there was no centrally planned bid for power as with the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia of March 1917, which added to the confusing nature of this era in Mexican history.

By 1913, political power in Mexico had been seized by General Victoriano Huerta by means of a coup d’etat after a short period of democratic government. Huerta was a brutal and corrupt military dictator, who, when faced with challenges to his authority, reacted with unbridled cruelty, giving his soldiers and paramilitary police free rein to torture and execute opponents without trial or redress. Indeed, mass executions, arrests, torture, and military harassment of poverty-stricken peasants and their allies are a constant backdrop to “…Dynamite”.

Phil Larkin

Watch this space for A Fistful of Dynamite: A Fistful of Leone”, part 2, “Juan, Sean and an accidental revolutionary“.

Silver-tongued Silvio and the Patrizia-gate scandal

Will Patrizia-gate bring down silver-tongued Silvio?

Political leaders and scandals of a sexual nature don’t tend to make good bedfellows – no pun intended.  Italian PM , Silvio Berlusconi, no stranger to controversy seems to have taken a leaf out of Bill Clinton’s book with his secretly tape-recorded dalliances with glamour model Patrizia D’Addario. 

On the other hand, similar liaisons have boosted the reputation of the protagonist.  When news of the affair between the then England soccer boss Sven Goran Eriksson and fellow Swede Ulrike Jonsson came to light, Sven once regarded as a dull, emotionless tactician suddenly became a sexy nordic lothario, a jack-the-lad lauded by the tabloid press for tasting forbidden fruit in the garden of Sweden.

Berlusconi’s position as PM is suspect in its own right.  What other country would elect a loud-mouthed, outspoken and disreputable businessman as its leader?  Imagine if Ryanair director Michael O’Leary became Taoiseach.  Perish the thought – although such an idea is not as far-fetched as it may seem when you look at the career of a certain deceased CJ Haughey.

The question is will Patrizia-gate bring Berlusconi’s tenure down?  Or can he keep it up?  I think only Patrizia can answer that question.

Visa Card Apartheid Flags to be banned in the Rainbow Nation?

The South African political commentator Khaya Dlanga has called for the old apartheid-era national flag to be banned, echoing the ban on swastikas in post-war Germany, after a rugby supporter was spotted waving the said item at a recent rugby match. This flag (when turned upside down) always used to remind me of the Visa card logo – which begs the question was the old SA government receiving secret donations from Visa to prop up its regime? Will Visa cards also be banned? There are obvious connotations for oppression and bigotry (not to mention unwelcome bank statements!) associated with this flag harking back to the days when 80% of the population had no say in the running of the country. And the presence of the union jack and Dutch flag in the middle tier serve as a reminder of the country’s colonial past, which many South Africans would no doubt like to forget. While we’re on the subject, it baffles me as to why independent progressive countries like Australia and New Zealand still insist on having the union jack in the top left corner of their flags as if to remind themselves of the legacy of their colonial past – particularly when you think about the animosity with “the poms” when it comes to cricket and rugby. Yet they insist on holding on to the apron strings of Mother England, a sentiment which means little to the average Maori or Aborigine. The Brazilians don’t have a Portuguese flag on their national flag, the Mexicans don’t have a Spanish flag on theirs. But that’s a whole new debate.

 Back in the day South Africa was not a popular country. I remember hearing on the news around about 1985 of an incident in Dublin when a supermarket check-out girl refused to sell a customer South African fruit. A number of well-known rock musicians got into trouble for playing at the infamous Sun City resort. During his incarceration Nelson Mandela became an iconic figure throughout the world and championed by some of the biggest names in entertainment from Peter Gabriel to Sting. Yet to the shame of western governments who refused to impose economic sanctions on SA, apartheid continued for much longer than it should have. Gold, diamonds and oranges were obviously more important to them than social justice. However western powers continue to back totalitarian governments from Saudi Arabia to Uzbekistan when it ties in with their selfish, strategic or economic interests.

Oppressive regimes were (and still are) present in several other African countries of course, but unlike many of these countries SA was no impoverished third world tin-pot dictatorship. This was a supposedly developed forward-looking civilised western society.
A few white South Africans still no doubt nostalgically yearn for a return to the “good old days” when “kaffirs” knew their place, but the rest of the world has moved on.
These were bizarre times indeed. These were the days when black South Africans supported anyone but their own country in rugby, though not long before Mandela in a Springboks shirt made the noble gesture of presenting the world cup to the victorious SA team.

The apartheid regime was a goldmine for satirical comedians. The 1970s comedy team The Goodies brilliantly sent up the concept in this classic episode (the best bits happen around 1 minute and 35 seconds into the clip) where they introduce a new law called “apart-height” which discriminates against short people.  There was also the Spitting Image song “I’ve never met a nice South African” – which although a little harsh and inaccurate, it is mildly amusing (unless you’re South African of course). I should say at this point, that having lived in London for the best part of a decade, I’ve met many nice South Africans. It’s also worth pointing out that even South African comedians like Peter Dirk-Uys were ridiculing their own government at the time.

We also had films like Richard Attenborough’s Cry Freedom, a portrait of the life and death of political activist Steve Biko and his friendship with the white journalist Donald Woods. After Hollywood had endured much criticism for its politically incorrect habit of portraying villains as black or Hispanic, one of the films in the Lethal Weapon series featured white South Africans as the main bad guys, a fashionable trend at the time.
How things have changed. But although that democracy now prevails in SA, things are far from sweet and rosy. It’s the all too familiar story of yesterday’s oppressed becoming today’s oppressors. The Catholic church in Ireland endured centuries of persecution under British rule, but when part of the country gained independence, the church abused its special position and became a brutally oppressive institution aided by the state for the best part of 50 years.

There are striking parallels here with the ANC. The current SA government’s incompetence in dealing with AIDS in the country, its inability to effectively deal with the violent crime epidemic, its refusal to take Mugabe to task over the catastrophe engulfing Zimbabwe and the widespread accusations of corruption and nepotism within the party as an elitist minority lives the high life, while the majority of citizens live in poverty all beg the question – has anything really changed?
We’re now back the flag question. In a country which supposedly prides itself on diversity and freedom of expression, banning the old flag, as some commentators have pointed out would be counterproductive. Practical reasons aside, it’s unlikely that a drunken Afrikaaner will stick his flag into a chip & pin machine by mistake instead of his credit card when paying for the Oranjeboom and biltong for the braai at the local supermarket. It could do irreparable damage to the machine – not to mention the flag.

I’m reminded of a well-documented incident in the 1960s when the then young firebrand preacher Ian Paisley protested at the presence of an Irish tricolour (which was at the time banned in Northern Ireland and few if any were openly displayed even in nationalist areas) at the Sinn Féin office on Belfast’s Falls Road. A mob encouraged by Paisley converged on the premises and smashed the window in an attempt to remove the offending flag. A few days later, in response to this incident hundreds of tricolours were put up all over West Belfast. I’m sure some of them are still there to this day.

Lessons to be learned indeed.

 

 

 

Eoghan Harris makes another “balls-up”

Talking out of his Harris

I’m not a regular reader of the sensationalist fascist rag known as the Sunday Independent (the Irish paper that is – not to be confused with the English Independent on Sunday which is almost at the opposite end of the spectrum even though they share a common owner).  However one of my local pubs has complimentary copies – useful if the toilets run out of paper.  Anyway I was in one particular establishment watching Tyrone beat Armagh in the Ulster Championship.   I will concede that its GAA coverage is good – rather ironic considering that certain columnists on other pages have an aversion to the association and view it in a similar way to which the Ku Klux Klan view people of dark skin pigmentation.

One particular columnist Eoghan Harris churns out the usual bullshit.  I don’t pay much attention to what he says as it’s mostly arrogant, self-opinionated bollocks anyway, but if it’s factually inaccurate it’s worth noting.   He’s been called many things over the years by other bloggers, such as Infactah, Cedar Lounge, Maman Poulet, Green Ink, Associate Notes, Tangents  and Adam Maguire - most of them fairly accurate. 

In the wake of the Ryan Report detailing cases of abuse of children in the care of various institutions of the Irish Catholic church, Harris touches on Fianna Fáil’s (at worst) alleged complicity with the church or at best its failure to come down on the church harshly enough.  He cites a story from the 1950s which would seem to contradict this notion.  A certain bishop had urged football supporters to boycott a match between the Republic of Ireland and Yugoslavia because of a cardinal imprisoned by Tito for alledgedlt being a wartime collaborator.  It seems however that the cute hoors of the Soldiers of Destiny went against the bishop’s wishes:

“far from bowing to the archbishop, the prominent Fianna Fail shadow minister Oscar Traynor threw in the ball to start the match at Dalymount Park on October 19, 1955”

Although Eoghan obviously likes his detail right down to the exact date of the match, this couldn’t possibly have happened, as he makes a glaringly obvious error.  It looks like he’s getting his ball games mixed up.  As any schoolboy knows soccer matches start with a kick-off, not a throw-in.  At the start of Gaelic football matches the ball is of course “thrown in” by the referee. However I’m pretty sure there were no GAA teams in Tito’s Yugoslavia. 

So not for the first time Harris is (quite literally!) talking balls. I’ve written a letter to the editor pointing this out (albeit in a more subtle and diplomatic manner), but won’t be holding my breath regarding publication next Sunday.

Big Brother State wants your data

In response to the encroachment of an increasingly surveillance-empowered state, the Open Rights Group has set up the spoof website Statebook.  A clever form of protest against a government which has much to hide (except when it gets caught watching porn films paid for by the taxpayer or sending out slanderous e-mails to discredit its detractors), yet wants carte blanche access to its’ citizens’ personal data.

No return to the dark past

The week’s headlines were for the first time in many years dominated by something which we had hoped was all in the past. It wasn’t exactly inevitable, but it’s fair to say it came as no great surprise.

Last weekend I was in Omagh for the Tyrone v Galway match. Although it wasn’t a great game and ended in disappointment from my point of view, this all paled into insignificance with the chain of events which was to unfold that night. I walked through the town past the spot where 29 people and 2 unborn twins were killed by the so-called Real IRA. Little did I know that these bastards would strike again that very night. Not content with killing police and army personnel, the self-styled liberators of Ireland have now added pizza delivery men, pregnant women and schoolchildren to their list of legitimate targets as another “glorious step” towards a united Ireland. Yet out of this despair comes hope as the people have taken to the streets en masse to demand a stop to this futile killing. And who would have thought just a few years ago that the leaders of the DUP and Sinn Féin would host a press conference with the North’s most senior policeman and call for an end to the violence?

The past has shown all too poignantly that there have been too many false dawns, but this time there can be no going back.