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[
"Lucy Vickery",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:01:47 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fbody-talk%2F.json
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/content/themes/spectator-new/assets/favicons/apple-touch-icon-57x57.png
|
en
| null |
The Spectator
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
In Competition No. 2962 you were invited to supply a poem about a body part of an author of your choosing. This challenge was inspired by the engaging title of a book by John Sutherland: Orwell’s Nose. In 2012 Sutherland permanently lost his sense of smell. Shortly thereafter, he set about rereading the works of George Orwell’s and was struck by how obsessed Orwell was with what things smell like.
The only noses in the entry, Gertrude Stein’s and Anna Akhmatova’s, had to share the limelight with Belloc’s bottom, Byron’s balls, Jane Austen’s breasts and Freud’s penis. In a palmary entry bursting with wit and invention Paul Evans, Christopher Boyle, Ann Drysdale, J.C.H. Mounsey, Robert Schechter and Roger Theobald stood out. The winners take £25 each. D.A. Prince pockets £30.
When he had fears that he would cease to be,
was it some half-heard prompting from his lung —
that Muse of shadowed immortality
which chilled the sunlit freedom of the young?
And when this lung had whispered, and the doubt
was seeded in his fertile, restless brain
did he find breathing more than in-and-out,
requiring more attention, too much strain.
The lung’s own language — blood-flecked,
troubled, cold,
a contradiction of all faery power —
forecast the tale that would, too soon, be told,
written (he thought) on water, some dead hour.
And, stifled, in the day’s air, short of breath,
the lung’s sole message shrank to one word: death.
D.A. Prince
I’m mad and bad of course but I’ve detected
Loads of attention in my bulbous part.
When I exposed it ladies have elected
To show concern, and offer up their heart.
I must confess romances I’ve effected
Owed more to this than to Byronic art.
Yet as a boy when I observed it grow
I thought that Beauty wouldn’t want to know.
The modest maids to whom I might reveal it
Would smile and give an understanding kiss.
Some would approach and fondly seek to feel it
And through their touching gesture offered bliss.
Yet there were times I wanted to conceal it
Believing all romance was cursed by this.
But since it’s proved a boon in love’s pursuit
I’m not unhappy with my club-shaped foot.
Frank McDonald
Alas, poor Will, it seems your skull has gone;
Headless you rest like Yorick in your play.
Perhaps the thief desired to muse upon
A head from which all thoughts had gone astray.
Who knows what works have come from
contemplation
Of Shakespeare’s skull in someone’s private den?
That bony head in some unknown location
Might mutely help to fashion plays again.
Could you have guessed that theft would break
the seal
That promised rest from life’s incessant toil?
Or known that Shakespeare’s skull would have
appeal
When you had shuffled off your mortal coil?
‘Cool was the playful bard,’ Puck might have said,
‘But after quitting life he lost his head.’
Max Ross
What happened to Rimbaud’s right shank,
The one they lopped off in Marseille?
Was it sent back with him to be buried, this limb,
Or did they just chuck it away?
Did it fester and rot till it stank,
A puddle of suppurant matter,
Or did it survive amputation and thrive
As a writer? I favour the latter.
I can picture it under the table
Of a bar on the Canebière,
Where its pliable toes compose poems and prose
With that wicked Rimbaudian flair.
Just a gnarled, knee-high stump but still able
To cast a delirious spell,
While the rest of the bod spends for ever with God
Or a very long season in Hell.
Basil Ransome-Davies
A man of paradox, perverse,
Who’d celebrate both lust and God,
Love life and then his death rehearse,
Be plain and fancy, even odd.
His early portrait as young blade —
With moody look, cheeks dark and rough —
Above red, fleshy lips displayed
A faint moustache of wispy stuff.
Wheel turned and in his dying days
He modelled in his shroud, it’s said,
A pose discarding worldly ways
To show his rising from the dead.
St Paul’s still has the statue there,
But visitors might wonder why,
With body made so bleak and bare,
His spruce moustache should go on high.
W.J. Webster
Vile bodies may have spared the Brideshead set —
No defects in their body parts as yet —
But take the upper lip of Evelyn Waugh,
The most expressive lip you ever saw.
Though masterful with words upon the page,
In personal relations he’d engage
Eye contact, twist of lip, while with no speech
Demeaning all who came within his reach.
Occasionally one small nasal twitch
Would underline the cynicism which
Was his default emotive attitude
As he looked down on anyone who stood
Their ground against his egocentric stance.
Few critics waited for a second chance
To undergo his wordless high disdain,
See the raised lip decline and fall again.
Alanna Blake
No. 2965: selfie
Edna St Vincent Millay (among others) wrote a poem about a sonnet written in sonnet form (‘I will put Chaos into fourteen lines’). You are invited to write a poem about a verse form, written in that form (sorry, but a maximum of 16 lines please). Please email (wherever possible) entries to lucy@spectator.-co.uk by midday on 8 September.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/body-talk/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/f24827ca7d975d39ae3eeab4a87e889f81dd9f3ade92ed733eb70c10c35551f1.json
|
[
"The Spectator Australia",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:13:42 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fcover-27-august-2016-au%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/cover_specaus-27-august_post.jpg
|
en
| null |
Cover 27 August 2016 AU
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
‘And then I met a dyslexic tattooist.’
‘I wonder if the same technology could be used for the Labour party?’
‘Kids blow up very early these days.’
‘When I suggested you write your dream bucket list, I hoped it would be a lot of foreign travel.’
‘Theme? Sure we got a theme. It’s beer.’
‘Great, innit, being a sporting superpower?’
‘Are we nearly there yet?’
‘The other robots don’t like you.’
‘If the wife rings, you haven’t seen me – right?’
‘Looks like a terrorist plot, sir.’
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/cover-27-august-2016-au/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/dfa7dc12426ba9c1dd40fd946bc80af25f58579fa885603a59d4ddcfeacd5b68.json
|
[
"Kate Womersley",
"Tommy Wieringa"
] | 2016-08-26T13:15:38 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Ftommy-wieringas-job-like-hero-has-an-age-old-problem%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-467900294.jpg
|
en
| null |
Tommy Wieringa’s Job-like hero has an age-old problem
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
With a title like A Beautiful Young Wife, this is of course about the decline of an older husband. Professor Edward Landauer, virologist in avian flu at Utrecht University, sees Ruth Walta’s bottom passing on a bicycle and knows she must be his. Full of autumnal entitlement, at 15 years her senior even Edward is surprised when this vegetarian PhD student of sociology loves him back. They marry. But with time, incompatible ideas — about vivisection, interior decoration and the meaning of human good — drive Edward to a public bathroom and into the arms of his colleague, Marjolein. As a regular at any coffee shop in a university town you may well overhear a story like it, invariably soliciting the same response: ‘How predictable.’
It is testament to Wieringa’s perfectly dosed prose (translated with elegance by Sam Garrett) and unfaltering narrative control that Edward’s story flirts with banality, but this seems only to intensify its emotional effect. The marriage’s downfall — as inevitable as the flow of ‘water to the lowest point’ — is accented by the age-old conflict of empirical rationality set against softer intuition. When a young Edward read Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra, he chose a career in microbiology, ambitious to ‘practise science by feel’. But years of cronyism and Glaxo-SmithKline skiing holidays have anaesthetised him to ethical concerns, and resigned him to believe that scientists merely ‘maintain the status quo’. While more intriguing than Kubrick’s doctor protagonist, Edward too has become estranged from true pleasure and pain. He must suffer to remember how to feel.
We only ever see Ruth through Edward’s eyes, at times whiny, at others nobly sensitive to the experiences of others. As her husband rediscovers his heart, she is afflicted by a new coldness, her kiss becoming merely ‘the movement of one head pushing away the other’. When Morris is born, Ruth watches her fussy son’s troubles as a laboratory researcher might, arriving at the conclusion that it is Edward’s presence causing the baby’s symptoms. Familiar with labelling others as ‘sources of infection’, Edward never considered he might be dismissed in the same way.
Wieringa’s lithe 128 pages fill half an afternoon, but days later the figure of our Job-like hero, weeping at his lecture podium, is an unforgettable warning that both romantic as well as scientific endeavours require empathy and imagination. As Edward’s mother — yet another gentle cliché — used to say: ‘Not everything that counts can be counted.’
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/tommy-wieringas-job-like-hero-has-an-age-old-problem/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/ec8ff251ae4a7ea4c0693d6b23cb6b8f77229f1e30b48705f5330eb4ef50ccc6.json
|
[
"The Spectator",
"Nick Cohen",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:07:40 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fwhen-gamekeepers-went-from-my-morning-walk-so-did-the-birdlife%2F.json
|
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|
en
| null |
When gamekeepers went from my morning walk, so did the birdlife
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Losing game
Sir: Matt Ridley is completely right (‘Don’t grouse about grouse’, 13 August). I am lucky enough to live at Blakeney in north Norfolk with a clear view to Blakeney Point. But since the RSPB, Chris Packham and the National Trust got their hands on Blakeney, things have changed dramatically. I walk every day on and around the marshes and the Blakeney Freshes. This morning — a brilliant, calm day — I strolled for an hour and apart from a couple of warblers, crows and several black-backed gulls, that was it.
When my wife and I came to Blakeney 35 years ago it was markedly different. From our room we would see dozens of lapwings, curlews, warblers, curlews, avocets and waders of all types. Not now.
What has happened is the RSPB (and others) have decided that it must be ‘back to nature’ in spades. So Blakeney Freshes is now infested with otters, foxes and cunning predatory birds.
An old friend of mine, a retired professional gamekeeper from west Norfolk, has told me that nothing will improve until the RSPB and the National Trust come to their senses. Where gamekeepers are allowed to do their job properly, wild birds and wildlife prosper.
Bernard Cowley
Blakeney, Norfolk
Remember Einstein
Sir: Lara Prendergast should take heart (‘Head in the clouds’, 13 August). To be sure, the ability to memorise by rote is a fine thing. I still get pleasure from reciting verse or playing music from memory. But in terms of human intellection, rote learning is a party trick. The skill is in learning how to combine various disparate pieces of information, making connections that perhaps nobody had made before. If all the facts we need are there at the touch of a button, so much the better. After all, ‘Never memorise anything you can look up.’ So said Albert Einstein, who was no slouch at intellection.
I should add that I found that quote on the internet, so one should be aware of Abraham Lincoln’s dictum that 99 per cent of anything found on the internet is wrong.
Henry Gee
Cromer, Norfolk
Forget the ageism
Sir: Lara Prendergast makes an interesting case in regard to internet memories, however I must chastise her for the uncalled-for slight aimed at the likes of myself who, at the age of 70, am blessed with a good memory and the good fortune to speak four languages. There is no fixed correlation between age and the ability to remember.
Anthony J. Burnet
East Saltoun, East Lothian
Just quit, Rod
Sir: Rod Liddle (13 August) asks for advice on how to approach his forthcoming Labour party disciplinary hearing. The answer, surely, is obvious: he should resign his membership and cancel his direct debit mandate. If he feels like indulging himself, he might actually attend the hearing and tell his inquisitors what he thinks about the modern Labour party the way he tells his Speccie readers — eloquently and amusingly. The party of MacDonald, Attlee and Blair has become an infantile farce led by a student activist who’s never grown up. To be a Labour party supporter, never mind an actual member, you need to be mad, bad or at least distinctly odd, and probably all three. Time to leave, Rod.
Jeremy Stocker
Willoughby, Warwickshire
Huge packages
Sir: Hurrah for Martin Vander Weyer, continuing to highlight the iniquitous top-to-bottom pay gaps in the corporate world (Any Other Business, 13 August). I suspect, however, that these enormous gaps will only shrink when more women get to fill top positions on boards, since these current, er, huge packages are simply willy-waving in another form.
Lucy Beresford
London SW1
Cruelty and splendour
Sir: Alexander Chancellor weighs up the arguments for a statue to Ivan the Terrible in Oryol, pondering whether his good deeds redeem his brutality (Long life, 13 August). I would suggest that the perfect monument already exists in St Basil’s Cathedral in Red Square, which commemorates both the tsar (who commissioned the building) and his savage cruelty. On the one hand, it is a global image of Russian splendour and the successes of Tsar Ivan’s regime; on the other, a perennial reminder of his inhumanity: Russian legend has it that Ivan had his architect’s eyes gouged out afterwards, so that a building as beautiful as St Basil’s could never again be designed.
Rory Buchanan
Wantage, Oxon
Lightning response
Sir: In his review of a new opera, your arts editor Igor Toronyi-Lalic (Arts, 6 August) made the startling claim that ‘lightning rarely strikes twice (name me another adaptation of a masterpiece that is also a masterpiece)’. Well, shall we start with Othello, Falstaff, Macbeth, Eugene Onegin, Figaro, Les Troyens or The Damnation of Faust? Then there’s Wozzeck, From the House of the Dead, War and Peace, Turn of the Screw, Pelleas, Oedipus Rex. I could go on.
Susan Waring
Devon
Ulysses’ enemies
Sir: Philip Hensher (Books, 13 August) omits from his list of begrudgers towards James Joyce’s Ulysses surely the most vehement of all: the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice, which led the campaign against the masterpiece. Ulysses may have met with some begrudgery in Dublin, by the way, but it was never formally banned in Ireland.
Mary Kenny
Deal, Kent
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/when-gamekeepers-went-from-my-morning-walk-so-did-the-birdlife/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/b0178bd072881df56f50e57b624437e13b3feb40fc5530c7e56167e6c0e1e5ba.json
|
[
"Philip Clark",
"Paul Macalindin"
] | 2016-08-26T13:14:45 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Firaqs-national-youth-orchestra-an-improbable-story-on-a-heroic-scale%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/Iraqi-youth-orchestra-2013.jpg
|
en
| null |
Iraq's national youth orchestra: an improbable story on a heroic scale
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Now that even candidates for President of the United States can rise up from the undead dregs of reality television, it comes as no surprise to read that the National Youth Orchestra of Iraq owes its origins to a conclave of television execs. In 2008, Channel 4 and the independent production company Raw TV took upon themselves to campaign for a youth orchestra in Iraq, focusing their programme around the story of Zuhal Sultan, a 17-year-old Iraqi pianist. Later that same year, the Scottish conductor Paul MacAlindin was savouring a fish-and-chip supper in his favourite Edinburgh pub when his eye caught a headline in the Glasgow Herald about the same project — ‘Search for UK maestro to help create an orchestra in Iraq’ — and he thought: ‘I know how to do this.’
What follows, rolling off the pages with the Noakesian enthusiasm of a
Blue Peter presenter, is one of the most unlikely, and genuinely heroic, stories you’re ever likely to read, involving Haydn’s Symphony No. 99 and instruments that fail to stay in tune as temperatures push the mercury. Orchestras are loose coalitions of 100-odd people and are, by nature, prone to rancorous internal politicking. But add to the equation that Iraq had little existing classical music infrastructure, and that an Iraqi youth orchestra would necessarily need to draw on both the Arab and Kurdish population and, as MacAlindin explains, the whole scheme bordered on the implausible.
Revealing intricacies of everyday detail that might make even Karl Ove Knausgaard blush, MacAlindin reproduces emails and verbatim conversations with a revolving cast of British and Iraqi officials from whom he needs guidance — and hard cash, lots of it. A gentle line in self-deprecating humour emerges as our resourceful maestro infiltrates various business delegations and conferences, cheerfully waving copies of his promotional DVD in the general direction of corporate suits. Lord Archer —looking ‘old and worn’ — puts in a cameo appearance at the annual dinner of the British Iraqi Friendship Society in Kensington; Nigel Lawson waddles by at an event in Westminster with ‘unconvincing waves of henna hair to grab a glass of wine’.
But with the batons finally on the ground in Iraq, the comedy abruptly stops. MacAlindin must now face up to the alarming reality that those young Iraqi musicians who auditioned online by video bring problems that simply don’t apply in the West. Deficiencies in rudimentary musicianship — ungainly tuning, failing to count in time, a flabby sense of ensemble — can be fixed, albeit gradually, by MacAlindin and his crack team of instrumental tutors. But psychological scars caused by the Saddam regime and the grim reality of living through war and its chaotic aftermath need cotton-glove handling.
At times the prose is overcooked. Talk of ‘rebuilding Iraq’s decimated culture one note at a time’ and ‘bringing the whole of Iraq together’ read like needless hyper-bole when such a rich story is already there for the telling. Tensions between Arab and Kurdish musicians inevitably bubble over. Thinking through the differences between the Arabic and Kurdish music he programmes alongside Beethoven, Haydn and Mendelssohn, a friend of MacAlindin’s speculates that while Kurds remain in mourning for the genocide of their people, Arabs are still in the midst of experiencing terrorism. Ranya, the orchestra’s Arab French-horn player, begins from a position of considering her Kurdish colleagues ‘plain stupid’. But by the end of the two-week course she has been completely won over. ‘The truth remained inescapable,’ MacAlindin concludes, ‘that without competent players from the whole of Iraq, this youth orchestra could not exist.’
MacAlindin calls himself ‘Music Director of the National Youth Orchestra of Iraq’ in the book but, googling his name, I notice he now refers to himself as its ‘former music director’. Following three summer courses in Iraq and visits to Germany and the UK, a keenly anticipated tour of the US floundered as Isil took hold of Iraq, making any practical arrangements impossible.
The book ends with a justifiably proud account of the orchestra’s achievements, with merit badges all round to those alumni who now work as musicians outside Iraq — but also with a doleful lament for the perilous state of the country. The orchestra had taken over MacAlindin’s life, and in that sense he was happy to step aside. Will a reborn orchestra ever be achievable in the future? Possibly, although all concerned will need to remain ferociously upbeat.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/iraqs-national-youth-orchestra-an-improbable-story-on-a-heroic-scale/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/b4f0d8492685ad214712b5d3bf28db99b05b2d6c862c210201daed3ff4cc0156.json
|
[
"Catherine Mcgregor",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:10:32 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Faustralian-diary-27%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/catemcgregor_specaus-27-august_post.jpg
|
en
| null |
Australian diary
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
It is always a pleasure to catch up socially with Tony Abbott whose steadfast friendship I have enjoyed for over three decades. Before he became Prime Minister we invariably met at least once during each parliamentary session for a curry at the Shalimar Restaurant in Canberra Civic. Initially, I had been introduced to the Shalimar by Labor’s Kim Beazley, back in the 1980s. Sadly, it closed a couple of years ago and so, as Abbott’s schedule is now vastly busier, we select random places for dinner when the opportunity presents.
Last week we met at the Chairman and Yip in Canberra where we were joined by Abbott’s redoubtable former Chief of Staff, Peta Credlin. Both were in sparkling form. Credlin has adapted very well to her roles as a columnist at News Limited and commentator on Sky News, both of which reveal her as the woman of substance and humour that her friends know her to be. For his part, the former Prime Minister is working on another book, which he hopes to complete by year’s end. It will be a sequel to his earlier work Battlelines rather than a chronicle of his life. He is still steeped in the national debate and is especially well versed in national security issues and the global political situation.
Speaking of books, seated at a nearby table at the restaurant were Labor frontbencher Anthony Albanese, and writer and journalist Karen Middleton, the author of the recently released biography of ‘Albo’. We exchanged pleasantries but their presence did dampen proceedings at our table somewhat. As avid readers will know I am fond of feeding Abbott from my own spoon at dinner, a practice I pioneered when we both working for John Hewson. Sadly, the presence of a member of the Press Gallery restrained me from this customary mark of affection often exchanged between veterans of the ‘unlosable’ 1993 election campaign. Still, there is always a next time…
Canberra produced a remarkably mild, clear late winter day for the commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the Battle of Long Tan and Vietnam Veterans’ Day. I was incredibly touched to be invited to join the family of Gunner Phillip Norris and the men of 103 and Headquarter Battery 1 Field Regiment. The story of how Norris was mistakenly listed as killed by mortar fire on the eve of the battle only to be reunited with his family nearly 40 years later, was both astonishing and heart rending. Two of his comrades Graham McGuinness, and Doug Heazlewood, had informed me of the extraordinary story of Gunner Norris and the inspiring efforts of his comrades to find him over the years. It was a testament to the finest values of our Army, particularly those who fought in Vietnam. The social opprobrium they encountered on their return forged extremely close bonds among them.
Governor General Sir Peter Cosgrove, himself a decorated Vietnam Veteran, delivered a beautiful oration at the Vietnam Memorial on the anniversary. He spoke of the Vietnam blokes as an ‘odd lot’. This was greeted with much knowing mirth among the old soldiers. For too long they were the orphans of the veteran’s community, neither feeling respected by veterans of the World Wars nor the wider society. Now, as they come of age, as the elder statesmen of the veterans’ community, they have finally received the recognition that their bravery and professionalism warranted.
Conspicuously overlooked even among other veterans have been the men of 1 Field Regiment, whose sustained fire saved D Company 6 RAR from annihilation. The infantry were isolated, desperately outnumbered, and running out of ammunition. But for the devastating barrage from the artillery they would probably have been killed to a man. The gunners, backed by the Kiwis of 161 Battery, fired over 3000 high explosive rounds over three hours without respite in direct support of their mates in the rubber plantation. It was one of the most prodigious feats of arms in our military history. Yet at the 40th anniversary of the battle, gunners were ignored and their contribution not even mentioned in the official speeches. Just before last week’s ceremony began they formed three ranks one last time behind their faded regimental banner and marched to their seats. Years have not condemned. They still look like soldiers. I wept without shame or restraint as they passed by.
After the ceremony, the gunners eagerly sought out Tony Abbott. His decision to bring home the remains of our soldiers interred in Malaysia meant a great deal to the Vietnam Veterans. He was surrounded by the old diggers and their families. Abbott is manifestly at ease amongst soldiers and veterans and they love him for it.
The next day I spent some time with emerging theatre director Priscilla Jackman at the Ensemble theatre in Sydney. She approached me to collaborate in a stage production about my life since gender transition. Sydney Theatre Company staged a Rough Draft on 6 May and it seems likely to proceed. I was touched at the suggestion of the editor of this august journal that we name the play The Caitlyn McJenner Diaries. Vetoed. But as the through story deals with my incredibly generous reception within the global cricket family, I incline to Following On. Goodness knows my first innings was a bit streaky, punctuated by alcoholism, gender dysphoria and drug abuse. Not to mention being left handed. As one Sydney cab driver drily mused to me ‘Geez love you hit every branch on the way down didn’t you.’ Couldn’t make it up.
Catherine McGregor is a writer and broadcaster
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/australian-diary-27/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/d3813a1b386037f6e621b7095ddaf50c8b40c9d6d8b10dab663f5f4bd063bf22.json
|
[
"The Spectator",
"Nick Cohen",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:09:27 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
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|
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|
en
| null |
How often do people (even judges) swear?
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Four-letter surveys
A judge at Chelmsford Crown Court who was sworn at by a man she was sentencing to jail swore back at him from the bench. How common is swearing?
— A study in 1980 by Timothy Jay of the Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts analysed 11,609 words of everyday conversation and found 70 taboo words — a rate of 0.7%.
— A similar study in Britain in 2006 suggested that between 0.3% and 0.5% of words we utter are swearing, and a 2007 US study suggested a rate of between 0.5% and 0.7%. According to the latter, Americans utter between 15,000 and 16,000 words a day, 80–90 of them taboo.
On the way out
Greenland’s former prime minister said he had no regrets about the country’s vote to leave the EU in 1982, though it took three years to negotiate an exit. What happened to the economy before the vote, during negotiations and after departure from the EU in 1985?
Gross domestic product of Greenland in US dollars
1979 $420m 1980 $476m 1981 $435m 1982 $402m 1983 $416m 1984 $379m 1985 $412m 1986 $603m 1987 $787m
Ducal rank
How did the Duke of Westminster’s position in the Sunday Times Rich List change over the years?
2001 1st 2006 3rd 2011 4th 2012 7th 2013 8th 2014 10th 2015 9th 2016 6th
Patients vs prisoners
Peter Sutcliffe, also known as the Yorkshire Ripper, who has been held in Broadmoor since his conviction for murder in 1981, was declared sane and will be sent to an ordinary prison. How many people are detained in psychiatric hospitals?
On 31 March 2013 there were 22,207 people detained under the Mental Health Act — 16,989 in hospital and 5,218 subject to Community Treatment Orders. Most are not criminals, but detained as a danger to themselves. In the same week the prison population was 80,332.
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/how-often-do-people-even-judges-swear/
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en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/22ee16b346f84d630dd6f0c7dab07c4ef7f77a3d4d2d192cedae8e5bcf986de9.json
|
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"Seth J. Frantzman",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:11:10 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fisis-will-fall-in-mosul-but-what-happens-then%2F.json
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-592273574.jpg
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en
| null |
After Isis, then what? The scramble for Mosul
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www.spectator.co.uk
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At night, the temperature around the Islamic State-held city of Mosul drops to around 80°F. At the Bashiqa front line, 15 miles northeast of the city, it would feel pleasant and almost calm, were it not for the steady sound of exploding shells. Most of life is tea and cigarettes. It’s like a quiet day on the Western Front, minus the mud.
‘It’s so peaceful you can’t imagine what’s happening — it’s surreal,’ says Allan Duncan, a former soldier with the Royal Irish Regiment who volunteered to join the Kurdish peshmerga here two years ago in order to fight Isis. ‘You almost forget that things are so close to the end.’
Seth J Frantzman tells Lara Prendergast about the scramble for Mosul:
Because soon, the waiting — amid an abiding fear of attacks with suicide trucks, armoured like something out of Mad Max — will be over. The final assault on Mosul, which was taken by Islamic State two years ago, is expected to end Isis’s control of significant territory in Iraq.
Isis certainly seems to sense that the endgame has begun, and is responding with its customary brutality. It has been killing deserters, and relying on ever-younger recruits. Last month a massive car bomb killed 323 in a Shia district of Baghdad during Ramadan. (Foreign media speculated that the group was increasing its attacks during the holy month; locals, by contrast, reckon they have already grown fewer.)
It’s not, however, a simple matter of Isis versus everyone else. The battle for Mosul is like the race to get to Berlin between the Soviets and the West in 1945. The positioning of forces in this final push is expected to redraw the boundaries in northern Iraq. Kurds, Shia and Sunni Arabs, not to mention various minority groups, all have claims to stake.
For the Shia-dominated Iraqi government, whose army will attack Mosul from the south, this is a chance to reunify the country under the control of Baghdad. Iran, which supports Shia militias fighting alongside the Iraqi army, wants the same thing.
But for the Kurdish peshmerga here, the fight against Isis is another chance to carve out an autonomous state. And for the Sunni Arab militia which will join the Kurds in attacking Mosul from the west, the battle is a chance to re-establish a Sunni presence that has nothing to do with Islamic State. The Kurdish president, Masoud Barzani, has told Sunni tribal leaders that Kurdish forces will participate in the operation to take Mosul but not enter the city itself.
Bahram Yassin, the peshmerga commanding officer, oversees 7,000 men along 30 miles of front line, and seems eager to move. It’s thought that Islamic State leaders are already fleeing the city for Syria. ‘People are deserting Isis now — their morale is very low and we are ready to attack them,’ he says. ‘We now know that they have no advanced weapons.’ He argues that the longer Isis is allowed to remain, the more Islam is besmirched. ‘These jihadists say they fight for the Islamic religion but that is not true, so the Kurds must destroy Isis, break them. If not, they will break us Muslims. That’s why we need international help.’ He wants more airstrikes, and he complains that Baghdad, far from the front, receives advanced anti-tank weapons while the peshmerga have to defend a large area with AK-47s.
Peshmerga volunteers work in shifts, spending ten days on the front line and 20 away from it. They might get paid two or three times in seven months. Many borrow money to fight. They lack standard uniforms, decent boots, binoculars and night-vision equipment. This is a civilian army, holding down jobs and supporting families, who have assembled out of love for their land and their people. The older men remember Saddam Hussein’s terror and the massacres of Kurds in the 1980s.
Iraq today is a country of refugees. Two million have come to the Kurdish region: minority communities such as Yazidis, Christians, Kakais and Shabaks, plus more than a million Sunni Arabs, with far more expected as the Mosul operation draws near. With oil prices at an all-time low, there is very little money coming in, and the local government wants international assistance.
Camped not far from the Bashiqa front is a Turkish-trained Sunni Arab militia called al-Hashd al-Watani. They distrust the Iraqi central government and its Iranian-backed Shia militias, whom they blame for destroying other cities liberated from Isis, such as Ramadi and Fallujah. ‘They were destroyed, but we believe we place in God’s hands the trust not to repeat those tragedies,’ one of the officers tells me. ‘It is late in the day — we cannot repeat that destruction in Mosul during the liberation.’ And Turkey’s agenda? It is engaged in daily battles with Kurdish separatists, and is vigorously opposed to Kurdish plans for independence.
The RAF is playing its part, dropping the occasional bomb on Isis positions in and around Mosul. A few weeks ago, its aircraft destroyed a weapons stash to the north of the city a few weeks ago (video below) and a palace built by Saddam Hussein, once used as a base for American troops.
America, Britain and other allies are concentrating on advising and assisting the Iraqi army. The US-led coalition has trained 32,000 Iraqi army soldiers — equipping them with M16s, body armour, helmets and modern armoured vehicles — as well as 8,000 peshmerga.
Meanwhile, the Kurds and the Sunni Arabs both oppose the participation of Hashd al-Shaabi, an Iran-backed Shia militia which has been accused of sectarian killings in every major battle it has fought against Isis. But the group has said it will join the offensive anyway — though, like the Kurds, it will stop short of entering the city.
Last month, the Iraqi army captured the Qayyara airfield, 35 miles south of Mosul. This is its main staging post. But progress has been slow and the western allies admit the conquest of Mosul can only go as fast as the Iraqi army can move.
For two years now Isis has run this once rich and powerful city and the diverse areas around it, destroying its museums and expelling minorities. From the sandbagged positions overlooking Bashiqa, you can see the city lights glowing in the distance. Life seems to go on. Iraqi flags are said to be flying in some neighbourhoods; it’s rumoured that locals are set to rise up against Isis. If not, the city will suffer a grievous fate in the coming year and that will mean a protracted battle for its reconstruction and for its role in any future Iraq.
Seth J. Frantzman is a writer with the Jerusalem Post.
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/isis-will-fall-in-mosul-but-what-happens-then/
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en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/0a2906315f06a447b3fe2f237ef712803b44ef7c7ab2dd616054252b729fd562.json
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"Simon Barnes",
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"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:16:24 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-589727080.jpg
|
en
| null |
What drives Team GB’s medal machine
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www.spectator.co.uk
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Never forget Atlanta. Every time a British athlete wins a gold medal at the Olympic Games in Rio, remember the Atlanta Games of 1996. I was there, and I saw some great sport — and absolutely none of it was British. Great Britain finished 36th in the medal table, behind Kazakhstan, Algeria, Belgium and Ireland.
There was a single British gold medal, and I missed it. It was won by Steve Redgrave and Matthew Pinsent, now both sirs: two enormous boys on the burning deck. For the rest, eight silvers and six bronzes seemed to confirm the nature of our sporting culture: the nation that aimed low and missed.
Simon Barnes on Team GB’s Olympic success:
Why were we so bad at sport? If you worked as a sportswriter back then, you needed a good answer. We just don’t have a winning mentality in this country, people complained. My line was that we just didn’t have a winning system: too much of British sport was still a gentlemanly muddle.
A few years after Atlanta, I attended a training camp for British swimmers in Cyprus. An Australian coach called Bill Sweetenham was then in charge. He had a vast belly, a fat man’s swagger, a voice that could clear a crowded bar and a deep love for the pursuit of victory.
And the Brits in their tracksuits had never heard anything like it. Who wants to be ordinary? Not me. Well if you don’t want to be ordinary, this is what you have to do. And don’t think it’s going to be easy…
To buy a lottery ticket is a long-odds shot at becoming extraordinary: transforming your life for the price of a little loose change. It was John Major’s idea, after Atlanta — and a fifth of all that lovely money goes to sport, as Andrew Marr points out in this week’s Diary. That adds up to around £350 million in the course of the four-year Olympic cycle, and covers Olympic and Paralympic sports.
It’s not simple. Money is handy stuff in many ways, but it can be hard to get the best out of it. When it comes to public spending you can fudge things and produce figures which show that although it may look to uninformed people as if you’re doing a terrible job, you are in fact doing frightfully well. Sport is not like that. There are no damned lies in the medal table. You can never put enough spin on a defeat to turn it into victory, for all that half the managers in the Premier League attempt the feat every weekend. Sport’s great charm is its ultimate lack of ambiguity. The silver medal is the prize they give to the fastest loser — you know the sort of thing.
So UK Sport didn’t just look for decent athletes and back them. It also looked for sports in which Britain had a serious chance of winning a medal. Vulnerable sports, if you like. Sports that would fall to a full-scale assault of money and talent.
So it was — and is — no good being talented at table tennis: the vast global pool of talent is far too enormous and medals are the most distant of dreams. Plenty of Brits play basketball, but they’re miles behind the best and, besides, there’s only one Olympic medal on offer. It’s not about funding individuals and teams to fulfil their potential, it’s not about the pure quest for excellence and it’s nothing to do with idealism. It’s about medals.
The idea was to create medal machines and the classic example is British cycling. The plan has worked best in the velodrome: a small, specialised arena in which an athlete might take part in the individual or the team pursuit of medals. At one time the British saw this as a comic sideshow: funny hats, Fred Flintstone wheels and riders trying to stick their noses up each other’s bottoms at 40 mph. Suddenly it was a sport busting with medals that nobody was seriously chasing. Not as seriously as we were, anyway…
However good the machine, you need the athletes. You need your pathfinders: the ones who can defy the balance of world power in a sport, establish a road to victory and show other British athletes that they can tread it, too. These are the people who have made the machine work: the ghosts in the machine.
Back in Atlanta, Chris Boardman won a cycling bronze in the road time trial. Four years on in Sydney, Jason Queally won a gold on the track. In Athens in 2004, Chris Hoy and Bradley Wiggins (both now sirs) won a gold medal each. In Beijing in 2008, British cyclists won eight golds, with three going to Hoy. And the process continues, like the first chapter of St Matthew’s gospel: Boardman begat Queally and Queally begat Hoy and Wiggo, and Hoy and Wiggo begat Jason Kenny and Kenny begat Callum Skinner…
First find your talent. Lizzy Yarnold took up the heptathlon after watching Denise Lewis win a gold medal at the Sydney Olympic Games of 2000, but she was never much good. So she took part in the Girls4Gold talent–spotting exercise, believing she’d be better suited to the horsey sports. UK Sport’s talent-spotters suggested she try the skeleton bob: the sport in which you go down the toboggan run headfirst. She won gold at the Sochi Winter Games in 2014.
In a sense Yarnold was a natural: she won her first race. She’d never have got anywhere if she hadn’t had the right stuff: the explosive power needed at the start allied to the courage and cool to drive the sled, and with all that the willingness to change everything and live the life of a champion. But she’d never have had the chance to show her natural abilities — and to go beyond them — without the artificial intrusion of the talent-spotters.
It’s not a romantic business. It’s not entirely attractive, either. Sweetenham was accused of bullying. Shane Sutton, another Australian and former head of the British cycling team, was suspended and then resigned after allegations of sexist behaviour and derogatory remarks about Paralympians.
The greatest triumph of British sport has been in sports where the British were once no-hopers. In dressage, Britain was a laughing stock, especially if you were German. But the pioneering Carl Hester did the pathfinding job and gave British riders international manège-cred. Britain followed two golds in 2012 with two more medals in Rio, a silver in the team event and individual gold for Charlotte Dujardin, Hester’s greatest protégée.
There was a time when British gymnasts found it hard to get lottery funding because they were so far off the pace. Again, there were pathfinders: Beth Tweddle and Dan Keatings. This week Max Whitlock won two gold medals in the space of an hour, on the floor and on the pommel horse: and all this after his still more remarkable bronze in the all-around. In total, Britain won an astonishing seven medals in gymnastics.
So it’s about creating a culture of marginal gains and zero compromise, and pursuing it with rigour. It’s about talent-spotting, and looking for exceptional individuals. Stewart Laing, senior lead performance pathway scientist at the English Institute of Sport, said: ‘In a way we’re looking for people who want to win twice. It’s not enough just to come first: you must also want to set a new personal best when you do so.’
In the end, even with the most regimented of systems, it’s not about the machine, it’s about the ghost. It’s about the soul of the athlete, it’s about that impossibly elusive thing they call team spirit. Discussion of sports tends to come back to coaches and managers and performance directors, just as discussion of sporting history tends to be about politicians and the horrible old men who run international sporting federations. But sport is not about them at all.
No: it’s about athletes. And whether you are a Chinese diver or a British cyclist, the winning of a medal ultimately comes down to matters beyond analysis. You can’t create greatness, in sport or anywhere else: you can only give individuals and teams the chance to seek greatness. That’s when you discover the people who don’t want to be ordinary: the people prepared to be extraordinary.
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/what-drives-team-gbs-medal-machine/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/9368accc3c8a22486b2b7c3ac7154abb14cf1a45b8abdf0ef557c7d2bf1dc77d.json
|
[
"Lilian Pizzichini",
"Lauren Elkin"
] | 2016-08-26T13:07:51 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fa-study-of-female-street-walkers-is-disappointingly-pedestrian%2F.json
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A study of female street walkers is disappointingly pedestrian
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www.spectator.co.uk
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On 8 June 1920 an old beggar woman sat against a wall in Kingsway holding a mongrel in her arms and singing aloud. Virginia Woolf noted in her diary that there was a recklessness to her. She was singing for her own amusement, shrilly, and then fire engines came by singing shrilly, too. ‘Sometimes everything gets into the same mood; how to define this one I don’t know.’
In the mid-1980s, on my daily journey to Charing Cross Road, I would get off the 38 bus on the corner with New Oxford Street. Every morning I would see an old woman huddled in the doorway of what is now a building site. Enthroned on her rags, oblivious to her surroundings, she had stopped caring. In her diary that day, Woolf said she was overwhelmed by the dead walking the city streets. I wondered where this woman came from and how she had settled on this doorway as her home. Perhaps another of Woolf’s ghostly tenants had passed down the leasehold to her successor.
The concept of the aimless wanderer, observer and reporter of street life, was first taken for an outing by the French poet Baudelaire. His flâneur was an extension of himself: an aesthete and dandy, wandering the streets and arcades of 19th-century Paris, noting down graffiti and advertisements and listening to snatches of conversation, on the lookout for visual rhymes. Traditionally, the flâneur was male, since women were confined to the domestic sphere, and any such constraint is inimical to the wanderer’s aim.
In this memoir of her postings across three continents, the novelist and critic Lauren Elkin contemplates what it means to be a woman taking on the role of loafer. For the most part, her findings reveal that the female flâneur — or flâneuse, as she prefers — has to withstand the inquiring gaze of admirers and admonishing prudes and predatory hasslers. According to Elkin, it is a rare woman who prowls the streets in the guise of an artist. She cites George Sand on the revolutionary barricades (dressed as a man) moving on to the modernists, Jean Rhys and Virginia Woolf, and the war correspondent Martha Gellhorn. These were women, Elkin asserts, who were prepared to forego their visibility or flaunt it, rather than report it. At times, it is hard to see what exactly of the female walker’s nature there is to report — apart from diversions provided by men.
Walking, as Thoreau said, inevitably leads to other subjects. A history of female pedestrianism should unfold like a walking meditation in which a woman aligns herself with the world. Unfortunately Elkin loses the novelist Jean Rhys down a dark alley. She quotes Rhys saying ‘I can abstract myself from my body’ without fully appreciating what she means. Walking for Rhys was a search for sensation, an avoidance of self, as well as the hope that she might bump into a man who would buy her dinner. In this latter instance, Rhys was driven by economics rather than wanderlust.
Elkin herself begins her journey in the affluent ‘non-place’ of Long Island, surrounded by the safeguards of protective, high-status parents and low-rise shopping malls. When she does get to New York, she is distracted by male interest in her body —the occupational tripwire of the flâneuse. She reaches solid ground recording the concerns of the photographer Sophie Calle, whose flânerie in the space left by Baudelaire casts her as a stalker rather than a walker. Calle’s art finds her having lost herself attached to a man. Elkin follows suit when she follows a banker boyfriend to Tokyo — and describes the longueurs she experienced there.
A woman defining herself through or evading the male gaze is the dilemma that drives Elkin’s quest. But the writers she quotes mark their territory as limitless. If Rhys was dead to herself, she was not dead to the city, and in finding anonymity she found her artistry. For Woolf, ‘the champagne brightness of the air’ sparked a heightened awareness, resulting in the ‘leaden circles’ of Big Ben dissolving around Mrs Dalloway.
Elkin makes room for the confessional and declares the right of the flâneuse to assert herself. But her writing rarely lifts off the page. To get the drift of a real wanderer-poet is to be shot through with texture and momentum. This is prose that should be layered with mystery and memory; that suspends the past and makes immediate our present. The flâneur transcends the city limits. Elkin stays strictly within.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/a-study-of-female-street-walkers-is-disappointingly-pedestrian/
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en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/24fbbe6a59fb2fa943ed5aa577337942f963b49436917c4e8f1cbd84a6c2b0f0.json
|
[
"James Delingpole",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine"
] | 2016-08-26T12:54:57 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
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| null |
George Osborne’s gone, thank God. So why’s Mark Carney still around?
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Did you see that odd photo of George Osborne looking shifty, queuing up in the Vietnamese jungle for the chance to fire an M60 machine gun? I found it interesting for a number of reasons.
One, obviously, is that it’s probably the first time in five years Osborne hasn’t been pictured wearing a hard hat and goggles. Another is what it tells us about his earnings prospects on the US speaker tour circuit: those guns can fire up to 650 rounds a minute — so at the local tourist rate of £1 a bullet that’s quite an expensive cheap thrill.
Mainly, though, what struck me about that snap was just how quickly fortune’s wheel can turn. Only two months ago, Osborne was the UK’s second most powerful politician, in charge of the world’s fifth largest economy. Today he’s just another middle-class, middle-aged tourist, with kids in tow, living out his midlife-crisis Rambo fantasy.
I wish I could feel sorrier for him than I do. But I’m afraid I found him as disappointing a chancellor as David Cameron was a disappointing prime minister. Some years ago, I used to chat to him in our kids’ school playground. ‘Just you wait till we get into power, then you’ll see how Conservative we really are,’ he once promised when I complained about the wet, centrist, anti-free-market direction his party was taking in opposition. He never delivered on it, though, did he?
His darkest hour, most of us will probably agree, was during the EU referendum when he masterminded the confected and mendacious Project Fear, promising all manner of made-up disasters if Britain voted the ‘wrong’ way. But even before that, he was showing some pretty worrying tendencies: his kowtowing to the Chinese; his closeness to Russian oligarchs and sinister Machiavels like Lord Mandelson; and, most dangerous of all, his addiction to micromanaging and neo-Keynesianism, whose damaging effects we may yet be ruing for many years hence.
Whatever had happened to the zealous young Thatcherite I used to know in the playground? Probably the same thing that happens to a lot of senior politicians: seduced by high-level shindigs at Davos, Brussels and wherever Bilderberg is holding its roadshow this year, they become convinced that the people best placed to run the world are a Brioni–suited cabal of enlightened corporatists, globalist technocrats and Goldman Sachs-trained central bankers like his Canadian import Mark Carney. It’s like the Bullingdon for grown ups, and naturally George wanted to be with them on the superyacht.
This explains not just his fervent support of Remain (essentially the elite trying to shore up its power base) but also his economic policy, which he conducted as a cynical, short-termist game of smoke and mirrors where the idea (to mix a few metaphors) is to kick the can down the road just long enough for everyone involved to be well out of office by the time it all goes pear-shaped.
If it sounds like a conspiracy by the elite against the ordinary people, that’s exactly what it is. Policies like money-printing (quantitative easing), ultra-low (or even negative) interest rates and the mooted and inevitable ‘helicopter money’, are designed to keep asset prices (housing, shares, etc) high and government borrowing cheap. Which is great news if you’re wealthy already or you’re a chancellor with a reputation for austerity who needs discreetly to conjure up more cash with which to bribe the electorate. But apart from creating bubbles, profligacy and cronyism, it also leads to the kind of spectacular, disgusting inequality which may, ironically, have contributed to the popular revolt of the Brexit vote.
People voted Leave for many different reasons, of course. But of one thing we can be pretty certain: not one of these involved a desire to shore up the inefficient, morally bankrupt, rich-favouring economic model of a chancellor who identified so ferociously with the values of the largely unaccountable Brussels elite. Those 17.5 million people weren’t just voting for sovereignty; they were also voting against those politicians — Osborne especially — whose arrogance, remoteness and utter disregard for truth embodied many of the things they most hated about the EU.
That’s why it is entirely right that one of Theresa May’s first moves on becoming Prime Minister was to boot George Osborne into outer darkness, where he belongs. But it’s also why it’s so wrong — and utterly mystifying — that his Canadian placeman Mark Carney should remain governor of the Bank of England. Like Osborne, Carney abused the prestige of his office quite abominably during the EU referendum. Traditionally, the governor of the Bank of England is supposed to avoid partisan politics. Instead, Carney — in the guise of dispassionate economic expertise — sided nakedly with the Remain camp, warning that Brexit was the ‘greatest risk to domestic financial stability’ and that it could lead to ‘technical recession’, ‘higher inflation’ and a ‘sharp’ fall in sterling.
Few of these warnings have come true — save the 10 per cent fall in sterling which, actually, was a much-needed correction to our overvalued currency and a valuable boost for our exporters. Yet instead of showing the appropriate contrition, Carney has remained brazen in the face of criticism — notably from his arch Commons enemy Jacob Rees-Mogg — and insistent on the urgent need for yet more of his Keynesian interventionism to counter what he would have us believe are the negative effects of Brexit.
But this has nothing whatsoever to do with economics. It’s because Carney, like Osborne, is a Davos man through and through. He’s talking down Brexit because, like the rest of the globalist elite, he wants it either to fail or to end up being so watered down we might just as well have voted to stay.
Osborne is gone and good riddance to him. But what’s the use of sacking the organ grinder if his devious little monkey is still in place up to its usual dirty tricks?
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/george-osbornes-gone-thank-god-so-whys-mark-carney-still-around/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/cf8735e9b32312c333f72e6e363b7c3cc863b54cbf0d2eb2b7fcc900e5a62662.json
|
[
"Michael Heath",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:13:02 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
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|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/battle_27.08.16.jpg
|
en
| null |
The Battle for Britain
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
‘And then I met a dyslexic tattooist.’
‘I wonder if the same technology could be used for the Labour party?’
‘Kids blow up very early these days.’
‘When I suggested you write your dream bucket list, I hoped it would be a lot of foreign travel.’
‘Theme? Sure we got a theme. It’s beer.’
‘Great, innit, being a sporting superpower?’
‘Are we nearly there yet?’
‘The other robots don’t like you.’
‘If the wife rings, you haven’t seen me – right?’
‘Looks like a terrorist plot, sir.’
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/battle-britain-7-4/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/fc9482b6641d9a8a03404b8490836cfcef916aa48da521482096ce6131c08488.json
|
[
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"James Delingpole",
"Carpe Noctem"
] | 2016-08-26T13:16:47 | null | 2016-08-04T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fthe-real-hate-crime-scandal%2F.json
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/cover_060816_landscape.jpg
|
en
| null |
Britain's real hate crime scandal
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Britain is in the grip of an epidemic, apparently. An epidemic of hate. Barely a day passes without some policeman or journalist telling us about the wave of criminal bigotry that is sweeping through the country. It’s been bad for years, they say, but has become worse since the EU referendum. Police forces tell us that hate crime has ‘soared’ in recent weeks; there’s been an ‘explosion of blatant hate’, according to some newspapers. Twenty-first-century Britain, it seems, is a pretty rancid, rage-fuelled place.
Brendan O’Neill and Kevin O’Sullivan discuss the real hate crime scandal:
If you feel this doesn’t tally with your experience of life in Blighty in 2016, you aren’t alone. There is a great disparity between the handwringing over hate crime and what Britain is actually like. The open racism even I can remember in the 1980s has all but vanished. Racist chants at football matches are a distant memory. Hard-right, foreigner-bashing parties may be thriving on the Continent, but they are dying over here. The likes of the BNP and EDL have withered due to lack of interest. This is a British triumph.
It’s not vainglorious to say that Britain is the most tolerant country in Europe, perhaps the world. In France, for instance, a national news-making hate incident is the attempted burning down of a mosque, which happened last month in Toulouse. In Britain, it is somebody shouting something nasty on a bus.
It’s almost impossible to argue reasonably that Britain is a bigoted country where ethnic minorities are somehow kept down. On the contrary, they are now more likely than whites to hold top jobs (doctors, lawyers, chief executives). More than a million Londoners voted for Sadiq Khan in May, giving him the largest direct mandate enjoyed by any individual in British history — not bad for the capital of a nation in which, according to Lady Warsi, it has become ‘socially acceptable’ to despise Muslims.
Yes, the statistics are scary, and nobody should downplay the hurt caused to those who are attacked and abused. The number of hate crimes recorded by the cops has grown year by year. Six years ago, there were 42,255; in 2014-15, there were 52,528.
But these figures need to be taken with a fistful of salt. There is something wrong with the way we report and measure hate crimes in this country. The numbers do not necessarily speak to any objective spread of hate in modern Britain. On the contrary, what the BBC calls an ‘epidemic’ is a product of the authorities redefining racism and prejudice to such an extent that almost any unpleasant encounter between people of different backgrounds can now be recorded as ‘hatred’.
Consider the Brexit aftermath. The police say that 3,192 reports of hate incidents were received in the last two weeks of June, and 3,001 in the first two weeks of July. Apparently that constitutes a rise of 48 per cent and 20 per cent respectively on last year’s levels of incidents. But can we engage in some scepticism here? Many of these incidents (the police can’t at the moment say how many) were reported through True Vision, a police-funded website that allows anyone anywhere to report something they either experienced or witnessed, anonymously if they like. No evidence is needed. Everything is instantly logged as a hate incident. This inevitably presents a warped view of reality.
Already, two infamous post–Brexit ‘incidents’ have been debunked. It was widely claimed, for instance, that an attack on a tapas bar in Lewisham, south London, was a hate crime; actually, police say it was a burglary. A photo of four boneheads in Newcastle holding a banner saying ‘Stop Immigration, Start Repatriation’ was widely shared as evidence of xenophobia. But Geordies have pointed out that those idiots have been holding up that banner every weekend for ages, long before Brexit.
Beyond the post-Brexit hysteria, it’s incredible how subjective the idea of ‘hate crime’ has become. The police and the Crown Prosecution Service first agreed a common definition of hate crime ten years ago and started measuring national hate-crime levels in 2008. A hate crime, the police say, is ‘any criminal offence which is perceived, by the victim or any other person, to be motivated by a hostility or prejudice towards someone based on a personal characteristic’. They monitored ‘five strands’: crimes driven by prejudice based on race, religion/faith, sexual orientation, disability, and gender identity.
The police’s ‘Hate Crime Operational Guidance’ now stresses that the victim’s perception is the deciding factor in whether something is measured as a hate crime. No evidence is required. ‘Evidence of… hostility is not required for an incident or crime to be recorded as a hate crime or hate incident,’ the guidance says. ‘[The] perception of the victim, or any other person, is the defining factor… the victim does not have to justify or provide evidence of their belief, and police officers or staff should not directly challenge this perception.’ So you don’t need actual evidence to prove hate crime, just a feeling. The police are discouraged from asking for evidence. This is reflected in the policies of individual constabularies. So the ‘Hate Crime Procedure’ of the Surrey Police says ‘apparent lack of motivation as the cause of an incident is not relevant as it is the perception of the victim or any other person that counts’. No clear hateful motivation? Doesn’t matter. Record it as a hate crime anyway. Indeed, even when nothing hateful was said to the victim of a crime, still the police must record the incident as a hate crime if the victim perceives it to be so. The police guidance gives the example of a gay man being ‘sworn at and threatened’ by an assailant who said absolutely ‘nothing… about his sexual orientation’. If this gay man ‘perceives that he was targeted [because] he is openly gay’ then the police must ‘record this as a hate crime based on sexual orientation’. Think about this. If any gay man is shouted at in the street, by anyone, about anything, with no mention of sexuality, that can be recorded as an anti-gay hate crime. There’s no need for any proof whatsoever that anything anti-gay in sentiment was said or even intimated.
The unhinged subjectivity of the hate-crime definition becomes even clearer on the issue of what is called ‘secondary victimisation’. This is when a victim of an alleged hate crime feels that the police are not being sensitive enough and thus compound the ‘hate’ he or she has experienced. The police guidance says ‘secondary victimisation is based on victim perception, rather than what actually happens. It is immaterial whether it is reasonable or not for the victim to feel that way’. Again, this sanctification of perception over ‘what actually happens’ has trickled down into hate-crime policies of local constabularies. So the ‘Hate Crime Policy and Procedure’ of Greater Manchester Police says that if a hate-crime victim feels indifference from the police, this ‘victimises them a second time’ and ‘whether or not it is reasonable for them to perceive it that way is immaterial’. Truth, then, is ‘immaterial’.
In a world obsessed with evidence-based public policy, it is odd that a new crime category which explicitly eschews evidence in favour of emotion is subjected to such little scrutiny. And it gets worse: the prosecution of a hate crime doesn’t actually have to prove that hatred was the motivation. The CPS states: ‘The prosecution does not… need to prove hatred as the motivating factor behind an offence.’ The CPS says any crime that involves ‘ill-will, ill-feeling, spite, contempt, prejudice, unfriendliness, antagonism, resentment, or dislike’ on the basis of a ‘personal characteristic’ could be a hate crime. So unfriendliness can now be criminal. Next time you read about a hate-crime epidemic, bear that in mind.
Burglaries and robberies are often recorded as hate crimes. According to the Home Office, of all the hate incidents in the Crime Survey for England and Wales, 8 per cent are burglaries. And 1 per cent is bicycle theft. A racially motivated bike theft? You might think stealing is just about stealing, but if the victim thinks his stuff was nicked because he’s foreign, gay or trans, then it is recorded as hate crime.
The ‘Hate Crime Operational Guidance’ demands ‘increasing the reporting and recording of hate crime’. It specifies that success should not be measured by a reduction in hate-crime levels, perhaps because this will give people the impression that community life in Britain is getting better, and we can’t have that. ‘Targets that see success as reducing hate crime are not appropriate,’ it says, as this won’t ‘motivate managers’ to ‘promote positive recording’ or ‘increase the opportunity for victims to report’. So ‘success’ has one meaning only: creating evidence to suggest the problem is getting worse. The police are incentivised to find hatred, because their goal isn’t to tackle crime so much as to create a public impression of mass hatred.
Why are our authorities so willing to push this deceptive agenda? Why is our country determined to see itself as bigoted? It’s because creating a panic about hate crime gives officials and others a sense of purpose and history. But the squalid search for, and exaggeration of, hatred is dangerous and, to use a word so popular on social media, divisive. It is a slur on the white working classes to claim that what they think and say — on immigration, Europe, life in general — is racist. Such a perception convinces minorities that they should live in fear. It spreads anxiety and silences discussion. It rips Britain apart.
According to one leftie online magazine, Britain now evokes ‘nightmares of 1930s Germany’. But this doesn’t square with the reality of our country today, and you shouldn’t believe it. The hate-crime epidemic is a self-sustaining myth — a libel against the nation.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/the-real-hate-crime-scandal/
|
en
| 2016-08-04T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/240669116a3eea73548c682eb7428df3fb116f10eaafaedb767b4f4523b6754f.json
|
[
"Maggie Fergusson",
"Michael Du Preez",
"Jeremy Dornfield"
] | 2016-08-26T13:11:51 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fdoctor-in-disguise-the-secret-life-of-james-barry%2F.json
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/James-Barry.jpg
|
en
| null |
Doctor in disguise: the secret life of James Barry
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
On 25 July 1865, during a heatwave, Dr James Barry died of dysentery in his London lodgings. A charwoman came in to ‘lay out’ the body. She had known the deceased gentleman: a strange-looking fellow, about five feet tall, slight and stooped and with a large nose and dyed red hair. But nothing had prepared her for what she found when she folded back the bedclothes. Barry’s whole body — ‘the genitals, the deflated breast and the hairless face’ — was unmistakably female. And as if that wasn’t shock enough, the charwoman’s eye was drawn to pronounced striations in the skin of the belly. As a mother of nine, she recognised them immediately as the marks of childbearing.
James Barry was born Margaret Anne Bulkley in about 1789 in Cork, where her father, Jeremiah, made his living as a grocer. Destined either for marriage or to be a governess, she was given minimal education. Then, while she was still a teenager, it seems that she was raped — possibly by a ne’er-do-well uncle — and fell pregnant. Jeremiah and his wife, Mary Ann, passed off the child, Juliana, as their own, but the grocery business was increasingly precarious, and when Margaret was about 17 she and her mother moved to London. Our last sighting of Jeremiah is on a convict ship bound for New South Wales — and what became of poor Juliana history doesn’t relate.
In London, Mary Ann had a brother, James Barry, a Royal Academician and painter of some note. A true eccentric, he lived in squalor, but when he died in 1806 he left his sister and niece enough money to set themselves up. He had also introduced them to his circle of friends, including the Venezuelan exile General Francisco de Miranda and David Steuart Erskine, the Earl of Buchan. Both of these were impressed by the intelligence of young Margaret, and it may well have been Miranda who helped her to conceive her next bold step.
By 1809, Margaret had become James Barry, her sex disguised under a capacious ‘surtout’, worn in all weathers, its lining bulked out with kapok. She moved to Edinburgh to study medicine, and then back to London as apprentice to the surgeon Astley Cooper — soon to be knighted for removing a cyst from George IV. She then fulfilled what seems to have been a childhood dream to become a soldier, and for the rest of her working life travelled the empire as an army doctor, from Cape Town to Mauritius, Jamaica, St Helena, the Windward and Leeward Islands, Malta, Corfu and finally Canada.
Barry was a ‘man’ of contradictions. When crossed, he had a terrifying temper, but he had a wonderfully calm, reassuring bedside manner, and he was an excellent doctor. In an age when blood-letting and leeches were still common treatments, Barry was ahead of his time in insisting on fresh air, exercise and good food (he himself was a vegetarian, and travelled with a goat for milk). He was also a skilled surgeon, and in 1826 performed one of the first successful caesareans.
But what of his disguise? There were a number of people who rumbled him but all seem to have remained discreet. And there were many more who had their suspicions. One can only assume either that they were afraid of his temper (when a fellow officer suggested that Barry looked like a woman, he was slashed across the face with a horse whip), or that they thought the possibility of Barry being a woman too strange to be true. He was, after all, known as a ladies’ man, flirtatious with young girls and a nifty dancer.
It’s a cracking story — no wonder Dickens fell on it soon after Barry’s death — and the joint authors, following in the footsteps of a number of other biographers, have put in years of research. They make the most of irresistible moments like Barry in Scutari ticking off Florence Nightingale for being out in the sun without a hat, but not everyone will warm to their frequently portentous tone — ‘Trouble is a faithful companion, and rarely content with visiting only once’ — nor to the relentless fictional flourishes used to add colour to the drama: ‘Margaret’s goose quill twitched as she carefully inscribed her mother’s words.’
James Barry was buried on 29 July 1865. He took with him to the grave questions which will probably never be answered: did he really disown his mother — who had eventually to enter the workhouse — and daughter? Did he have an affair with Lord Charles Somerset, Governor of the Cape? And what are we to make of the fact that the inside lid of his travelling trunk was found, after he died, to carry a collage of pictures of women’s fashions? A century and a half on, this extraordinary woman — the first in Great Britain to graduate in medicine — remains stubbornly unknowable.
Maggie Fergusson is literary director of the Royal Society of Literature, and the biographer of George Mackay Brown and Michael Morpurgo
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/doctor-in-disguise-the-secret-life-of-james-barry/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/e70bf4a5934601ad40d173bd165297fee1dcb7b26343a603df2c3a09c98d3d73.json
|
[
"Mario Reading",
"Peter Ho Davies"
] | 2016-08-26T13:10:15 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fpeter-ho-daviess-chinese-americans-are-neither-one-thing-nor-the-other%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-591877100.jpg
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en
| null |
Peter Ho Davies’s Chinese-Americans are neither one thing nor the other
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Peter Ho Davies’s second novel, The Fortunes, is a beautifully crafted study, in four parts, of the history of the Chinese in America. Though it deals, of necessity, with racism in all its insidious forms, it does so with humanity, humour, self-deprecation and a hefty dose of irony. Each section — ‘Gold’, ‘Silver’, ‘Jade’ and ‘Pearl’ — covers a separate period in Chinese-American history.
‘Gold’ follows Ling, a half-white upwardly mobile immigrant, who arrives before the Civil War, starting as a laundryman and progressing to become the valet of one of the four big barons of the Central Pacific Railroad. On the way he falls in love with a prostitute, Little Sister, and has his queue cut off by a fellow Chinese to whom he has been attached in a race riot.
The loss of his hair triggers in Ling a desire to pass himself off as almost white — as a ‘ghost’ or a ‘devil’ — until he unexpectedly recovers his Chinese identity while accompanying his master, Crocker, in an attempt to break a strike of Chinese railway workers. It had been Ling’s quick thinking that had encouraged Crocker to consider hiring Chinese ‘coolies’ in the first place, when they had previously been assumed to be too weak for the job.
Ling later becomes a powder man (responsible for explosives on the railway), and ends his days as a bone-scraper, tasked with collecting up the bones of dead Chinese railway workers and sending them home to be buried alongside their ancestors.
‘Silver’ tells the story of Anna May Wong, the first Chinese movie star in America. Despite her high status as a Hollywood actress, in real life Wong encountered racism at every level. In Davies’s account, she somehow manages to transcend her environment through style and sheer force of will, but, on a visit to her father in Shanghai, she finds that she is neither one thing nor the other. To the Nationalist Chinese she is American, and to the Americans she is an exotic foreign dish. Douglas Fairbanks Sr, with whom she had one of numerous high-status affairs, called her the ‘chink in his amour’.
‘Jade’ transports us to the 1980s, and the brutal murder of a Chinese man by two whites. The killers, who had beaten the man to a pulp with a baseball bat, got off with probation and fines of $3,000 each, plus court costs. They had assumed, falsely, that Vincent, their victim, was Japanese. His friend, who tells the story, had ‘scrammed’, thereby saving his own life. Later, in a telling irony, he becomes a founder member of the ACJ (American Citizens for Justice), a pan-Asian political movement fighting for equality of opportunity.
The final section, ‘Pearl’, interleaves with the first three — which may be part of author John Smith’s imagination. Again we’re in the realm of interracial disharmony, when Smith, the half-Chinese narrator, and his white wife, Nola, travel to China to adopt a child. John fears he is a ‘banana’ — yellow on the outside, white on the inside. He doesn’t even speak Chinese. He feels that the other (white) adoptive parents they meet resent him because ‘he looks the part’. But he has never even dated a Chinese girl. Nola was his ‘occident waiting to happen’. While she sleeps, John is drawn to a prostitute, Pearl — but ends up simply talking to her.
When the other adopters receive their babies, John and Nola find themselves bereft. The baby they had seen in the photograph does not appear. When they are offered a substitute, they remonstrate; only to discover that Mei Mei — their intended — had died that morning. Nola insists on seeing the dead baby — after which they are taken to the crib room and allowed to choose whichever child they like, as a sort of compensation. But they cannot. They don’t want to ‘choose’; they want to be ‘chosen’. Which they are, eventually, when Nola feels her finger in the tiny grip of another baby that has been placed in her arms. At John’s suggestion they call her Pearl, after the prostitute he befriended, and whose existence he has kept to himself.
Davies’s first novel, The Welsh Girl, published in 2007, was longlisted for the Man Booker Prize, and he was adjudged one of Granta’s Best Young British Novelists. The Fortunes is an equally beguiling book, and should do much to strengthen Davies’s reputation.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/peter-ho-daviess-chinese-americans-are-neither-one-thing-nor-the-other/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/4d7450f11ab0a365d9575b6908466f7a86a7955c22cc53c25c93506dafc3e562.json
|
[
"Peter Hitchens",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:09:50 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Ftake-it-from-an-ex-trot-labour-neednt-worry-about-trotskyists%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-3362265.jpg
|
en
| null |
Take it from an ex-Trot: Labour needn’t worry about Trotskyists
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
How strange it is that an obscure Tsarist prison warder in Odessa is commemorated forever in thousands of tiny, irritable revolutionary sects. But that is who the real Trotsky was, and that is all we know about him. The future leader of the 1917 Petrograd putsch, Lev Davidovich Bronstein, hurriedly scribbled his former jailer’s name in a false passport as he fled from Siberian exile in 1902, hidden in a haywain. He later complained that he had no idea he would be stuck with being ‘Trotsky’ for the rest of his life. But would this enduring movement, as persistent in the world as the measles, have survived so long under its founder’s real name? I doubt it. There is something about the word ‘Trotskyist’ — energetic, slightly crazy, inherently funny and melodramatic, that gives the brand its enduring power.
Even now, Labour’s deputy leader Tom Watson is making our flesh creep with allegations of Trotskyist wickedness among Jeremy Corbyn’s supporters. He doesn’t know the half of it. But I beg him — and you — not to worry. Trotskyists can be guaranteed to sink, burn and destroy each other, if left alone, and are too boring, self-obsessed, incompetent and internecine to do anyone any serious harm except themselves. The danger comes from elsewhere.
I write as an ex-Trotskyist, or ‘ex-Trot’, who — despite nowadays preferring Edmund Burke to Lenin — is marked for life by fun and games, and a certain amount of spite as well, among the comrades in the sunny days of the late 1960s and early 1970s.
All I ask is that you call me an ex-Trotskyist, a technical description, not an ex-Trotskyite, a term of abuse employed by Stalinists. Because, you see, this is a world of linguistic niceties that would keep Noam Chomsky happy for years.
Strictly speaking, I wasn’t even a proper Trot. My grouplet, the International Socialists, held to the belief that the Soviet Union was ‘state capitalist’ rather than a ‘degenerated workers’ state’, as orthodox Trots contend. So we weren’t members of either of the rival ‘Fourth Internationals’ (neither would admit to being the Fifth) which supposedly united us across the planet. Some hope. We chanted rude ditties about each other (one, called ‘The Workers’ Bomb’, sung to the tune of the ‘Red Flag’, ended with the line ‘And though our comrades all shout “Balls!”, we’ll stand beneath it when it falls.’ We couldn’t abide each other, and those endless finger-jabbing arguments about such things may be the reason why I now can’t bear theology.
My main aim as a university revolutionary at York was (I now confess) to do down the rival International Marxist Group, whose chief national ornament was Tariq Ali. Their members had secret code-names (until I found them out and published them), and we regarded them as frivolous dope-smokers. The difference was emphasised by the names of our newspapers — ours was Socialist Worker, theirs was Red Mole. Our contest once led us both to seek recruits at the Kit Kat factory, where they distributed (I am not making this up) a special publication called The Chocolate Mole. Elsewhere the competition came from the Socialist Labour League, headed by the appalling monster Gerry Healy, of whom we again sang, to the tune of the hymn ‘For All the Saints’: ‘Now we are few, once we were lots and lots, which is the case with all small groups of Trots, led by Gerry Healy.’ Despite Healy’s seemingly hypnotic power over various wealthy showbusiness donors, who at one stage financed a daily newspaper, his party came to nothing as usual.
In those days, few of us bothered with the Labour party, which in the latter years of Harold Wilson appeared to be a political corpse. The great Marxist thinker Ralph Miliband had written a volume called Parliamentary Socialism in which he concluded persuasively that the Labour party was a complete waste of time. I often wonder if either of his sons ever read it, as I did. My own sect’s alluring election slogan was ‘Vote Labour without illusions’, as if there was any other way to do so. But buried deep within Labour was the thing you think of as ‘Militant’ but which we all knew was the Revolutionary Socialist League. Its members were instructed to deny its existence, but you could always tell them because of a particular leaden style of debate and a specially ridiculous type of finger-jabbing which we guessed they must have learned at training camps on Merseyside, where the RSL was based.
They were ‘entryists’, who joined Labour because they hated it and wanted to take it over. As soon as anyone knew this was going on, it was more or less bound to fail. But in any case, Trotskyism was always too narrow and too romantic to succeed. Stalin, the cynical bureaucrat and master of manoeuvre, ended up as the head of a superpower. Trotsky, orator of genius, inspired general, superb journalist and true believer, ended up being murdered by one of Stalin’s agents in a suburb of Mexico City. Both men, I should stress, were merciless killers. But one understood politics and the other didn’t.
And so the real revolution in the Labour party, which most of Fleet Street has never understood, was inflicted not by Trotskyists, but by the legions of the dull — Eurocommunists who realised Bolshevism was obsolete, quietly captured think tanks and policy committees, and used the apolitical figure of Tony Blair as the front for a Gramscian cultural, constitutional, educational and sexual revolution, whose greatest triumph was to capture the Tory party as well as the Labour party.
As I watch our modern politicians embracing equality and diversity, the unmarried family, globalism and open borders, I am ceaselessly reminded of Maynard Keynes’s remark ‘Practical men who believe themselves to be quite exempt from any intellectual influence, are usually the slaves of some defunct economist. Madmen in authority, who hear voices in the air, are distilling their frenzy from some academic scribbler of a few years back.’ It’s a pity ‘Gramsci’ is so much harder to pronounce than ‘Trotsky’. But I fear that those who shriek and point at Trotskyist bogeymen in Jeremy Corbyn’s party will never understand what the real danger is. Indeed, they may be part of it themselves.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/take-it-from-an-ex-trot-labour-neednt-worry-about-trotskyists/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/d01cd258741570f6fb5598e19a2b427cdc70a0102d30edb18ede07eaf83b7d71.json
|
[
"Susanna Gross",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:14:32 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fbridge-498%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/Bridge-1.jpg
|
en
| null |
The Spectator
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
There’s been a fair amount of moaning about the English Bridge Union’s decision to move the week-long ‘Summer Meeting’ — one of the most popular events in the bridge calendar — from Brighton to Eastbourne. The decision was purely financial: Brighton is far more expensive. On the other hand, Brighton is a buzzy, vibrant town and was hugely popular with our younger players, who we desperately need to encourage. Whereas Eastbourne… let me put it this way: a couple of years ago, Eastbourne became the first place in the country to have an average age of over 70.
The jury is still out, but I’ve just come back from the first Swiss Pairs at the new location and — call me an old fogey — I thought it was rather wonderful. The beach, the pier, the views, the faded Victorian charm… and I’m sure the nightclubs are fine too. Spread the word to Britain’s young players!
I’m delighted to say the Pairs was won by Andrew Robson and Alexander Allfrey (well, less delighted than if it had been me, obviously). They both played so many hands so well that I’m not sure which one to pick. Here’s a double squeeze for the road:
West lead the ♣4 against a rather pushy 6NT. One or two things would have to be right. Alex won with the ♣K and finessed the ♣10 immediately. Then he played a spade to the ♠8, rectifying the count for a possible squeeze. West won and returned the ♣J. Alex won, cashed the ♣A, crossed to the ♥A, cashed the ♠A, and cashed the rest of his hearts, praying for a 3-3 break. On the play of the fourth heart, this was position: N: ♥Q ♦K4 ♣5, S: ♠J ♦A103, W: ♦J95 ♣9, E: ♠K ♦Q87. First East had to let go of a diamond to protect his ♠K, so declarer chucked his ♠J, then West had to release a diamond to protect his ♣9 — which meant Alex could cash three diamonds for the best result in the room.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/bridge-498/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/d731a1d1efc68f9db16f3ded093eee0c7ca459a832d5c51b758e2856c1705e5a.json
|
[
"Susan Hill",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:14:26 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fwhat-makes-the-perfect-holiday-cottage%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/iStock_23284855_MEDIUM.jpg
|
en
| null |
What makes the perfect holiday cottage
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
‘Farm cottage available, Dorset. Long or short let. £5 per week.’ I was looking for a writing bolthole, so I rang. ‘Bit off the beaten track but it’s quiet all right,’ said the owner. It was also unfurnished. ‘We can get some basics together for you.’
So, in the summer of 1968, I drove down to Dorset and my first holiday cottage. It was backed by a large wood, surrounded by fields of dairy cows and meadows of wild flowers, bordered by elms. Remember elms? God’s finest trees. They whispered in the wind.
Furniture. A deal table and chair. Cooker. Enough crockery, cutlery and utensils for one. An armchair, old and comfortable. A bed, old and uncomfortable. A small table with a mirror. Pegs for hanging clothes. And a blue jug freshly filled with garden and wild flowers.
No ‘white goods’. No TV. I took my own radio and bedding.
I was very happy, wrote most of my book, and did not feel I lacked for anything.
Nor did I eight years later and married, when we rented a French stone farmhouse, ‘partially modernised’ — bath and hot water, but an outside chemical toilet. After dark trips meant brushes with toads, bats and other terrors of the French night, and hearing nightjars, nightingales and crickets while one sat.
Holiday cottage letting is a very lucrative business now and many are popular all year round. It brings money to the local economy, and who am I to complain about second homes when I occasionally rent one myself? I have become an expert and, given the prices charged, a fussy one. For £5 a week, I did not complain about my friendly Dorset farm cottage. £500 or more a week is another matter.
Yet even for this money, cottage owners do not always give value — which, in my book, means not fancy decor or massed knick knacks but essential comforts, starting with good beds. If only they would put a good bed before a costly gas barbecue. Cheap beds are hard beds. There is strong competition in the holiday letting area, and reports of bad beds will send customers elsewhere, as will sitting rooms furnished with uncomfortable chairs and curious low tables gathered from spare rooms and salerooms. We recently found one decent chair in a cottage for six. The tiny sofa apparently had a concrete base and the only other seat was a high chair.
Evenings spent shivering before pretend coal electric fires giving out more light than heat are miserable, especially when the widescreen TV has 40 channels but no instructions for the remote. I read. Pity about the 25 watt eco bulbs. If Wi Fi is advertised it must be there and work, as must cookers, fridges and freezers — and these must be checked occasionally for broken knobs and trays.
Some renters charge highly because their properties have been styled by an interior decorator. We went to one whose designer had a thing about bright purple and ‘accents’. There were bright purple cushions with curious rubber stipples, contorted vases, weirdly shaped lamp bases and chairs with tall thin backs, upholstered in bright purple velvet, which had cast iron seats.
Pictures come in three types. Reproductions of famous paintings by French Impressionists, local views by local artists, probably related to the owner, and abstracts: the least said about those the better. Our last place had coloured postcards framed in passe partout. I didn’t know you could still buy passe partout.
Every rented house has its Book, containing essential instructions about keys, the boiler and the vagaries of the cooker — ‘Never have ring right front and the grill on together.’ ‘ALWAYS turn key two and a half turns anti clockwise in the lock.’ ‘Do not try and unlock the cat flap or the neighbour’s cat will enter.’
There are lists of local pubs and restaurants (two years out of date), shops and garages (now closed) and emergency numbers for the local hospital (30 miles away), fire service (40 miles) and police station (95 miles and unmanned at weekends and bank holidays). Then usually there are details of local attractions, where to hire a quad bike, get a riding lesson or take a hot air balloon, plus maps of arduous hikes (‘a gentle one this, only nine miles over moderately hilly terrain’).
Of course there are plenty of comfortable, well equipped holiday cottages where everything works and the beds are as comfortable as your own, with good lighting, generous wardrobe space and well chosen furniture. I know a few and they are not by any means the most expensive.
But I sometimes think back to my £5 a week Dorset cottage and the French farmhouse with outside chemical loo and wonder if I wouldn’t be just as happy in them now, 40 plus years later. Even though thunderstorms did put everything out for days on end and I wrote books by candlelight.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/what-makes-the-perfect-holiday-cottage/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/c84c7841d5fdf74f89b43801ffb8e5198bfa29439a094fb588fda179903f119b.json
|
[
"Aidan Hartley",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:14:03 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fso-youre-the-guy-who-kills-black-people-i-thought-that-was-you%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-87218668.jpg
|
en
| null |
'So you're the guy who kills black people.' 'I thought that was you?'
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Kenya
When the late Tom Cholmondeley walked into his cell after being accused of murder in Kenya’s Rift Valley, etched onto the wall were the words Ubaya ya jela ni kishoga — Swahili for ‘the worst of jail is buggery’. During an incarceration of 41 months in Kenya’s Kamiti Maximum Security Prison he endured both squalor and terror: men beaten to death, hunger, 92 inmates to a single latrine bucket, cold, dirt, rats, lice and bedbugs — which leave a line of three bites known as breakfast, lunch and dinner. While facing the death penalty or life imprisonment, he saw his two young sons for just 30 minutes a time on two occasions due to prison rules that disallowed visits by children. Alone, he gazed up through his cell window, recalling his childhood on the shores of Lake Elementaita:
At night I would lie in bed listening to the companionable chatter of the flamingos flying overhead or to the calls of the African nightjars, sounds which I have only to think of to feel homesick when away.
I quote him from his prison diary, which he gave me to read after his release (he had been sentenced for manslaughter). For his own reasons he decided against publishing this, despite its revelations. But at its heart his memoir is a harrowing account of prison conditions and it is also a touching portrait of friendship with his fellow inmates. ‘So you’re the guy who kills black people,’ asked a very scary crime boss when they first met. ‘I replied “No, I thought that was you.” With that a friendship had somehow developed… and there was a real catharsis to being accepted by a man hell-bent on destroying everything that I and my family represented to him.’
Tom became deeply loyal to his fellow convicts and he set about trying to improve their lives. With a technician’s skill, he worked on the prison water system and electricity. He organised rodent-culling expeditions and the cultivation of a vegetable garden in a tiny square of light. Eventually, he was allowed to teach business studies in a prison school, together with ‘two wife-strangling English teachers, a car-thieving Mathematician and a confidence-trickster Theologian’.
And all the while Tom continued managing his family estates, holding company board meetings in his cell. He always had good, innovative business projects that employed hundreds of Kenyans. From Kamiti he visualised all the details of home with a photographic memory and gave specific instructions to his directors. His teeth were broken on grit in the prison beans, and in one month he lost 15 per cent of his body weight, but he complained of nothing but the cold. Inmates recall how in the mornings he performed handstands. During his trial he perfected yoga breathing, under the hot glare of television cameras and what he called the ‘harsh rain of public opinion’.
Once, Tom called me on his illegal phone from Kamiti. I do not know where he hid this but phones were regularly confiscated by warders during raids and 36-hour lockdowns — and so frequently the devices had to be hidden up the rectum, Tom revealed. I wondered what important news Tom had for me. After several minutes of humorous discussion, Tom started talking about wheat production in Kenya and what we needed to do to improve this. On his valuable battery time he just wanted to have a chat about agriculture, for which he had a passion. In Tom there was a great deal of his great-grandfather, who had arrived here in 1897 and practically invented modern agriculture in East Africa.
On his liberation, Tom’s girlfriend Sally recalls, ‘He left prison having made friends there. Tom didn’t judge anybody by class or race.’ Tom said, ‘In the cells, I was bolstered by my friends who supported me as I supported them.’ Later, he described his visits back to Kamiti as ‘Old Boys’ reunions’. He became involved in efforts to improve the lives of prison inmates, and to help young Kenyans stay away from crime. One project was a UK charity, the African Prisons Project masterminded by Alexander McLean. This has done extraordinary work to improve inmates’ access to higher education and it has built libraries in African prisons such as Kamiti. The other, Crime Si Poa — Swahili for ‘Crime is Not Cool’ — is run by Peter Ouko, a Kamiti ‘lifer’ of some 17 years who has graduated with a law degree from London University’s distance learning programme. Peter and Tom were friends.
Tom was loved by the many who knew him properly and we will miss him, following his death during a hip operation in Nairobi last week. Peter’s eulogy will be read out at Tom’s funeral on Friday, and a memorial service will also be held in Kamiti’s chapel.
To support these charities, email Alexander McLean on info@africanprisons.org or Peter Ouko on crimesipoa.csp@gmail.com
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/so-youre-the-guy-who-kills-black-people-i-thought-that-was-you/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/fa44f18448199039ff0e74646687e3ce5d1500f653dedea6a8f3e9033a855d37.json
|
[
"Stephen Bayley",
"Hugh Howard"
] | 2016-08-26T13:14:19 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fshould-frank-lloyd-wright-and-philip-johnson-be-linked-at-all%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/Fallingwater.jpg
|
en
| null |
Should Frank Lloyd Wright and Philip Johnson be linked at all?
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Architecture is sometimes described as the second oldest profession, but often — in both theory and practice — it competes with the first. In his splendiferous office in Manhattan’s Seagram Building, Philip Johnson confirmed this when he told me, ‘Remember, son, I’m a whore.’ True to his vocation, this was a line he had often indiscriminately used.
Architects need to have big personalities because their responsibilities are so huge. Frank Lloyd Wright said that surgeons can bury their mistakes, but architects have to live with them. And so do the rest of us. Few of us have ever met a reticent, self-deprecating architect.
In the middle of the last century the Institute of Personality Assessment at the University of California performed psychometric tests on leading architects, now the subject of Pierluigi Serraino’s interesting new book The Creative Architect. But really all you have to know about the architectural personality disorder is that Wright was the inspiration for the megalomaniac Howard Roark in Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead.
The title Architecture’s Odd Couple is inspired by Neil Simon’s 1965 Broadway play with two divergent characters: a Mr Tidy Paws who is forced to cohabit with a male slut. Between Johnson and Wright there were also marked contrasts. Johnson, the younger man, was rich, gay, Harvard, metropolitan, squeaky-clean, sleek and not much fussed by principles of any sort. In Germany before the war he had camply noted that the Wehrmacht’s ‘green uniforms make the place look gay and happy’. His schmoozing the Nazis led to a cameo role in CBS reporter William L. Shirer’s Berlin Diary (1941) which became notorious. Johnson later apologised, but one suspects he rather enjoyed the notoriety, if not the reason for it.
Frank Lloyd Wright was built from different materials. He was a draftsman, Druidical Welsh, eccentric, grubby, a fabulist and theoriser, who possessed a satyric heterosexual libido and, rather despising New York, was given to living in wide open spaces under capacious and sheltering roofs surrounded by adoring and tranquilised acolytes (including, at one point, Svetlana Stalin). He wore a cape and impressive hats. Hugh Howard also paints him as an improvident cadger, scrounger and procrastinator. The other difference between Johnson and Wright is that the former was a fly opportunist and copyist while the latter was a world-class designer of completely original genius.
Between them, this odd couple created four buildings which are a perfect synopsis of 20th-century American architecture. Wright gave us Fallingwater, one of the most astonishing houses ever built; and in New York’s Guggenheim, one of the most astonishing museums ever built. Wright’s houses always leaked, had wonky electrics and suffered from the contractor’s inability to soar as high as the architect’s imagination. Still, damp patches and short circuits are a small price to pay for ineffable beauty: Fallingwater caused Time to anoint Wright as ‘the greatest architect of the 20th century’. Equally, the Guggenheim was wholly unsuited to its purpose as an art gallery, but is surely on everybody’s list of the top ten greatest buildings of all time.
Of Johnson’s architecture there is less to be said, because, just as his eyewear was inspired by Le Corbusier, so his buildings were inspired by his mentor, the former Bauhaus director Ludwig Mies van der Rohe. Johnson’s Glass House at New Canaan in Connecticut was a take on Mies’s Farnsworth House at Plano, Illinois. And the Seagram Building on Park Avenue, the ultimate modernist corporate HQ where the Golden Section served bourbon sales, was a conception of Mies’s executed by Johnson. True, Johnson fitted out the lovely Four Seasons Restaurant, but that was just de luxe styling. At the ‘whore’ conversation, Johnson also explained that he liked Mies because ‘he was easy to copy’.
Although Howard’s book is meticulously footnoted, it is not altogether well-founded as a conceit. Johnson and Wright really did not have a lot to do with each other: after an early coming together at a Museum of Modern Art exhibition which Johnson organised in 1932, their encounters were only intermittent. Johnson visited the Wright campus at Taliesin (helpfully glossed as ‘talley-ess-in’) and there were other reciprocal visits, but Wright was too dottily aloof and Johnson too bitchily ambitious for them to be much concerned with each other, although the homophobic Wright held a long-term grudge about Johnson’s catty description of him as the last architect of the 19th century.
So it’s the sort of book that tends, New Yorker-style, towards accounts that pretend, inoffensively, to be eyewitness: Philip-caught-his-breath-as-Frank-hit-the-bathroom-door-with-his-cane sort of thing. It’s a book where ‘sparks fly’ and Johnson has ‘reluctant ears’. Backward run sentences until reels the mind. Lacking any substantial Johnson-Wright narrative, there are long (and not un-interesting) accounts of Mies’s Tugendhat House, Manhattan art madame Hilla Rebay, Alfred Barr and the early history of MoMA.
Architecture’s Odd Couple satisfies an American need for gigantic personalities in adversarial postures: Muhammad Ali/Sonny Liston, Gore Vidal/William F. Buckley, Tom Wolfe/Hunter S. Thompson. But Johnson and Wright were on a different level: whore versus Earth Mother. In this account, the whore wins. There have been better books about Frank Lloyd Wright, but never a better account of Philip Johnson.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/should-frank-lloyd-wright-and-philip-johnson-be-linked-at-all/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/2659c5413cc721c82fd9fe709cb835e9356505db95cc240d9219af4d09cdf4b8.json
|
[
"Felicity Lloyd",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole",
"William Stanier"
] | 2016-08-26T13:16:58 | null | 2016-08-04T03:00:00 | null |
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|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/iStock_19215875_LARGE.jpg
|
en
| null |
I’ve finally made friends with a hedgehog - and you can too
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
I’ve just tripped over the damned hedgehog for the second time in as many days. He has retreated into the greenhouse and is glaring out at me from under the workbench, rigid with indignation. I suspect he has learnt this expression from my cats.
Truth be told, after 14 months’ acquaintance, with time out for hibernation, we’ve got each other’s measure by now. My two elderly rescue moggies barely spare the drama king a second glance.
I’ve worked hard to acquire a hedgehog. And a great spotted woodpecker, goldfinches, greenfinches, chaffinches, grey squirrels, dunnocks, tits of every persuasion — you get the picture. But Mr Hog is my triumph to date, proof of a project that is nearing fruition. In short, in under two years, my garden is well on its way to becoming a wildlife sanctuary.
When I moved to the south coast, the first thing I did was sneak down my 125 x 85ft garden at dusk and excavate a 5in square corridor under the fences on either side. That’s the minimum size for a hedgehog to squeeze through (the other option would have been to cut a hole in the panels). Hedgehogs travel up to a mile and a half a night, particularly when looking for a mate, and they need to pass through an unimpeded run of gardens if they are not to be forced out — and squashed — on the road.
So that was hedgehog sex and exercise sorted. Next up was shelter. That expensive bespoke hedgehog house with its lovely nest of dried grasses? A waste of money, though it did nicely for a field mouse. A much better idea was to fell a couple of dull, light-blocking conifers and use the wood to create a sizeable log pile in an undisturbed corner of the garden. I’ve no idea if that’s where Mr Hog is living, but it’s paradise for woodlice. And now that I’ve bulked out the pile with scrounged native tree logs, which rot down faster than the conifers, I might even end up with another masterpiece of evolution — stag beetles.
I am not by nature tidy, which makes me a great hit with all creatures great and small. My hedgehog turned up at dusk on an ad hoc basis last year but I was never sure whether it was him eating the food I put out or the fox. I was on tenterhooks all through winter wondering whether he had survived; I felt something akin to joy when I saw my first hedgehog poo this spring.
We’ve settled down into a routine now. Mr Hog knows there will be a bowl of food for him in the lee of the house wall every night, come rain or shine. Besotted friends feed him. His fanbase is solid. I’d set up a Twitter account for him if I knew how.
And, Lord knows, he needs all the fans he can get. Across Britain, gardeners kill his kind — without realising it — by using cheap, lethal slug pellets to nuke anything that has a pop at their nectar-free begonias. Control-freakery is death to garden ecosystems. Live and let live a little: bees, hoverflies, lacewings, ladybirds, wasps, beetles, butterflies — all manner of buzzy pollinating insects are more important than the black spot on your roses.
Wildlife gardens thrive through benign neglect. I’ve got a lot of lawn and it takes ages to cut, so I don’t bother. I just mow a path through it and plant plugs of homegrown yellow rattle to parasitise the grass, followed by wild flowers. When I walk along my grass path, clouds of soporific insects take flight: speckled wood butterflies lazily settle back down in front of my feet; lady’s bedstraw fights for dominance with fox-and-cubs; fledglings take fright and scramble back into hedges.
Over in my borders, Verbena bonariensis and hebe are hosting showy small tortoiseshell, peacock and red admiral butterflies, and all manner of bugs are making free with the homegrown cosmos. The birds are in heaven — so many insects to choose from on top of sunflower seeds and fat balls — while my hedgehog supplements his human handouts with plump slugs and snails. In truth, it is paradise.
Not that I would dream of introducing a snake, but I do crave a pond. My next urgent task is to plan where to put one without distressing those inhabitants who have already claimed my garden for their own.
Still — let’s be honest here — nothing is actually going to happen until my hedgehog deigns to retire for the winter. To anywhere in the garden that takes his fancy. Except, possibly, the greenhouse.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/ive-finally-made-friends-with-a-hedgehog-and-you-can-too/
|
en
| 2016-08-04T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/cdc223a129851727dfa7c9f01cc5fe64a30c7ed2d5b485098b10da13366505e1.json
|
[
"Rod Liddle",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T12:57:42 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fwhy-ill-keep-cheering-for-caster-semenya%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-592602808.jpg
|
en
| null |
Why I’ll keep cheering for Caster Semenya
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
An almost worldwide survey on penis length — the sort of thing I always read with a sense of trepidation and inadequacy — suggested that the countries boasting the largest of these flawed and devious appendages are all located in Africa. Especially West Africa, from the DRC down to the humid and still pristine jungles of Gabon. This suggests to me one of two things — either that the old racist cliché is absolutely true, or that Africans tell bigger lies than anyone else on the planet. Either or both of these explanations are likely to get me into trouble, so I suppose I’d better stop digging.
Thing is, I can’t fathom another answer. I should add, just in case you’re interested, that we Brits come exactly in the middle of the worldwide penis league — which is, I think, the right place to be. We clock in at an average of about 14cm, or a bit over 5in — which seems to me an eminently sensible length, neither the frighteningly robust nightstick you might encounter in Kinshasa, nor yet the pitiful, flaccid caterpillar which hangs forlornly between the legs of your Southeast Asians. No wonder the Thai men are always cross and their women yearn for fat German and elderly British tourists, shooting ping-pong balls from their lady gardens across the bar-room in order to attract a potential mate with a semblance of girth and length down below. China did not take part in the survey, perhaps fearing where they’d come in the table.
One African who does not boast about having a very large penis is the South-African gold medallist in the 800 metres, Caster Semenya. This is because Caster is a woman, probably. Certainly she identifies as a woman and competes as a woman and is built like a woman in everything other than her very high natural levels of testosterone; that is, her hyperandrogenism.
Caster has incurred the loathing of her rivals, especially her European rivals, because they believe her inherent manliness gives her an unfair advantage over them — which indeed it does. But it is not just the other runners who have it in for this exceptional athlete (who one might describe as intersex). The transgender lobby aren’t too happy either, and nor are the sports scientists. Whereas the human-rights activists are very much in favour of Caster Semenya — and this is why I find her case interesting. It is where liberal and transgender delusions come up against the real world.
At the age of 18, Caster won a gold medal in Berlin with a time of 1.55.45. However, subsequently she was subjected to a series of I daresay unpleasant investigations into her nether regions and also her levels of testosterone. The IAAF decided she had too much testosterone and set an upper limit on women competitors (of 10n.mol/L) and so Semenya underwent some sort of intervention to lower her levels. The consequence was that she ran more slowly.
Women run more slowly than men. Not because of the horrible patriarchal society in which they are relentlessly oppressed by men, but because their bodies are different. And in sporting terms, very much inferior. With her testosterone suppressed, Semenya was struggling to break 2.00.00 in her races: five seconds, a hell of a long time in sporting politics, and indeed in sport. An appeal was lodged with the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS), and the IAAF’s decision was overthrown, to the jubilation of human rights activists — and, I have to say, myself (for perhaps different reasons).
Last week in Rio de Janeiro Caster Semenya ran the 800m in a time of 1.55.28 and collected the gold. She will easily knock a few more seconds off that time in the future, certainly enough to set a new world record (the current one has stood since 1983). Those who trailed her bitched nastily after the final. Caster was left out of the various group hugs which, in these unremittingly emotional days, occur at the end of each race. In a rather heartbreaking scene, she tried to take part in the exchange of consolation and solidarity, but was coldly shunned. Cheat! And yet she is not a cheat by any measure.
The Olympics are not about level playing fields, be it in the relative amount of taxpayers’ money spent to achieve sporting excellence (step forward, Team GB!) or, even more obviously, in the physiology of those taking part. They are about exceptionalism, and exceptionalism of physique. We do not legislate against basketball players because they are unnaturally tall, and insist that the competition should somehow be rigged so that cheerful dwarves can compete on an equal footing. Any more than we legislate against Usain Bolt because, as a consequence of some fearfully fortuitous genetics, plus a lot of hard work, he is the fastest human being on the planet. Instead, we rightly laud his achievements. Caster Semenya has also worked very hard and her testosterone levels are just one of the lucky elements within her physique which have made her into a brilliant runner. For lots of reasons, she can run fast.
Of course we are familiar with female Bulgarian weightlifters from the 1970s who made Geoff Capes look epicene, frail and a bit lacking on the facial-hair front. And we are constantly reminded of the shocking doping scandals, especially that involving the Russ-kies. I suppose we should try to police un-natural means of enhancing performance, insofar as we can. But, though trans-gendered people may object, there is nothing remotely unnatural about Caster Semenya. Unusual, but not unnatural.
The sports scientists rail that the CAS decision could ‘rip apart the fabric’ of women’s sport. Calm down, please. All it does is allow women who are naturally a bit more like men than the majority of women to excel. We try to kid ourselves these days that exceptionalism doesn’t exist, that we are all equal, that everyone has a chance. But that is all a delusion. Well done to Caster Semenya for her victory in the 800m, and for showing us that the world is not a nice, fair place.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/why-ill-keep-cheering-for-caster-semenya/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/d94d50ba76ddeea76a158b74be21af977bddeb248df687e6f62dd3c9c5ce138f.json
|
[
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] | 2016-08-26T13:16:22 | null | 2016-08-04T03:00:00 | null |
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|
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|
en
| null |
I thought I was British. Until I took a DNA test
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
A declaration of nationality is a profound statement. To say ‘I am British’ suggests that somehow I am composed of Britishness — that my fabric, my very being, is British.
Except I personally, apparently, am not particularly British. The results are back from my DNA ethnicity test, and I am 63 per cent Irish, 20 per cent Western European, 11 per cent Scandinavian and 3 per cent Iberian. How do I feel about my nationality now?
Half a test-tube of saliva was all it took for Ancestry, the genealogical organisation, to come up with these figures and, once you get results like this, the immediate reaction is to say: ‘Well it doesn’t make any difference. I am British, born in England, of parents also born in England, and that’s that.’
Inevitably though, one then begins to speculate. Since my mother’s family was from Cork my Irish portion was predictable, but the Scandinavian element is more interesting. I am fair-haired and from the north of England, so a Viking forebear is an exciting thought. Was the clue, perhaps, in my name?
I am already feeling, you see, more international than I did. The things we associate with passport nationality, my cultural loyalties and sense of identity, have shifted. The medical effects of DNA analysis are often discussed; the political ones hardly at all.
In particular, DNA provides a new way of telling you who you are. In the UK, and England especially, we seem confused about this. The old certainties of race, religion and empire have gone — and the place in our hearts they once occupied has been filled with anything from jingoistic nostalgia to national self-loathing. As we find ourselves in the midst of one of history’s great migrations, it seems likely that angst about identity is only going to increase — and if the EU referendum proved anything, it is that people in Britain feel very differently indeed about who they are and where they belong.
But DNA sails above all this. You don’t need to argue or agonise. Instead, you have a pie chart. And whatever it shows, it is surprisingly hard not to feel some allegiance to the people and places whence you sprang. Now when I watch Scandinavian crime drama, I wonder: do I feel more of a connection with that stylishly bleak and watery landscape? It’s silly, but I fancy that I do.
As well as the ethnicity breakdown, my saliva test also offered some more specific information. My DNA was compared with that of others on Ancestry’s database and as a result I have now been put in touch with some 150 people throughout the world who have sections of DNA which match my own.
These matches are almost certainly related to me. Most are likely to be fourth or fifth cousins. Some use the site to post online profiles, and some include thumbnail photos of themselves. My jaw dropped when I clicked on Mark from Pennsylvania. He looks like me. Pattie from California could be my younger sister.
It is strangely moving to think these people actually are, genetically speaking, my own kind. My fancy for Swedish coastline might have been idle, but this is a more precise tool, adding the ties of family to those of ethnicity. So imagine: if you are a refugee exiled from your home soil, or even if you feel like a stranger in your own country, this is not only a way of defining who you are, but also of knowing the exact location of those who are like you.
As more of us have our DNA looked at, the numbers of people who can be connected with others of similar ethnicity will increase exponentially.
It is an intriguing and rather terrifying prospect. DNA clearly has the potential to be used in conjunction with, for example, ethnic cleansing. Take a test, and if you are not sufficiently what you are supposed to be, then you may suffer consequences. Or eugenics: I have no desire to collect my cousins together in the founding of a new Scando-Irish master race — but who’s to say that others, perhaps with a ‘purer’ result than mine, might not be so inclined? What, I wonder, would Adolf Hitler have done with technology like this? What will the next Hitler do with it?
These questions are all the more disquieting because the 21st century finds it almost impossible to discuss race in an honest fashion. But, since the gene genie has already exited the test tube, it might be an idea to start thinking now about how we are going to manage the political ramifications of his escape.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/i-thought-i-was-british-until-i-took-a-dna-test/
|
en
| 2016-08-04T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/dff97d856c6a144d46eb47ac354f6f9ed2884fd008ac069f43e1dea1058747fe.json
|
[
"Ismene Brown"
] | 2016-08-26T13:15:41 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
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en
| null |
In her final column, Ismene Brown salutes the Bolshoi’s real stars: the corps de ballet
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
| null |
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/in-her-final-column-ismene-brown-salutes-the-bolshois-real-stars-the-corps-de-ballet/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/d23ad6331ada530498bb885d5259bb48a652a931053f736345fc3c5565e06537.json
|
[
"Raymond Keene",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:12:09 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fso-it-st-louis%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/chess20160827.jpg
|
en
| null |
So it St Louis
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
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From the humble status of wild-card entry at St Louis last year, the US Grandmaster, Wesley So (formerly of the Philippines) has rocketed to first prize laureate this year and also overall leader in the Chess Grand Tour standings. Final scores in St Louis were: So 5½; Anand, Aronian, Caruana and Topalov 5; Vachier-Lagrave and Nakamura 4½; Ding Liren 4; Svidler 3½; Giri 3.
The overall standings in the Grand Chess Tour are:
Player Points Prize Wesley So 30 $120,000 Magnus Carlsen 23 $67,500 Lev Aronian 21.75 $66,250 Hikaru Nakamura 21.5 $62,500 Fabiano Caruana 16.75 $58,750 Viswanathan Anand 14.75 $51,250 Veselin Topalov 10.75 $51,250 Maxime Vachier-Lagrave 17.5 $40,000 Anish Giri 8.5 $30,000 Vladimir Kramnik 8.5 $15,000 Ding Liren 3 $15,000 Peter Svidler 2 $15,000 Laurent Fressinet 1 $7,500
To be fair, world champion Magnus Carlsen was absent from St Louis, preparing for his world title defence against Sergei Karjakin. Given that fact, Carlsen’s second-place slot after the Paris, Leuven and St Louis legs of the Grand Tour is remarkable.
So-Nakamura: Sinquefield Cup; St Louis 2016 (see diagram 1)
25 Qd8 Qxd8 A better try to hold the endgame is 25 … c3 26 Qxc8 Bxc8 27 Rc1 Nd5. As played, White’s king and rook quickly achieve decisive activity. 26 Rxd8 c3 27 Ke1 Bc4 28 Kd1 Bxa2 29 Kc2 Bc4 30 e3 b5 31 Kxc3 a6 32 Ra8 Nd5+ 33 Bxd5 exd5 34 a5 Not falling for 34 Rxa6 b4+. 34 … b4+ 35 Kd2 Bf1 36 Rc8 c4 The black pawns advance, but only to become hopelessly blockaded. 37 Rb8 b3 38 Kc3 Black resigns
So-Topalov: Sinquefield Cup, St Louis 2016 (see diagram 2)
White doesn’t need to defend his extra pawn, preferring instead to activate his forces and make the most of his passed c-pawn. 34 Rd1 Bxe3 35 Qd7 Qa8 35 … Qxd7 36 Rxd7 Bg5 37 c6 is crushing. 36 Nd5 Bg5 37 c6 Bh4 38 Rd2 So tidies up before the decisive advance of his c-pawn. 38 … Re1 39 Rc2 Kg7 40 Nb6 Qb8 41 Qd4+ Black resigns
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/so-it-st-louis/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/4d4eac6d43b06f3617ca7644de3c82144721dc616c920c6cd52569c88dd58ea1.json
|
[
"Martin Vander Weyer",
"The Spectator",
"Nick Cohen",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole",
"Corporate Kitten"
] | 2016-08-26T20:49:43 | null | 2016-08-04T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Ftheresa-mays-right-we-need-chinas-money-not-their-friendship%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-187763770.jpg
|
en
| null |
Theresa May’s right: we need China’s money, not their friendship
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
There are reasons why Theresa May might harbour doubts about the Hinkley Point nuclear project — chiefly its unproven French technology and the high probability of time and cost overruns — but the fear expressed by her aide Nick Timothy that ‘the Chinese could use their role to build weaknesses into computer systems which will allow them to shut down Britain’s energy production at will’ sounds — even to a Sino-cynic like me — far-fetched. As I wrote here during President Xi Jinping’s visit last year, ‘The least sinister thing about the Chinese is their money. A ten-digit cheque… even from China National Nuclear Corporation… does not carry a ‘backdoor’ listening device.’
That said, we should stop kidding ourselves about the growing warmth of our economic relations with China, which was one of George Osborne’s propaganda themes. And we should ignore the Xinhua state news agency’s warning that the new Prime Minister’s apparent ‘suspicion towards Chinese investment’ threatens ‘the arrival of the China-UK golden era’. The truth is that to the Chinese we are a minor trading partner with some useful services to sell; we’re never likely to find them straightforward to deal with, or respectful of western concepts such as intellectual property and contract law.
From time to time they may make strategic investments here (as they have in Heathrow and Canary Wharf) because they need to do something with all that foreign exchange and they believe such gambits buy influence. We should offer them a fair return on their investments, and a demonstration of how to do business in a decent way. But otherwise the guiding principle of UK-China dealings should be to bank the cheques and sup with a long spoon.
Blue lagoons
Let’s turn our attention to ‘tidal lagoons’: you may have heard that phrase in discussion of alternatives to Hinkley Point and wondered what it means. It refers to a£1 billion project, awaiting ministerial approval, to build a walled lagoon in Swansea Bay that would generate (through largely British-built turbines) electricity on the ebb and flood of every tide, 14 hours a day for a project lifetime of 120 years. It could be brought into operation within five years — but to make that happen it requires subsidy at levels comparable to offshore wind or new nuclear generation; it also requires millions of tonnes of concrete and aggregates from quarries in Cornwall and elsewhere, and will radically alter the local environment for sea life and wading birds.
So lagoon power is not without teething problems. But they look relatively modest compared to, say, betting our energy future on nuclear reactor designs that might not work at all and storing the toxic waste afterwards. Once proven, the Swansea project could be rapidly scaled up, with a second lagoon at Cardiff that would be almost 12 times larger and a string of other sites along the English and Welsh west coast.
The determined entrepreneur behind this scheme, Mark Shorrock, claims lagoon power could provide 8 per cent of UK electricity demand, more than Hinkley Point, at the lowest long-term cost per megawatt hour of any form of generation. The technology could also be exported anywhere in the world (including China) that has coastlines with big and predictable tides.
The government will decide the fate of the Swansea lagoon in the autumn: since it carries no Osborne fingerprints or Chinese connections, I see no reason at all why Mrs May should stand in its way.
Still writhing
Nervousness over the health of Italian, Irish and other European banks, following another round of ‘stress tests’, is a reminder that, in the forgotten era before the Brexit vote, economists and central bankers were deeply worried about unresolved weaknesses in the global banking system and a huge build-up of debt combined with sluggish growth, driven partly by slowdown in China, partly by Europe’s failure to reform: the combination of factors I once called ‘the writhing python of doom’. That monster has not gone away, and if we have a UK interest-rate cut to an all-time low this week, it will be just one of many central bank stimulus manoeuvres over the coming season. The prospect of a return to monetary normality and stable growth is as far away as ever. Autumn will be turbulent, and pro-Brexit commentators are deluding themselves if they think a handful of positive news items suggest the trajectory is otherwise.
Summer pleasures
On that regrettably downbeat note, I’m en route to my Dordogne retreat for August. For the record, this despatch comes to you from Le Comptoir à Huîtres, a very fine fish restaurant in Dieppe — so life isn’t all bad. I will report on the state of the French economy, which registered zero second-quarter growth, compared with 0.6 per cent for the UK, and whether it makes any difference to the charm of summer life. I’ll also survey my French (and British expat) neighbours’ sentiments on their reactions to Brexit, the subject that can’t be avoided.
It even pervaded the cultural excursions which, for me, occupied July from the Ring cycle at Gateshead to am-dram north and south and the joyful Ryedale music festival. The arts world is traumatised by the potential loss of European funding streams (which no one believes will be replaced by largesse out of the ‘£50 million a day’ we used to send to Brussels) and freedom of movement for performers. There are also fears that a prolonged downturn will dent the philanthropic giving which, for most arts projects, is now far more important than the diminished flow of taxpayer support. So I was heartened, at July’s last concert, to be approached by an audience member with an urgent question: ‘How do I become a Gold Patron of your festival? I’ve just made a fortune on Spectator Money’s share tips.’
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/theresa-mays-right-we-need-chinas-money-not-their-friendship/
|
en
| 2016-08-04T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/4487a26f983a2977f1587f5e1a59fd3615fe94698fa0ead304622ef1162fd4d3.json
|
[
"Harry Ritchie",
"Tom Wolfe"
] | 2016-08-26T13:13:36 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Faged-85-tom-wolfe-discovers-the-key-to-human-progress%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/wolfe.jpg
|
en
| null |
Aged 85, Tom Wolfe discovers the key to human progress
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
He might be 85 but Tom Wolfe is going strong with a new book and a dustjacket photo that still sees him working the suit and hat look. And although the new book may be small, it’s got big ambitions: first, to take down an establishment icon, and, second, to reveal the secret behind humanity’s progress.
The establishment icon first. He is that infamous scoundrel, Charles Darwin — ‘Charlie’, as Wolfe often calls him, and not in a friendly way. Wolfe’s Darwin is a pampered, privileged product of a duplicitous and ruthless British elite, a man who never had to do a day’s work in his life, who spent 20 years not publishing his thoughts about evolution and then wrote his book in a panic only after he realised that some oik called Alfred Russel Wallace was about to beat him to it, and whose drawling pals suavely elbowed Wallace out of posterity’s picture. Even when Darwin seemed to behave honourably, Wolfe spots nefarious intent. Charlie may have seemed to help his rival but only because he was so haunted by guilt after making sure he won and Wallace came second.
In any case, that theory of evolution of Charlie’s: is it really that great? Wolfe doesn’t think so — not because he believes it’s all God’s work. He belittles it as a vague notion, one that might apply to the biological world but not elsewhere. Far from being a theory of everything, as Darwinians have claimed, says Wolfe, evolutionary theory most notably fails to apply to the most fundamental human skill: language.
How on earth could language have evolved? Darwin’s risible best guess was that we’d started off chirruping in imitation of birdsong. His failure to explain language bequeathed an aeon of medieval ignorance — that is Darwin’s real legacy, according to Wolfe — a period longer than the Dark Ages in which the origin of human language was a non-topic, erased from intellectual history.
That is, until the 1950s and the dramatic arrival of Noam Chomsky, linguistics’ celebrity intellectual, who grabbed the subject by its lapels, slammed it up against a wall and told it that there was a new boss in town. Chomsky’s revolutionary theory, which completely dominated linguistics for the next four decades, explained that human language had evolved, with a genetic mutation creating some sort of neural machinery that could process and acquire speech. Chomsky’s ‘language acquisition device’, gifted by evolutionary chance, was innate, encoded by our genes, embedded in our brains before birth. Individual languages differed in lots of superficial ways but they all had in common the deeper rules of a ‘universal grammar’.
Wolfe is at his best when describing Chomsky’s almost religiously cultish, charismatic hold over linguistics, his ability to swipe any critics or doubters aside. Actually, he didn’t have to do much swiping for a long time, since linguistics had eagerly handed over its wallet, watch and car keys and agreed to anything Chomsky said.
Until, by Wolfe’s account, Chomsky and his theories were dealt a sudden knock-out blow in 2005, by Daniel Everett, whose work with the Pirahã tribe in the Amazonian jungle conclusively proved that Chomsky was wrong — comprehensively, entirely, soup-to-nuts wrong about everything, all the time. There is no ‘language acquisition device’, we aren’t born pre-equipped with specialist linguistic knowledge, and there is no universal grammar. We learn to speak like we learn all our skills and abilities.
All very dramatic by Wolfe’s account, but, alas, bollocks. His depiction of Charlie Darwin might be skewed, but this version of Chomsky’s downfall is as wrong as Chomsky certainly is. Everett could reject Chomsky so confidently because lots of other people had been doing so for at least a decade before him, and from various disciplines. That’s why the case against Chomsky is so convincing — because the prosecution’s evidence has come from computer modelling, genetics, neuroscience and linguistics itself — and continuously over the past 20 years or so. So much so that Chomsky can now make dark mutterings about the establishment conspiracy against him and his followers.
In an increasingly batty finale, Wolfe explains that Darwin and Chomsky screwed up by trying to apply evolutionary theory to language, which, as a man-made artefact, exists outside biological constraints. And it is language alone, Wolfe concludes, that accounts for humankind’s progress and fundamental difference from the rest of the animal kingdom.
Well, where to start? Take Wolfe’s great revelation about the uniqueness and importance of language: that has long been a basic given. And the new post-Chomsky consensus follows the proposals of Terrence Deacon nearly 20 years ago that human language did indeed evolve, over several million years, beginning with the proto-languages of our ancestor hominids. Deacon also proposes that languages themselves are subject to intense evolutionary pressure; either they are learned by children or not, and if they aren’t, they die. So languages have evolved to be learnable by toddlers. Language isn’t Darwin’s nemesis as Wolfe thinks — it provides triumphant vindication of evolutionary theory’s almost-universal application.
If Wolfe’s argument is all over the shop, his style also comes unstuck. All attempts to enliven what is basically a history of ideas with wordplay, daft ellipses and repetition of key words in this context seem rather lazy and silly and embarrassing, like a vicar getting down with the kids at the youth club by dancing the twist.
It’s one of the great ironies of our culture that linguistics, the study of human communication, has so singularly failed to communicate anything about itself to the world beyond university linguistics departments. So, God knows, linguistics needs popularising — just not like this.
Harry Ritchie is a former literary editor of the Sunday Times, and author of English for the Natives.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/aged-85-tom-wolfe-discovers-the-key-to-human-progress/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/99d4d1fe41912c1483ae6a785f5dedefb75caff6f39d743b147e954ae19ebbf4.json
|
[
"Jasper Rees"
] | 2016-08-26T13:12:03 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fred-hot-almodovars-julieta-reviewed%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/JulietaEmmaSuarez.jpg
|
en
| null |
Red hot: Almodóvar's Julieta reviewed
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Everything about Julieta feels totally Almodóvarian. It’s a family saga that smoothly blends tragedy and levity, with exquisite performances from a company of passionate actresses. It looks carefully ravishing. Many of the director’s abiding themes are here: terminal illness, sudden death, a mother’s love for her child, men hanging about the fringes. And yet it is based on a most un-Hispanic source.
The Julieta of the title was originally Juliet, who features in three interlinked short stories from Runaway, the 2004 collection by Alice Munro. Munro won the Nobel Prize for Literature three years ago after a lifetime writing quiet stories that conceal hammer blows. In the originals, the setting is Canada, whose snowy heartland and storm-tossed Pacific coast provide the location for the two deaths on which the plot hinges. In the film, Spain’s chilly winter plateau and the modestly heaving seas serve as less threatening substitutes for British Columbia.
As for the rest, Almodóvar has mapped Munro’s stories onto a timeline which involves a huge chunk of flashback. We first meet Julieta (Emma Suárez) in middle age when she is packing up her apartment in Madrid to begin a new life in Portugal with her partner, a bald intellectual who is slightly less exciting than wallpaper (although, to be fair, the wallpaper in Julieta is a riot). Then in the street she bumps into a young woman who tells her she has recently seen Julieta’s daughter Antía in Italy, where she now has four children. This coup de foudre prompts Julieta to drop her plans and the bald intellectual, and move back into the apartment block where she and Antía once lived. There she embarks on a long letter that explains to the daughter she has not seen for a dozen years the circumstances in which she and Antía’s father met and parted.
So we swoop back to a nocturnal winter train journey in which the much younger Julieta (Adriana Ugarte) is joined in her compartment by an older man. Creeped out by his over-familiar conversation, she flees to the restaurant car where she hooks up with a prepossessing younger hunk called Xoan (Daniel Grao). There’s a stop at a station, then another caused by an accident: the older man, it turns out, has thrown himself in front of the train. Julieta blames herself but is soothed by Xoan. They make love and promptly conceive a child.
As ever in Almodóvar, men are peripheral adornments to the narrative, symbolised by the neutered effigies created by Julieta’s sculptress friend — primeval figurines of men whose genitals have been lopped off. Meanwhile Almodóvar’s veneration for femininity of all ages is gracefully caught in a scene in which the young Julieta’s dyed blonde mop is dried by Antía; when the towel is removed she has transformed into the older Julieta.
While his literary source is Munro, Almodóvar nods in other directions too. A poster for Winter’s Bone, the film that launched Jennifer Lawrence, alludes to another solitary but resourceful young woman, while Julieta at one point fears she is turning into one of Patricia Highsmith’s obsessive characters. But most of all Almodóvar’s career-long homage to Hitchcock continues. It’s there in the sleek, trim cinematography of Jean-Claude Larrieu, Alberto Iglesias’s Herrmannesque score, the ravishing costume designs of Sonia Grande and above all in Julieta’s immutable blondeness.
The film’s signature colour is red, which pulses on the screen like a hazard light: it’s there in the fiery crop of a preening transvestite in the street, the russet banquettes on which Julieta and Xoan sleep top to toe, the flaming tattoo Xoan has inked onto his bicep, the bright hatchback snaking through mountain trees, Antía’s birthday cake dumped uneaten into the bin. And so on. It’s the colour of everything in this heartbreaking but hopeful film: rage, blood, heat, passion, danger, love.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/red-hot-almodovars-julieta-reviewed/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/3ffeddf0d6f1dec8c1bcfd553f5f744ea717409c3da60eaa1bd04543273db4d3.json
|
[
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:05:41 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fmy-newest-crush-is-morgan-lake-the-perfect-combination-of-grace-youth-and-beauty%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-592604090.jpg
|
en
| null |
My newest crush is Morgan Lake - the perfect combination of grace, youth and beauty
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
OK sports fans, the Games are over, Uncle Sam and Britain hit pay dirt, and the prettiest girl of the Olympics was Morgan Lake, a black Brit high jumper who wins the High life gold medal for looks and proper demeanour.
Here’s a tip for ambitious mothers: take a lesson from Morgan Lake — the name is perfect, no agent could have made it up — and instead of sending your daughters to Hollywood, where they’re more likely to end up as high-class hookers, you should guide them towards athletics and the high jump. Morgan Lake is café au lait, has a perfect body, and a very sweet innocent face. She didn’t place but was in the finals, having jumped over one meter ninety-four. I know nothing about her except that she’s 19, and what I saw of her on the TV screen.
What was that Noël Coward song about putting your daughter on the stage? If she looks like Morgan, let her be a high jumper, so eat your heart out Jessica Raine, remember her? (I’m over her.) Why is it that grace and innocence makes my knees go weak? I suppose it is because I have a view of the fairer sex more common in an era more romantic than the present. I feel more alive in the presence of beauty, but I also feel longing, both spiritual and physical. But beauty has been downgraded these last 50 years. Beautiful buildings are no longer built, just ugly, modern so-called utilitarian ones, and I’m not sure about the last one. Boats are now extremely ungraceful and downright unshapely — they either look like insects or like refrigerators on steroids. Once upon a time there was nothing more elegant or beautiful than sailing boats with overhangs on their bows and sterns. Now we have titanium trimarans that can do 50 knots and look like prehistoric ants. If you need to do 50, get a boat with an engine.
Fashion is another industry that vies mightily for the ugly. Gracelessness is the order of the day. Horrors like the Kardashians revel in eyesore fashion because it attracts the paparazzi and hides their unattractiveness. Loveliness, however, needs no additional paraphernalia; Morgan Lake jumping in a simple bikini-like suit is the perfect example.
Why is it that beauty is no longer the standard by which we judge things, asked a female friend of mine as I was writing this column. (She and her sister were the two prettiest girls in Paris 40 years ago.) I told her why. Beauty is elitist, carried off by a few, and we now live in the age of the common and vulgar. Beauty is an optimistic feeling, and we have all now become pessimists. Beauty means great inequality, and that’s the real no-no of our times. We are supposed to all be equal now, at least that’s what the crooks who rule us and make these ludicrous laws try to force us to believe.
But we are not. The busybodies think they can cure the ills of an unequal society by keeping the smart ones back. That’s an old trick that was tried with comprehensive schools and one that ended in utter failure. I know it would take a heart of stone to criticise the fact that the poor Syrian butterfly stroke girl was allowed to compete in a special heat of very slow swimmers — which she won — but it is part of the same scheme: enforced equality.
No wonder opinion-makers loathe beauty, it is as unequal as it gets. Beauty does not need to promote itself over others, it’s too self-evident. The incendiary appeal of victimhood — all those Olympians crying that they’ve been cheated of victory — does not apply to beauty. The disaffected cry, the beautiful ones float on gossamer wings. Beauty meets the needs of the soul, ugliness the needs of our inhibitions.
And I forgot about ugly art. The sanctification of Picasso, not to mention the grotesque Lucian Freud, are perfect examples of visual ugliness triumphing over the sublime art of Leonardo, Rembrandt, Sargent and Degas. It is what Paul Johnson called fashion art, as opposed to fine art. Art is now a species of hucksterism, no ifs or buts about it. Critics now judge art not on aesthetics but on whether it advances a progressive political agenda. When I see the crap that sells for hundreds of millions I really want to shout. But my shouts are drowned out by atonal music, or any music after 1960, if you know what I mean.
But back to Morgan Lake and the Olympics. She competed and did not win, which was the purpose of the Games to begin with. To take part. And that was better than purchasing athletes like Qatar and Bahrain did, and even Turkey. Poor Greece, with no help from the government that’s broke, won six medals, three gold. Qatar and Bahrain paid for foreigners to compete under their ludicrous flags and won three medals between them. Qatar and Bahrain are ugly places ruled by ugly people who think they can buy beauty. They cannot. Just because a lot of greedy Brits sold their beautiful old houses to them, the two sandy hellholes thought they could also buy Olympic glory. Most athletes are professionals nowadays, so they figured it would be easy. For once the good guys won. The hellholes will remain hellholes without Olympic glory, at least for another four years. That’s good enough for me.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/my-newest-crush-is-morgan-lake-the-perfect-combination-of-grace-youth-and-beauty/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/a9eca0e819d033c44161474e3bc462b79dc52942edbe8f198f67f70314b99aeb.json
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[
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http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fthe-boris-bashers-should-be-ashamed%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-578965712.jpg
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en
| null |
The Boris-bashers should be ashamed
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
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Throughout this fractious summer, one thing has united all the warring pundits and politicians. Left, right; Leave, Remain, everyone at least agrees that it was crazy to leave the country in Boris’s hands. He’s not serious, they say, looking, as they make this pronouncement, jolly pleased with their own relative gravitas.
They should instead be ashamed. The endless jeering at Boris isn’t justified — he was a decent mayor of London — and it is not in good faith. What purports to be considered criticism is almost always just sour grapes.
Why the bitterness? More often than not, Boris-bashers — in Parliament or press — are his contemporaries. A lot of them went to Oxford with him and they measure their success against his. It makes them cross. Even if they console themselves that Boris is lightweight, as an author or politician, there’s still his celebrity to contend with, here and (more galling) in America. Even teenage girls like him. ‘Boris?’ says my 13-year-old niece. ‘Boris is mint!’ No wonder his peers put the boot in.
I don’t mean that Boris doesn’t have flaws. Who knows what sort of Foreign Secretary he’ll make? Who knows if he has the determination or the will to beat back against the civil service? I suspect he’s best motivated by a deadline, like most journalists, which isn’t ideal. But the carping isn’t proportionate.
Boris-bashing was popular long before it could feasibly be thought of as a response to his political skills. He employed me 15 years ago to work as a reporter on this magazine. Soon after that I went to the first of many dinner parties at which his old Oxbridge buddies spent the evening cutting him down to size. It was, maybe still is, a sort of parlour game for them. The trick was to claim great friendship with Boris in the breath just before taking him down. ‘Oh yes, I know Boris very well… of course he’s totally immoral, a sociopath.’
Many of his peers hopped with indignation over his affairs, especially the one with Petronella Wyatt, the then deputy editor. To my shame, as the years went by, I got stuck in too. I was forever holding forth about his moral character — not because I thought him so very bad but because people were so very interested. They wanted to hear about Boris.
But if his wife forgives him, if Petronella does too (she wrote a very sad and touching piece about him recently), then what business is it of ours? Lust, as a vice, is less significant in a politician than greed. If more column inches are devoted to Boris’s sex life than to Liam Fox’s cash-for-access scandal or Jeremy Hunt’s tax avoidance, it’s simply because Boris isn’t boring.
‘But Boris isn’t a serious person.’ It’s often MPs who take this line — the likes of Tim Farron, who compared him to the Chuckle Brothers, or our new Home Secretary, Amber Rudd. What they mean, I think, is that Boris doesn’t take them seriously. Unlike, say, George Osborne, who spent his entire adult life forming political alliances in preparation for power, Boris doesn’t have many Commons pals. He doesn’t hang out with MPs for fun, which makes them uneasy. In some ways it’s daft for an ambitious politician not to have a circle; not to play the schmoozing game. In other ways it makes him the perfect politician for this age — for a public mistrustful of Westminster insiders.
There are those like my good friend Bruce Anderson who will say that Boris isn’t serious because he has no real political plan, no clear philosophy. But then what exactly did David Cameron stand for? It’s not obvious to me that Dave had more clout than Boris. Both are socially and economically liberal, with a conservative love of institutions and history. Faced with an issue like the EU, Boris considered both sides carefully, then stood up for the one he felt right. Perhaps he thought Euroscepticism a good career move. I’m quite sure he also means it. At every turn Cameron simply picked the path he thought would keep him in power.
It’s true that Cameron did take himself pretty seriously — but that’s a very different thing from actually being serious. Because he took himself so seriously, Dave, by all accounts, couldn’t tolerate even constructive criticism. Instead of employing advisers un-afraid to tell truth to power, he surrounded himself with yes men. Yes sirs, we might call them now, since they’ve all been ennobled.
Boris, when I worked for him, was all for confrontation and debate. Our editorial conference was a happy riot of disagreement. We argued ceaselessly over Iraq: Boris was pro; the rest of us, led by his deputy, Stuart Reid, anti. The world is still waiting for Cameron to admit he might have misjudged Libya. Boris has publicly said he was wrong about Iraq.
If you consider yourself part of a more serious set of superior mortals, to the cabinet born, you’re in great danger of being caught sneering at the people you wish to lead. Gordon Brown’s gaffe over Gillian Duffy was a classic of the genre, but Cameron was caught out in his own way too. He was snooty and dismissive to the staff at Buckingham Palace. He was, I’ve heard, the only senior minister never to say hello to any of the Downing Street drivers. He never knew their names or asked about their lives. This isn’t just bad manners — it’s bad politics. It’ll come back to bite you. Boris, the subject of so much de haut en bas ridicule, is no respecter of persons. The Vote Leave team, who worked with him for months, said that Boris and Michael Gove were the only senior politicians who were unfailingly polite to everyone irrespective of rank. I hope one day, one way or another, they’re in power together.
Columnists often write about Boris’s popularity as if it’s an unearned talent — a dangerous gift in the hands of an unscrupulous maniac. But he’s popular not just because he’s funny, but because for all his Wodehousian ways he doesn’t see himself as part of a superior, more serious class. He communicates to British people still smarting from the recession, whose wages haven’t risen in years, that he’s one of us. He cheers us up. If he holds fast on Brexit, we might even trust him. It’s very foolish of anyone to dismiss him as a joke.
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/the-boris-bashers-should-be-ashamed/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/c4e526dc4ba9074cadcd3cc1d63cf5651f402e0024abcbbe046a79ec157af923.json
|
[
"Richard Bratby"
] | 2016-08-26T13:13:45 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fbirmingham-can-be-maddening-but-culturally-it-has-a-lot-to-teach-london%2F.json
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/bullring.jpg
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en
| null |
Birmingham can be maddening - but culturally it has a lot to teach London
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www.spectator.co.uk
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On Saturday night, the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra makes its first appearance at the BBC Proms under its new music director, the 30-year-old Lithuanian Mirga Grazinyte-Tyla. It’s all a bit sudden. Grazinyte-Tyla only conducted the CBSO for the first time last July, and she’ll have made her debut as official successor to Simon Rattle, Sakari Oramo and Andris Nelsons at Symphony Hall, Birmingham, the previous night. The programme comprises Mozart, Tchaikovsky, and the London premiere of Hans Abrahamsen’s Grawemeyer Award-winning song cycle let me tell you. That’s right, the ‘London premiere’. It says so on the BBC website. Auntie has blessed the venture; the metropolis is poised to give its imprimatur.
Never mind that the CBSO gave the UK premiere of let me tell you in March 2014: and that you’ll never see the words ‘Birmingham premiere’ on a Symphony Hall programme. Birmingham doesn’t really do self-promotion, and when it does it tends to be about the wrong things. The city centre is dotted with shopping precincts that were all at one time hailed as a civic Second Coming. You might have heard about the latest: the gleaming white Grand Central, built above the once-grotty New Street Station and now offering asylum to culture-shocked travellers with branches of Foyles and Square Pie.
Meanwhile, a city that has never stopped mourning the demolition of its Victorian central library in the 1970s blithely ploughed ahead earlier this year with the destruction of John Madin’s monumental concrete replacement. The Brutalist revival arrived too late to save it, though locals are now rallying to defend Smallbrook Queens-way, the sweeping ‘modernist Regent Street’. It’s not even a question of architectural taste: the Grade I listed Curzon Street Station of 1838 — the northern counterpart to the Euston Arch, and a building of international importance — has stood empty for years, as ever-less-convincing redevelopment plans ebb around it. (It’s currently slated to be the northern terminus of HS2. Let’s see how that plays out.)
But that’s Birmingham, and if it’s maddening that the city that gave us Mendelssohn’s Elijah, Dvorak’s Requiem and most of Elgar’s best choral works; that the city of Bournville and the Barber Institute, whose Museum and Art Gallery holds arguably the world’s finest Pre-Raphaelite collection, should be so cavalier about its built environment — well, the civic motto is ‘Forward’, after all. Nineteenth-century visitors found it exhilarating. ‘I am here in this immense industrial town where they manufacture excellent knives, scissors, springs and files, and I don’t know what else,’ wrote Dvorak in 1885, ‘and beside these, music too. And how well! It’s terrifying how much the people here manage to achieve.’
Birmingham’s energy comes from a very un-English willingness to live in the moment: and then to push on to the next big thing. New is good. Tastefully repurposed heritage building, or shiny new shopping centre? No contest. Birmingham has always been about commerce, progress, change: the values embodied by 18th-century innovators like Matthew Boulton and James Watt, whose statues, coated in dazzling gold bling, stand across Broad Street from Symphony Hall. It doesn’t yell about how tolerant, lively and diverse it is: it just gets on and does it. Birmingham has had three Muslim mayors.
And when, in between bursts of rebuilding, the civic leadership falls into one of its recurring troughs of mediocrity, Birmingham’s artists and audiences pick up the slack. World-class cultural infrastructure like Symphony Hall is definitely nice to have (and many of London’s reservations about a new concert hall could be addressed by a good look at the major European city 120 miles up the road). But the real story behind Birmingham’s revival in the 1980s and ’90s was the forging of the bond between Simon Rattle, the CBSO and the local audience — most of which took place in the (then distinctly faded) 19th-century Town Hall. Graham Vick’s Birmingham Opera Company, too, doesn’t sit around waiting for urban renewal. It dives in and puts on a show: Tippett’s The Ice Break in a derelict factory, Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas in a sticky-floored nightclub and, breathtakingly, the world premiere of Stockhausen’s Mittwoch aus Licht in a colossal Digbeth warehouse, complete with helicopters and live camels.
At the root of Mittwoch — as of all BOC’s productions — were performers drawn from the community. Don’t groan: this is no box-ticking exercise. Participation is the whole purpose of Birmingham Opera Company, and Brummies have repeatedly shown that they’re up for it. ‘They’re visionary, they work hard, they commit,’ Vick has said, and the artistic results make no concession whatever to their amateur status. ‘BOC continues to be one of the glories of English cultural life,’ wrote Michael Tanner in these pages. It’s probably the most spectacular current example of Birmingham’s knack for cultivating artistic success from the grass roots — an internationally recognised vindication of the principle that local doesn’t have to mean parochial.
That ethos crops up a lot here: in the way David Bintley’s Birmingham Royal Ballet has become part of the fabric of West Midlands life, and in organisations like Birmingham Contemporary Music Group — whose Sound Investment scheme was crowdfunding new commissions before the term was invented, and which makes the process of supporting avant-garde music feel as sociable and fun as a wine-tasting class. Two recent novels, Catherine O’Flynn’s The News Where You Are and Clare Morrall’s When The Floods Came, both evoke that sense of place and people: embracing Birmingham’s messiness and changeability, and finding amid the wreckage of grand visions a poetry that speaks with a quiet but unmistakable Brummie burr.
So will Grazinyte-Tyla become the figurehead of yet another urban renaissance? In a way, the question’s irrelevant. Over a 96-year history, the CBSO has evolved its own, very Birmingham, collective culture — in which the musicians, though not self-governing, nonetheless have near-total control over the appointment of their chief conductor. With Simon, Sakari, Andris and now Mirga (it’s always first names in Brum), they listened to their instinct. Grazinyte-Tyla’s appearances in Birmingham so far have revealed intelligence, intuitive musicality and a spirited rapport with both orchestra and audience. And while there are wealthier UK orchestras than the CBSO — and more established conductors than Grazinyte-Tyla — there are few cities in which artistic commitment is more loyally supported.
Long, often frustrating, experience has taught Birmingham not to worry unduly about what the rest of the world thinks. Once again, it’s decided what feels right — and just gone for it.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/birmingham-can-be-maddening-but-culturally-it-has-a-lot-to-teach-london/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/c21ab621668ea5f07443dd38a162a587b0857d4e699044b254965c3894d61441.json
|
[
"Liam Halligan",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:06:51 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fwhy-negative-interest-rates-are-mad-bad-and-dangerous%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/iStock_425173_SMALL.jpg
|
en
| null |
Why negative interest rates are mad, bad - and dangerous
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
What should we think about negative interest rates? What kind of Alice in Wonderland world are we living in when companies and households are paid to borrow and charged if they save?
Seemingly crazy, negative interest rates are spreading nonetheless. Implemented by central banks in Europe, Japan and elsewhere, they now apply in countries accounting for a quarter of the global economy. Should we be worried? Could we see negative rates in Britain?
Earlier this month, the Bank of England cut interest rates for the first time in seven years, from 0.5 per cent to a new record low of 0.25 per cent. Quantitative easing was also restarted, with the Bank set to purchase £60 billion of bonds with newly created money over the next six months, on top of £375 billion of QE since March 2009. Billed as a response to the UK’s ‘Brexit shock’, the Bank’s bold move has renewed speculation that the UK could soon go even further. Negative rates will be the talk of this weekend’s Jackson Hole summit, the annual pow-wow of leading central bankers.
Eight years on from the onset of the financial crisis and, despite huge bouts of money-printing and ultra-low rates across much of the western world, the global economy remains sluggish. Searching for new ways to boost growth, some central banks have stepped ‘through the looking glass’, setting interest rates below zero. The European Central Bank went first in 2014, followed by Denmark, Sweden, Switzerland and, earlier this year, Japan. Private-sector banks in these countries must now pay the central bank to keep their money on reserve. Investors in government bonds are similarly paying the Japanese, German and Swiss governments for the privilege of lending to them — another example of topsy-turvy economics.
The idea is that, by penalising cash on deposit, negative rates will jolt spending and encourage banks to extend loans — thereby boosting growth. There’s little evidence that this outlandish policy works, though, and increasing concern that it could soon backfire. While encouraging lending in theory, negative rates squeeze banks’ profit margins, making them less willing to extend loans. If, conversely, banks try passing on negative rates, firms and households could withdraw money, stuffing it under the proverbial mattress and denying banks a crucial funding source.
Japan has certainly seen a surge in the sale of safes since interest rates turned negative — pointing to physical cash hoarding. Across Europe, banks are exploring the cost of keeping piles of cash in vaults to avoid charges. The Swiss canton of Zug, meanwhile, in an eye-catching reversal of normality, has starting penalising those who pay tax bills early.
Faced with negative government bond yields, pension funds and other institutional investors needing returns to meet their obligations pursue an intensive ‘search for yield’ — channelling money into risky assets and stoking up the chances of another boom/bust cycle. Far from mending our economy, then, QE and ultra-low rates could provoke another crash. Even more QE and negative rates make such dangers more acute still.
As if that weren’t enough, negative rates fan the flames of international tensions — given that a big (tacit) reason central banks use them is to grab competitive advantage via currency depreciation. The result is a proliferation of currency wars, a direct descendant of the notorious beggar-thy-neighbour devaluations of the 1930s. Back then, currency conflicts contributed to a disastrous deterioration in relations between trading rivals. Today, while we’re some
way from a full-blown global conflict, protectionism is on the rise — and negative rates aren’t helping.
The biggest problem with negative rates, though, is that the policy is so weird and unnerving that it could actively discourage the very private-sector investment we need to get the big western economies back on track. Bemused by negative rates, many business bosses will be spooked completely if we venture even further down the monetary rabbit hole, and use so-called ‘helicopter money’ — with the authorities putting new money directly into every citizen’s bank account. Yet, incredibly, such measures are on the cards.
‘It would be so nice if something made sense for a change,’ says Alice, in Lewis Carroll’s classic. She could have been talking about 21st-century central banking.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/why-negative-interest-rates-are-mad-bad-and-dangerous/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/48372ee0fe6e75b7463d9a3c8528eb26eb9c3f190f220191bbb95400dcbf01a7.json
|
[
"Terry Barnes",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:10:25 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fmorality-mandatory-detention%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/terry-barnes_specaus-27-august_post.jpg
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en
| null |
The morality of mandatory detention
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
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Last week on the ABC programme, the Drum, I confronted my unwilling conscience. The topic was the Manus Island immigration detention facility’s future after the Supreme Court of Papua New Guinea ruled the enabling agreement between Australia and PNG invalid. Immigration minister Peter Dutton confirmed the Manus closure and, other than me, the Drum panel welcomed this enthusiastically, hoping mandatory offshore detention would also be consigned to history as a cruel, inhumane policy targeting innocent asylum-seekers fleeing persecution and oppression. They were articulate and passionate in their advocacy for what they sincerely believe, as is their right. I could have simply agreed, but after agonising greatly beforehand I spoke my honest view, unpalatable as it may have been for the Drum panel and its progressive audience. I said that, like many ordinary Australians, I support keeping illegal boat arrivals in mandatory detention and, as far as possible, I avoid thinking about detainees on Manus and Nauru and, indeed, prefer to keep their plight out of sight, out of mind.
I also stressed that people-smuggling is a repugnant and morally-disgusting trade. Hesitantly and inelegantly, I said that while I’m not proud of staying deliberately detached about the situation and well-being of offshore detainees, stopping people-smuggling by making reaching Australia futile more than justifies the harshness. Stamping out that vile trafficking, and keeping people from boarding rickety death-traps and drowning at sea, must remain uppermost in Australia’s policy. Maintaining offshore detention remains essential, however unpalatable and however difficult for those detained.
Those passionately opposed to mandatory offshore detention find views like mine morally unjustifiable, and I don’t really blame them. Writing in the Weekend Australian days later, Peter van Onselen mounted a passionately eloquent contrarian case, effectively arguing there are none so blind as those who will not see. PvO described those in detention found to be genuine refugees as ‘human repellent’, stuck on Manus and Nauru as a warning to others. ‘It is the modern equivalent of mounting decapitated heads on pikes around a gated medieval city to ward off enemies. Any civilised society must repudiate such a strategy’, he wrote.
Van Onselen bitterly criticised the Australian government for not allowing assessed refugees to be settled in other Western countries like New Zealand and Canada, whose governments have expressed willingness to take some of them. He wrote that in the days of the Pacific Solution, John Howard ‘quietly resettled’ assessed refugees in Australia or abroad, and implied border protection policy as applied by the Abbott-Turnbull government is more callous and cruel than anything before. Refugee activists like Q&A QC Julian Burnside and perpetually holier-than-thou Greens senator Sarah Hanson-Young would agree with PvO’s view, while demanding all detained asylum-seekers are allowed into Australia without question.
As for the wider Australian community, van Onselen asserted: ‘I do not accept that the silent majority is comfortable endorsing such a strategy. Not when it is brought to their collective attention’. He’s right on that at least. As I found when confronted on the Drum, you’d have to be a sociopath to not have your conscience pricked by the realities of detainees’ plights. Yet mandatory detention retains strong public support: if anything, activists and commentators loading collective guilt for Manus and Nauru onto the rest of us merely create more resistance to easing the policy, not less. No-one likes to be told what to think and activists – even social media favourite Father Rod of Gosford Anglican Church – conveniently forget they are themselves not morally pure. While I detest myself for pushing people in offshore detention to the back of my mind, I remain reluctantly convinced Australia’s tough border protection policies are vital and necessary. They represent a real-life application of ethicists’ so-called ‘Trolley Problem’: if a runaway tram hurtles towards five people facing certain death, do you switch it to a track where you know only one person will be crushed in its path? Surely making the switch does the greatest good.
The trolley problem helps justify mandatory detention and its harsh realities. Tough treatment of illegal boat arrivals, including those assessed eligible for refugee status, deters both people traffickers and those who board unseaworthy boats at the risk of their own lives. In six years following the Rudd government relaxing the Howard-era border protection regime, no less than 40,000 asylum-seekers arrived by boat and, while precise numbers are unknown, an estimated 1,200 people drowned in the attempt. Last month, however, Dutton announced there had been no successful boat arrivals in two years: in other words, no new illegal boat passengers moving into mandatory detention, numbers in detention gradually reducing and far, far fewer people even contemplating the dangerous journey across the Indian Ocean, let alone going to sea to drown.
If it’s a matter of crude economics rather than utilitarian morality, it’s still worthwhile. The Parliamentary Library estimates Manus alone has cost around $2 billion since re-established in 2012. Imagine, however, the bill had Tony Abbott not acted decisively to stop the boats, and asylum-seekers kept pouring in at rates comparable to the 18,000 who landed in 2012-13: perhaps double the cost, including building and manning extra facilities at Manus, Nauru and probably elsewhere to accommodate them.
Provided inmates of offshore facilities are treated humanely, with adequate food, shelter and medical care, mandatory detention works. These places are not meant to be paradises, and it’s conscience-troubling that people detained on Manus and Nauru suffer as they do. But surely it’s far better this than having a flood of human misery taking again to the boats, with its ghastly accompaniment of danger and death at sea. Unless opponents of mandatory detention can find a way for confirmed refugees to be resettled while not giving a green light for the people-trafficking trade to restart, we must leave the current system in place. It’s not pleasant, and sits uneasily on middle Australian consciences, but this ghastly trolley problem was solved when Abbott switched tracks in 2013. However reluctantly, we must persevere.
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/morality-mandatory-detention/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/134c09b23d3194df277483d5df519309d9574eb5e596f810f46875901adb989a.json
|
[
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:07:25 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2F2275-frame-reference%2F.json
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/Crossword-2.jpg
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en
| null |
2275: Frame of reference
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Seven words read clockwise round the perimeter, in alphabetical order. Each of eighteen clues contains a misprinted letter in the definition part. Corrections of misprints spell two words; the first defines six words in the perimeter, and the second defines the last word in the perimeter. Letters in corner squares and those adjacent to them could make OUR TREK MAGIC.
Across
11 One in for good Russian pie (5)
12 Running miles away from parade (4)
13 Pats gold part of bridle (5)
14 I’m after support with appeal for part of estate in Scotland (7)
15 Coping with burden again (10)
17 Crazy about electronic defects (5)
20 Discharge from engagement outside college (8)
21 Farming association’s move has worked, releasing energy (6)
23 Submit conclusion in form accepted by expert (4)
26 Slam wild tales (5)
27 Nothing indicated mountain nymph (5)
28 Bond not available after unionist left (4)
30 Eccentric dam complete (6)
31 Part of skull having some local variation (8)
36 Gunner advanced with information, tense (5)
38 Hauteur from doctor repelled by policy in defeat (10)
39 Room in tin pans (7)
40 Extreme sect wanting compliance with sun god (5)
41 Confusion about craving (4)
42 Acceptable instrument back in boat (5)
Down
2 Sailor with club in quiet bay (7)
3 Record current account, keeping note of letters (10)
4 Festivity led by Arabian bard (6)
5 Sport disrupted by commercial trawler (5)
6 Hasten ahead of sheriff lacking western shield (8)
7 Time consumed by your hunger (5)
8 Group of eight having small amount after overcharge (5)
10 Engineers surrounded by iron grates (4)
16 Church discussion with no time for soft rock (5)
18 Spoil merrymaking, very withdrawn (4)
19 Bore flag in reckless assault (10)
22 Blushing, admitted to firm belief (5)
24 Foot in rib, macho in chaos (8)
25 For champ, surrendering heart (4)
29 Whisper about getting into swim (7)
32 Camp-follower left a mark (6)
33 Artist, stopping noise, sewed (5)
34 Learned man’s old lines on Bible (5)
35 Tolerate detractor’s first barb (5)
37 Tape part of recitation or music (4)
A first prize of £30 for the first correct solution opened on 12 September. There are two runners-up prizes of £20. (UK solvers can choose to receive the latest edition of the Chambers dictionary instead of cash — ring the word ‘dictionary’.) Entries to: Crossword 2275, The Spectator, 22 Old Queen Street, London SW1H 9HP. Please allow six weeks for prize delivery.
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/2275-frame-reference/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/7576343c875a8e6a445e4dc4bac39550debe9e26701f139bb7a50628e8f9bc51.json
|
[
"Kate Womersley",
"Ed Yong"
] | 2016-08-26T13:12:43 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fwant-to-feel-better-be-kind-to-your-bugs%2F.json
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/Lactobacillus.jpg
|
en
| null |
Want to feel better? Be kind to your bugs
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
It’s a modern pastime to hypothesise about what makes a good relationship. One evening not long ago in a Berlin bar, I listened to a friend diagnose how things were going with his partner: ‘We might have become a bit too symbiotic.’ Surprisingly earnest perhaps, but that’s what you get when a sociologist dates a psychoanalyst. On the way home, I wondered why symbiosis, apart from the obvious dangers of parasitism, might not be that desirable coexistence all our theories point toward. After all, the OED recommends that this ‘interaction between two different organisms living in close physical association’ is ‘typically to the advantage of both’. The darker side of symbiosis, I suppose, is the risk of losing yourself.
Yet the richest, riskiest symbioses are playing out inside you. The human body is home to 100 trillion microbes in mobile constellation (a mere 100 million stars, by comparison, make up the Milky Way). On our skin, encircling our orifices, throughout our guts and even within our cells, their genes outnumber ours by 500 to one. The changing census of these microbial presences (both tourists and residents) is our individualised microbiome. It is shaped by the food we eat, the company we keep, whether we were born vaginally or cut out of our mothers, fed from the breast or the bottle. A rough-and-ready measure of a healthy symbiosis is if our bacterial communities are not seen, smelt or felt. We ignore their mainly reliable, diligent and beneficial labour: they are our silent majority.
Recently scientists have started to make some noise about these bacteria who do more good than harm. On the final page of The Origin of Species, Darwin paid homage to the ‘grandeur’ of evolution as a ‘war of nature’. But Ed Yong is here to tell us that this is less than half the story. An even grander view of life includes the relations — animal and microbial — that are collaborative as well as combative. Yong leads us from a time before we peopled the planet, to the bottom of the ocean, into the pangolin enclosure at the zoo, and through the germ-free cages of lab-reared mice essential for the latest microbial research. I Contain Multitudes is a celebration of bacteriology’s coming of age, from germophobia to a new era of microbomania.
When scientific discoveries take place, they rarely appear as grand as they will later come to seem. In the mid-1600s, when the Dutch haberdasher Antony van Leeuwenhoek wasn’t cutting cloth, he devoted his evenings to making the world’s most powerful microscopes. ‘Almost everything he saw, he was the first human ever to see,’ from teaming life magnified in a drop of water to the ‘animalcules’ glimpsed in plaque scrapings from his own teeth. He was prepared to believe these exciting creatures could be both our friends and our foes, but unfortunately his microscopes were lost and so too the worlds they enabled humans to perceive. It’s not quite true that Carl Linnaeus went back to lumping the minutiae of microbial life under the label of ‘chaos’ in his 1730 taxonomy of living things, but Yong has a point that the next 150 years, microbially speaking, were quiet ones.
Nineteenth-century germ theorists —the European triumvirate of Pasteur, Koch and Lister — reignited the field, but tied bacteriology tightly to pathology. To them, microbes meant maladies. One pathogenic species caused one disease. Magic-bullet medicines were needed to take out single bacterial targets. When fine-tuned weapons weren’t forthcoming, Alexander Fleming’s discovery of penicillin led to the familiar ‘carpet-bomb’ approach of using broad-spectrum antibiotics to treat infection. To say germ theory misled us would be churlish; humankind has thrived in the wake of discovering how to hinder its enemies.
So when we gel our hands, spritz microbe-busting air-freshener and snuggle under an antibacterial duvet, are we at last safe? Well, in fact we may be making things worse. The hygiene hypothesis claims that indiscriminately limiting contact between bacteria and our bodies is making society weaker, sicker and maybe even fatter. And we are not just compromising ourselves. Yong’s approach is admirably zoological as well as medical. He shows why the geological epoch in which we live has been branded the Anthropocene. Human activity has disproportionately influenced (largely for the worse) the symbioses of the earth. Some bacterial ‘symbionts-in-waiting’, ready to set up partnerships when, for instance, a right-swiping finger touches a phone screen, are becoming endangered. Just as a shallower gene pool hinders species selection and diversity, so too does a smaller array of microbes.
It is only from today’s position of relative safety from pathogens, aided by the technologies of swabbing and sequencing, that humans can start to risk considering microbes as possible allies. In the West, infectious disease is no longer the leading cause of death. But to divide bacteria into two flavours — the baddies that make us sick and the goodies found in yoghurt drinks — is to oversimplify an intriguing mess. Microbes don’t have static identities, Yong emphasises, and they don’t behave the same in different parts of our bodies. What’s untroubling in the gut can burn through the urinary tract or, if we’re unlucky, run riot in the blood. This is sepsis, and this can kill you.
Given that a bacterial species’ activity is so dependent on space and time, scientists and DIY enema enthusiasts are busy tinkering, and sometimes transplanting whole bacterial communities, with varying levels of success. Yong is wary not to oversell our current state of knowledge. Microbes alone are unlikely to cure cancer or make poverty history. The bacterial profile of a disease-free subject seeded into a patient with diabetes is not yet able to restore them back to health. As the mantra goes, correlation is not causation. When you next see a product promising a cure-all boost for your gut, remember that microbial medicine relies on more than scatological mixology. Indeed, the long-term consequences of transplanting the only human organ that doesn’t require surgery to transfer — the microbiome — could, for all we know, be disastrous.
Nevertheless, Yong encourages us to dream big. Laboratories are working to engineer precise faecal mixtures, or ‘sham-poos’ if you will, to further develop the promising results clinicians have seen when treating the hospital superbug Clostridium difficile by bacterial exchange. The microbiome could prove to be the discipline-defying connection for which medicine has been searching, reminding doctors that their constructed specialties, from gastroenterology to psychiatry, are not immanent in the human body. Our bacteria know no such boundaries. Microbes appear to interact with our moods via a ‘gut-brain axis’. Unlike the sometimes blind faith with which SSRIs like Prozac are prescribed for a swathe of mental health problems, living psycho-biotic drugs might one day be tailored to an
individual’s particular anxieties and frailties.
I Contain Multitudes makes the importance of popularising science (a dirty word in some circles) sparklingly clear. Ed Yong and I took the same pathology course at the same university, though several years apart. I doubt the handouts have changed. His brave reimagining of the subject’s message from danger to possibility shows that medical educators can no longer afford to ignore the idea that microbes might be diseases’ cures as well as their causes. From his vibrant introduction to the witty endnotes, Yong’s expertise and narration hold no less wonder than a sacred text. You will certainly learn things you did not know, but he may also reawaken ideas you once had. The amazement I first experienced when learning about jumping DNA, which enables a bacterium to become ‘marbled with genes that arrived from its peers’, hit me again with even fuller force. Yong’s prose is alive with an almost incredulous pleasure that the field he has loved since childhood is now in vogue.
With a title borrowed from Walt Whitman’s most famous poem, you’d be forgiven for expecting that this literary favourite has been cherry-picked to give tricky science a more palatable flavour. But here, the allusion does philosophical work, provoking awe that we are host to, receive help from and are humbled by the life within us. The notion of a singularly healthy microbiome, like that of a prescriptively perfect relationship, is as cheap as an advertising jingle. Yet we are only just beginning to recognise how profoundly the bacteria we contain speak about our pasts, presents and futures. The song of myself is only complete with an accompanying choir of others.
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/want-to-feel-better-be-kind-to-your-bugs/
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en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/69ae784e665d736080ebaf6e48ccd24a5a01e36108ad4c1dd18944d10e3a5db7.json
|
[
"Jan Moir",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:13:33 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
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|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-544499318.jpg
|
en
| null |
Take note, Tony Blair: why jewellery looks so bad on men
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Ring a ding-ding — here comes the he-bling. Tony Blair started it. The war, that is. On good taste. This summer he was photographed on holiday relaxing in shark-print trunks and gangsta sunglasses under a blue Mediterranean sky. The former prime minister was on a yacht off the coast of Sicily but — uh oh! — what in the name of sunken treasure was that monstrosity moored between his moobs?
Closer inspection revealed it to be a giant gold cross, gleaming like a gilded anchor submerged in greying seaweed. Look at the size of that thing! Perhaps it comes in useful for skewering sardines off the grill at a beach barbecue? Whatever its function, it succeeded in making him look a bit shifty, like a half-baked mafioso, a Tony Mezzo-Soprano. Perhaps, after the bruising he received from the Chilcot report last month, TB was trying to semaphore to the outside world his dearly held vision of himself as a paragon of morality; I may have been damned over the Iraq war, but check out my Jesus-loves-me neckwear.
Men have to be so very, very careful when it comes to jewellery. Be it decorative, fanciful, functional or religious, male jewellery sends out a powerful message about who you are, what commitments you have made and your standing in society. That is why men must chose with stealth from the wealth of necklaces and ornamental bling available to tempt the unwary from the path of discernment. One misstep and you are but a second away from looking like a second-hand car dealer. One chain too many and you are tortoise-necked Sir Philip Green; you are Del Boy rootling through the cut-price kettles in the back of a van.
No wonder, then, that the mark of a true gentleman is his lack of ostentation. Particularly, I might add, in his jewellery drawer. Mr Right restricts his jewellery needs to three things: a pair of good cuff links, a decent watch and, these days, a wedding ring, should he be married. Mr Wrong opts for curb chains, a St Christopher the size of a dustbin lid, assorted beads, religious symbols and/or dog tags. All, of course, displayed under a shirt with too many undone buttons. Extenuating circumstances allow for the wearing of a family signet ring (if you absolutely must), something of deep sentimental value (from your mother, never from a former lover) or a clutch of gold medals should you happen to be an Olympian. Not much else is acceptable.
What men fail to realise is that wearing jewellery does not magically confer youth and virility upon their sad selves. Rather the opposite. We might have forgiven Henry VIII for his fondness for rapper-style adornments, but ever since then women have distrusted glinting peacockery. The only thing a medallion arouses is our suspicions.
The real rot probably started back in the 1970s, when Jason King, the fictional TV detective, first draped three pounds of bling around his neck and prowled the fleshpots of Europe. As played by Peter-Wyngarde, he became the maharajah of the medallion men; he was the randy dandy, the ladykiller with a Zapata moustache who could never quite be trusted with the sherry bottle or your daughter. Since then, men who heavily invest in gold necklaces always have a whiff of the lothario about them, a hint of gangland, a whisper of try-too-hard, no matter how undeserved that might be.
Who does look good in that stuff? Nobody who is white, anyway. David Beckham overdoes it, of course he does. No one is fooled by troubled actor Mel Gibson’s love beads, nor Brad Pitt’s girlish pendants teamed with a pork-pie hat. One Direction’s Harry Styles strikes few of us as the religious type, but he is invariably weighted down with more crosses and chains than a novice monk keen to impress the abbot. As is the case with the manbag and the mun (the manbun, hideous), men should realise that there are some forms of ornamentation that are supposed to be unisex in theory, but never work in practice. And jewellery is one of them.
It is extremely hard for men to look good in bling. Almost without exception, it doesn’t look like a jaunty bit of self-decoration, but like a cry for help; the external manifestation of a bleak chunk of self-doubt. Tony Blair is just another tragedy in trinketdom, a wannabe medallion man who looks as if he might be auditioning for Godspell. Men, you have been warned. You are no spring chickens. Step away from the nuggets.
Jan Moir is a columnist for the Daily Mail.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/take-note-tony-blair-why-jewellery-looks-so-bad-on-men/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/631afe60cc641ed6619181e06108f8e91374c474b1a52f2b2464a7658e5919c4.json
|
[
"Richard Davenport-Hines",
"Martin Pearce"
] | 2016-08-26T13:04:18 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fsir-maurice-oldfield-a-spymaster-smeared%2F.json
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-525146639.jpg
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en
| null |
Sir Maurice Oldfield: a spymaster smeared
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
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In March 1981 Margaret Thatcher went to the hospital bedside of Maurice Oldfield, the former head of the Secret Intelligence Service, who was dying of stomach cancer. She found him surrounded by his brothers and sisters, whom she gently asked to leave as she needed to ‘speak privately with Sir Maurice’. When they trooped back after her departure, they found their brother, hitherto calm and resigned about his illness, distraught and weeping. It was the first time any of them had seen him in tears. In answer to their question what was wrong, he answered: ‘Mrs Thatcher asked if I was homosexual. I had to tell her.’ It was the first time any of his siblings had heard any remark about his sexuality.
One can imagine the combination of stilted sympathy and condescending curiosity with which the Prime Minister had quizzed the old man about his sex life and the recent withdrawal of his positive vetting certificate. He was humiliated by her questions and by his exposure in front of his siblings; his
condition deteriorated and he died a few days later.
Such vivid episodes abound in Martin Pearce’s compelling and authoritative biography of the strange man who served for 40 years in SIS and was for five years its chief. Oldfield was born on a kitchen table in Derbyshire’s Peak District in 1915. He was the eldest of 11 children of a tenant farmer in the remote village of Over Haddon. As a boy he lived in a two-up, two-down cottage, and laboured on the family farm.
He won a scholarship to Manchester University, where he graduated with a first-class degree and was elected to a history fellowship. In Manchester he had a love affair with a fellow student, Jimmy Crompton. Pearce shows that Oldfield was drawn into secret work as early as 1937–38 — probably on the recommendation of the Manchester historian Sir Lewis Namier. He travelled to various European cities as a graduate student, and doubtless remitted reports.
In 1941 Oldfield joined the Intelligence Corps, and served with distinction at the Cairo headquarters of Security Intelligence Middle East. After recruitment as deputy head of counter-intelligence at SIS in 1947, he was one of the earliest to suspect the treachery of Kim Philby. He was posted to Singapore in 1950, with a remit covering South-east Asia and the Far East, and was head of SIS station in Singapore in 1956–58.
In this new age of reliable international air travel, he was the most peripatetic of station chiefs, flying between his outposts: his rumpled, chubby, low-key appearance made it easy for him to ‘go grey’. He had particular success in using unofficial agents, or ‘Friends’, to supply intelligence acquired during their travels. He cultivated ‘Friends’ among airline crews. Some of his ‘Friends’ on the International Olympic Committee are still alive.
In 1959 he was chosen as SIS representative in Washington, charged with restoring good relations with the CIA, which had been shaken by the mishandling of Philby’s duplicity. He achieved many successes in this job: not least by volunteering for a lie-detector test and beating the system by telling undetected lies.
As deputy head of SIS in London during the 1960s, and as head in 1973–78, Oldfield kept the home address and telephone number of his Westminster flat and the Over Haddon farm in reference books. He returned to Over Haddon every weekend that he could. There he helped on the farm, took placid strolls and had boozy family lunches at the Lathkill, a local hostelry where his great-aunts, the Miss Wildgooses, had once been landladies. He installed a MI6 contact to run the pub, where he sometimes held secret conferences. When registering in hotels under an alias, he used the outlandish names of Featherstone Lupton and Dicken Crawley in commemoration of Over Haddon cousins. The importance of his ancestral village in grounding him cannot be overstated: an SIS colleague spoke of his ‘Over Haddon common sense’.
His reputation was besmirched after Thatcher appointed him in 1979 as co-ordinator of security intelligence in Northern Ireland. Various implausible slurs were spread. Oldfield’s positive vetting certificate was withdrawn after interrogation in 1980.
Seven years later the journalist Chapman Pincher published Traitors: The Labyrinths of Treason. He regaled its readers with grubby fantasies of Oldfield having sex with a man in the lavatory of the Highwayman pub in Ulster, of rent-boys and ‘rough trade’ and of a security officer who had seen Oldfield looking duffed up by a ‘young oriental’ visitor to his flat. Pearce identifies the supposedly dodgy youth as a peaceable Singapore-born paediatrician, Michael Chan, then in his late thirties, and afterwards a member of the Press Complaints Commission and life peer. When a SIS man challenged Pincher for blackguarding Oldfield, Pincher replied with a wink: ‘You may have a pension, Tony. I need to look after mine.’ A former deputy head of SIS said of these smears, which thrived in the dung-heap of homophobia aroused in the mid-1980s by Aids: ‘Chapman Pincher has done the KGB’s work for them.’
Martin Pearce is Oldfield’s great-nephew, and knew his subject well. His grandmother Sadie Pearce was the sibling to whom Oldfield was closest. Spymaster, accordingly, is full of perceptive intimacies, heartwarming affection and quiet, endearing charm. It is admirably fair and sane on subjects which make other espionage historians hot-headed. There is plenty of tradecraft, subterfuge, deception and revelation. I cannot think of a better biography of a spy chief.
Richard Davenport-Hines has written books on Keynes, drugs and the Profumo scandal, among other subjects.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/sir-maurice-oldfield-a-spymaster-smeared/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/bde4024c020a2cc82b7c0ed53b1285c8b15581346703d87e3ef704bea06db5f8.json
|
[
"Hugo Rifkind"
] | 2016-08-26T13:17:41 | null | 2016-08-04T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fthank-god-for-sir-philip-greenthe-perfect-modern-hate-figure%2F.json
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-494032763.jpg
|
en
| null |
Thank God for Sir Philip Green, the perfect modern hate figure
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Good old Sir Philip Green. Where would we be without him? So often, those national hate figures let you down. That lady who put a cat in a bin in 2010, for example. Bit of a tragic loony, in the end. Likewise Tony Blair. Not this one. His diamond has no flaw, and we can all join in. He’s perfectly awful in every way.
He looks the part, too. Rich-guy hair, of the sort most rich guys don’t deign to have any more. Nonexistent at the front, lacquered and far too long at the back. Brilliant. Clothes that don’t quite fit, because he clearly pays a stylist to tell him they do. Graydon Carter’s description of Donald Trump — ‘short-fingered vulgarian’ — fits him like, well, a glove.
There is snobbery in the debasement of Sir Philip. Yes, I know he rode BHS into the ground and then scarpered, and all the rest, but come on, you know it’s there. Were he a tall, clear-skinned, Brylcreemed Old Etonian rampaging capitalist vampire bastard, then the hate would have a wholly different shape. He’d sit in our minds as a Bond villain or an oligarch. Instead, he’s there as a sort of counter-jumping ITV2 cash-hoovering spiv; less Goldfinger, more Doshfinger. Gloriously though, that’s all validated, because he seems to have no social-climbing pretensions at all. He acts, shouts and lives like a yobbo done good, and so class-ridden Britain gets to call him one and not feel bad about it.
Nobody has his back. And while in other circumstances this might make him the plucky outsider, the guy who soared and soared despite the establishment never giving him a break, that’s clearly not true either, what with the knighthood. Plus, he doesn’t even have an intimidatingly attractive wife, nor one unattractive enough to make you suspect he must secretly be a good person. There’s literally no reason not to hate him as much as you can.
There’s no PR here. That’s what I love. Or if there is, he must be doing it himself. Three yachts. Three. One 100ft, one 200ft and one 300ft. That’s 600ft of yacht which, put end to end in the bay of Monaco, might also be the only 600ft stretch in Europe without a Topshop. I love the way he’ll brazenly tell people he moved to Monaco not for the tax breaks, but the schools (the schools! Just like us moving to Crouch End!) And I love, love, love the way that, with his reputation collapsing around him, with MPs literally calling him ‘evil’ (Frank Field) and baying for his knighthood (also Frank Field) and with tabloids panting for his blood, where does he go?
Not to a discreet hotel, or a compound, with high walls and security guards. No, no. He goes on to his biggest, newest yacht. He goes on to a vast floating platform a short pedalo ride away from places the paparazzi can get by easyJet. There was a day last week when it was being stalked by speedboats from both This Morning and the Sun, and he had to send out crewmen on jetskis to chase them away. What a nutter. This while a steady drip of dreadful stories fill up the silly-season newspapers. The one about the granny of seven working in BHS, at whom he shouted ‘I own you!’ because she didn’t recognise him. (Bit unfair; might he not have just meant the shop?) The one about the big golden Buddha statue he’s just bought for his main yacht’s main deck. (Misconception? Maybe just him?) The one about him eating a child’s pet cockatoo, live, beak and all. (Which I might just have made up.) And does he hide? Does he balls. He stands around drinking beer in his swimming shorts while his wife bursts out of a kaftan on a sun-lounger nearby.
Righteous animosity rarely comes so pure. To be honest, though, I still don’t really understand what it is he’s supposed to have done that capitalism hasn’t always done eight times every day before breakfast. We all knew BHS was going down the pan, as evidenced by the way nobody who didn’t work for it had been in a shop since 2003. I wouldn’t claim to comprehend how he managed to wring three yachts out of it as it slid, but I daresay it evidenced a certain genius that, while maybe evil, is still something that the bulk of his detractors neither possess nor could properly understand, even if it were explained with child-friendly diagrams.
In its own way, the fury at Sir Philip Green is Trumpism, or Corbynism; just another rage against the machine. He broke no laws, so far as we can tell — not by plundering his doomed company, nor by sidestepping all that tax, nor by giving no shits at all. The fiasco of BHS is a fiasco born of low interest rates, deregulated employment practices and global tax havens. We could, if we wished, embark upon the long, complicated process of addressing all of those factors. Or if all of this is an unavoidable, inevitable, part of modern business — rapacious vampires and all — then we could perhaps set ourselves the task of reselling anew to the masses the logic behind that inevitability.
Personally, though, I don’t know how to do any of that. So instead, like everybody else, I’m content to find a fully deserving bogeyman and shout at him. Well done that man, for being so bloody awful. Where would we be without him?
Hugo Rifkind is a writer for the Times.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/thank-god-for-sir-philip-greenthe-perfect-modern-hate-figure/
|
en
| 2016-08-04T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/9fd8dce24c5070e294af177f6380b1ed5fabc84be6a58d394b0d6a26f5a32354.json
|
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"Julia Patrick",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:03:55 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/julia-patrik_specaus-27-august_post.jpg
|
en
| null |
Two bad ideas
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Two absurd propositions are currently gaining unwarranted attention: ‘recognising’ aborigines in the Constitution and a recycled idea from the 1970s and ‘80s when activists, mainly white, called for an independent black nation.
In 1979, Dr ‘Nugget’ Coombs, responsible for much of the early land rights legislation and former governor of the Reserve Bank, set up an all-white Aboriginal Treaty Committee calling for a formal Treaty between Australia and the aboriginal people.
Meanwhile, ex-communist Geoff McDonald, was telling a few home truths. ‘The first step towards making Australia a Communist country,’ he wrote, ‘would be the establishment of a black republic.’
Heavily involved in the union movement and industrial officer for the Australian Nursing Federation dealing with outback issues, McDonald wrote: ‘I saw at first hand how Communism works.’ But as Coombs’ building blocks were being put in place, McDonald’s book, Red Over Black, was ignored by the media and the author silenced.
Coombs, regarded by the misguided as a man of stature, had no trouble recruiting well-positioned supporters: Alan Renouf, head of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Dr ‘Moss’ Cass, an activist Labor MP who joined Al Grassby’s multicultural push to fragment Australia.
Patronisingly, Coombs told aborigines: ‘We decided to work for a Treaty between your people and the Australian Government which would say for the first time that you have been fighting almost 200 years for your land and that people from other countries took that land from you by force… The Treaty should allow you to control your own lives, in your own way on your own land.’
The UN climbed enthusiastically aboard, the World Council of Churches recruited the compassion lobby and from afar John Pilger encouraged the international press to paint Australia as a ‘racist’ country.
Along with the 1975 Racial Discrimination Act, all blended seamlessly together with aborigines used as pawns in what McDonald describes as ‘an invention of white radicals.’
An independent, self-governing nation means foreign troops could be called in, as did Mugabe in Zimbabwe with troops from North Korea.
Former Prime Minister John Howard underlined the absurdity of a nation having a treaty with itself by saying firmly: ‘A treaty implies we are two nations. We are not… we are one indivisible nation.’
Seen as too extreme for most Australians and with the end of the Whitlam government, the Treaty idea sank below the radar, only to reappear recently hand-in-hand with the seemingly less contentious proposal for a Constitutional Referendum to ‘recognise’ aborigines – now known as ‘First Australians’.
Both proposals have been kept alive by public demonstrations of remorse for past treatment of aborigines, while governments acquiesce to the limitless demands of the activists.
A collection of shanties calling itself the Aboriginal Embassy plonked itself on public land opposite Parliament House in 1972. Anyone with a picnic rug and a thermos would have been immediately evicted, but the Government, fearful of a ‘racist’ backlash, sat on its hands. The spot is now on the Register of the National Estate.
Following National Reconciliation Week, 1998 saw thousands march across Sydney Harbour Bridge to say ‘sorry’ for events that occurred before most of them were born. In 2008, Kevin Rudd apologised on behalf of Parliament with those two stellar words in the victim’s emotive lexicon: the Stolen Generation.
Terminology and individual support for Recognition and a Treaty repeatedly change. Shorten, moving from supporting a Treaty to a ‘post-constitutional recognition settlement’, will now ‘listen’ to the Prime Minister’s views. What they are is unclear, and they won’t come soon. Turnbull is awaiting the report from the Referendum Council, an ‘elite group’ having ‘national conversations’ as it wends its expensive way through Australia – the latest in the litany of discussions, talkfests, Advisory Committees and Expert Panels on progress towards a Referendum.
Meanwhile, aboriginal leaders are divided as to whether constitutional change should be a precursor to a Treaty, or are both one package. Some say it would be aboriginal thumbs down to ‘recognition’ without a subsequent Treaty anyway. So why bother with a referendum?
Warren Mundine, head of the Indigenous Advisory Council, supports a Treaty, or rather Treaties, as ‘it would need to be between Australia and each Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander tribal group, nation to nation.’ With a multiplicity of tribal groups, that’s a big ask.
How far would a Treaty mirror Coombs’ attempt in 1979? What unexplained rights and demands, legal and otherwise, would ‘recognition’ bring?
What difference would ‘recognising’ aborigines in the Constitution make to their present lifestyle in the outback? Or to poverty, drink, and unemployment? None. It’s just a comfort word of appeasement for the compassion industry.
Those, including Bill Shorten and Malcolm Turnbull, who both claim Australia was not settled but ‘invaded’, could well demand this, too, be inserted into the Constitution. Once headed down the slippery slope of change, where would it end? What will the next lobby group demand?
Our Constitution has served us well for over 100 years. We don’t need a rewrite with superfluous and gratuitous wording every time a new idea, fad or trend is supported by a manufactured ‘majority’ called up by an activist minority.
Those opposing the Treaty claim that by appearing too extreme it will ‘endanger’ Constitutional Recognition and put the success of the Referendum at risk. Well, cheers for that.
In 1988, Bob Hawke supported a Treaty, but soon let it blow away in a puff of campfire smoke.
That is exactly how both these time-wasting exercises in futility should be treated now.
Julia Patrick is a freelance writer and regular contributor
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/two-bad-ideas/
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en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/24b0314c42507a396ce485e2da3d41866f9a873a0d55eff6c730d8790623f99c.json
|
[
"James Allan",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:14:08 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Faustralian-notes-284%2F.json
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en
| null |
Australian notes
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Turnbull’s betrayal on 18c
Okay, let’s stop pretending that the Liberal Party has a deep commitment to free speech. We’re now at the stage where ‘Liberal Party’ and ‘commitment to free speech’ go together about as well as ‘European Union’ and ‘democratic decision-making’ or ‘Mike Baird’ and ‘greyhound racing’. It’s plain that a lot of Liberal MPs simply don’t give a rat’s you-know-what about one of the core Enlightenment values that powered the West’s success and prosperity these past couple of centuries. Beyond the occasional Je suis Charlie tweet, to indulge in a little bit of bumper sticker moralising and virtue signalling, these parliamentarians simply don’t get the value of the John Stuart Mill conception of free speech (assuming they know who Mill was) and are not likely to change any time soon.
And it’s worse under Turnbull than it was under Abbott, if you can believe it. I was assuredly one of the loudest and angriest critics of Tony back when he caved in on his attempt to repeal most of 18C, our invidious Labor-legislated hate speech law. I thought at the time Abbott was making a huge mistake by selling out his political base to try and win a bit of slack from the ABC (laughable, when you think about it) and from what he called ‘Team Australia’ which is a euphemism for the ethnic vote, and especially the Muslim vote. Again, on what planet does it make sense to sell out one of your core values – because it was and is a core value for Abbott personally – for such an ethereal and unlikely prospect of getting these votes based on the sole fact you did not press on with repealing 18C?
But to be fair to Abbott it was clear that many in his party did not share his personal desire to be rid of 18C. Whoever the people preselecting Liberal Party candidates are, they don’t care about free speech. Just look at the new intake of MPs. More than a few seem to hold Labor-lite views generally; a bunch haven’t got a word to say in favour of free speech; and of those that do voice support for free speech I’d be surprised if any of them would go to the wall and cross the floor to support it. Okay, maybe one or two. For the rest, the job and a cushy pension come above all else.
So Abbott had to deal with that in caucus. And he had a feral Senate that would never have passed a Bill amending 18C. Nevertheless, it would still have been the politically right thing to do to push on and make the Senate block the repeal of 18C. Right in principle and right politically for the party, and for him in keeping his PM’s job. So Abbott made a huge error in not doing so. Indeed, very recently in his speech at the Samuel Griffith Society he acknowledged this error and that he should have tried.
Which brings us to his successor, the most left-wing Liberal party leader and Prime Minister ever. Mr Turnbull last week laid down the law. Everyone in Cabinet was ordered not to vote for any Private Member’s Bill seeking to water down 18C. This is a disgrace. This isn’t giving up on trying for reform, as Abbott did. This is actively blocking reform.
So out trots Mr Morrison soon after the Turnbull edict on 18C came down to say his focus is elsewhere; it’s on the economy, not on free speech. In themselves those words are pretty frightening, given that Morrison has thus far proven to be a big spending, high taxing, Labor-lite Treasurer. I don’t know about you, but I’d be pretty happy if Morrison focused on just about anything other than our economy, given the decisions he’s made so far. I bet not many of you thought that Joe Hockey’s successor could one day make you get down on your knees and wish Hockey were back as Treasurer.
But who’s Morrison kidding? You either decide to support emasculating 18C, and so reinvigorating free speech in this country, or you don’t. Focus on whatever you like. Just vote for Bob Day’s private member’s Bill to delete the words ‘offend’ and ‘insult’ from 18C. Heck, this is a watered-down, half-hearted response to the awfulness of 18C to begin with. There’s nothing taking him away from his core Ministerial responsibilities involved here, and it’s embarrassing that Morrison could pretend otherwise.
Then there is our Attorney-General Mr Brandis. Last year he had some sort of Damascene conversion. Beforehand he’d travelled the country beating the drum for some sort of repeal of 18C, often likening himself to a latter day John Stuart Mill. Today the man can’t even support the QUT students being dragged through Human Rights Commission 18C hell, and through the courts. Brandis has the power to at least indemnify the legal costs of these students. He has decided not to do so. What a disgrace for someone who styles himself a Liberal. Then again, this is the same Attorney General who appointed Ed Santow to replace Tim Wilson on the HRC, the same Ed Santow who has yet to say a word in defence of free speech. Brought to you by your Liberal Party, my friends.
And that brings me to various acquaintances who listed Malcolm’s support for free speech (and Tony’s lack of such support) as the main reason they favoured the defenestrating coup. Still think the shift to Turnbull was a good idea? Still think the massive transaction costs involved in ditching a sitting PM and alienating a million plus party members was worth it? Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were Turnbull doing the undermining of Abbott on 18C back before the latter threw in the towel on this.
Andrew Bolt asks ‘name one thing that Turnbull has done in his year in the job?’ That’s not quite right because he’s done plenty. It’s just that they’re all left-leaning; like throwing more money at renewables and ‘innovation’ (don’t ask me??), trying to buy a few seats in SA by coughing up huge amounts on inferior home built subs, undermining superannuation, doing deals with the Greens, and so on. The actual question should be ‘name one thing that Turnbull has done in his year that a Liberal voter could be proud of?’ Those of you who thought fixing up 18C might be on this invisible list might like to concede you were wrong.
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/australian-notes-284/
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en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/7bac65af193eb5096766a661160244cc7f0ce34922fa27c72e5940e17e4e53a7.json
|
[
"The Spectator",
"Nick Cohen",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole",
"Branston James",
"Charmingly Cynical"
] | 2016-08-26T13:16:17 | null | 2016-08-04T03:00:00 | null |
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-542757398.jpg
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en
| null |
The best way to save refugee lives (Britain's doing it)
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
How should a country deal with refugees? This week the British government received an important legal vindication of its approach: the Court of Appeal overturned a High Court ruling in January that four Syrian refugees resident in the jungle camp in Calais could travel to Britain to have their asylum applications heard here.
The Spectator’s leader, read by Lara Prendergast
Under the Dublin Regulation, which governs the handling of refugees within the EU, it ought not to be possible for migrants in Calais to travel to Britain to make asylum claims. The rules are clear: refugees must make their asylum claims in the first safe country in which they arrive. Those who have relatives in Britain — as the four Syrians did — are entitled, following a successful claim in another EU country, to seek residence here. But the initial claim must be made where they first arrive. This is an important principle because it helps distinguish between those who have fled their homeland in fear for their lives and economic migrants, who have other ambitions.
This is a distinction which means little to Yvette Cooper, who chairs Labour’srefugee task force. She says she is ‘appalled’ that the government should refuse to take refugees from the Calais camps. She has fallen into the same trap as the dozens of celebrities and virtue-seekers who have made the pilgrimage to Calais over the past couple of years to huff and puff against British policy on refugees. To them, Britain has become a uniquely callous country which is refusing to do its bit while more moral countries such as Germany open their doors to the needy.
This could not be further from the truth. Britain’s response to the Syrian crisis has been timely, generous and logical. It has avoided the problems which have followed Angela Merkel’s magnanimous, though misguided, decision last August briefly to lower her country’s barriers to migrants — refugees or not. While Germany now hums with popular resentment — and genuine fear, given a spate of attacks originating with terrorists who took advantage of Merkel’s invitation — the unsung British effort to help genuine refugees goes on apace.
You would never guess from the pronouncements of Yvette Cooper and others that Britain has put far more money towards the Syrian refugee crisis than any other European country. Of the $15 billion spent by world governments and non-governmental organisations on helping Syrian refugees over the past four years, one tenth has been contributed by Britain.
British efforts are less visible than Germany’s — in Europe at least — because they have been concentrated on helping Syrian refugees where they can best be helped: as close to Syria as possible. As Rob Williams, CEO of the charity War Child, wrote earlier this year, $3,000 spent in Jordan will feed, clothe, educate and offer other opportunities to one Syrian refugee for a year. To offer the same help in Germany would cost $30,000.
But there is more to it than that. However warm a reception refugees might receive in Germany, most are unable to travel to western Europe because they are too weak and sick, or because they have young children. Those who do succeed in making the journey are mostly fit young men, and they are mixed in with plain economic migrants.
The jungle camp at Calais, together with the arrivals in southern Germany, are mere sideshows. Most Syrian refugees haven’t even left Syria. According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) there are 6.6 million Syrians internally displaced within their own country. Of those who have left, 2.7 million are in Turkey, 1.5 million are in Lebanon and 1.2 million are in Jordan. Germany, the European country which has taken the most Syrian refugees, has 600,000.
It was appreciated early on in the British response to the Syrian crisis that one of the aims ought to be to discourage refugees from making dangerous journeys. Other EU countries were more inclined to wait for the refugees to reach them before offering help. By doing so they unwittingly encouraged them to try to reach Europe at any cost, falling victim in the process to people traffickers with their unseaworthy boats and perilous lorries. Only in the past six months has the EU appreciated the problem by doing a deal with Turkey which allows the return of those migrants who try to make sea crossings to Greece. While it might seem outwardly harsh, the policy is already saving many lives.
Helping refugees close to Syria is not merely in the interest of the refugees as individuals; it is in the long-term interest of Syria itself. One day the war will be over and Syria will require rebuilding. That is going to be hampered if doctors, engineers, entrepreneurs and other talented people vital to the health of a regenerating nation are dispersed and happily settled in first world cities.
As Home Secretary, Theresa May was a keen proponent of the policy of helping refugees as close to the source of the problem as possible. It can only be done if simultaneously the principles of the Dublin Regulation are keenly upheld. Helping the odd resident of the jungle camp start a new life in Britain might make good film or theatre, but it ignores the wider issue of how to offer the greatest number of people the greatest amount of help.
David Cameron weakened in the face of emotional campaigns by Labour and gangs of celebrities. Our new Prime Minister, we trust, will keep a stronger resolve and maintain her government’s policy of giving the right sort of help in the right place, to save and rebuild the greatest number of lives.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/the-best-way-to-save-refugee-lives-britains-doing-it/
|
en
| 2016-08-04T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/2b5bee79e858aaf6fa11f27081f1f8913f542a2998e1b46077451613070ae8eb.json
|
[
"The Spectator",
"Nick Cohen",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:09:17 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fcover-27-august-2016%2F.json
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|
en
| null |
Cover 27 August 2016
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
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‘And then I met a dyslexic tattooist.’
‘I wonder if the same technology could be used for the Labour party?’
‘Kids blow up very early these days.’
‘When I suggested you write your dream bucket list, I hoped it would be a lot of foreign travel.’
‘Theme? Sure we got a theme. It’s beer.’
‘Great, innit, being a sporting superpower?’
‘Are we nearly there yet?’
‘The other robots don’t like you.’
‘If the wife rings, you haven’t seen me – right?’
‘Looks like a terrorist plot, sir.’
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/cover-27-august-2016/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/0aee6ef1504a0675da1da06c241afba87a4f15f75f8c72814537acbfaff172a7.json
|
[
"The Spectator",
"Nick Cohen",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T12:57:18 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fthe-problem-with-our-golden-age%2F.json
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/content/themes/spectator-new/assets/favicons/apple-touch-icon-57x57.png
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The problem with our golden age
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
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Golden age problems
Sir: Johan Norberg’s ‘Our golden age’ (20 August) is absolutely right — we do live in a golden age; antibiotics still work, we have less starvation, the world is open for trade, with all its benefits. But there is a fly in the ointment: human overpopulation. Global warming (if you believe in it), degradation of the environment, extinction of species, all are consequences of it. It is a result, in fact, of our success. The only country to have grasped the nettle — China — is now having second thoughts. Perhaps wind and solar power can provide for our needs when we are 70 million in these islands; but what when we are 80 million, 90, 100? And for the rest of the world?
W.G. Sellwood
Stafford
Dollops of perspective
Sir: Johan Norberg’s triumphant article on the state of the world is a sublime dollop of perspective. The liberal international order established after the second world war has, for seven decades, brought unprecedented peace and prosperity to countless millions. The insurgents besieging that order from left and right should pause, undo another button and pour themselves another drink.
Nathan Paulson
London E1
Ready when you are
Sir: Your call in last week’s edition for pro-Brexit groups to ensure that the ‘detailed, liberal’ arguments made for leaving the EU are heard once again was well-timed (‘Defending Brexit’, 20 August).
Two months before the referendum, eight of us economists who believed that a Leave vote would be economically beneficial to the UK grouped together to form ‘Economists for Brexit’. Over the ensuing weeks we made appearances in the op-ed pages of the national newspapers, on national television, and at live events. Once the arguments were made, and Cameron’s ludicrous claim that ‘no serious economist believes in Brexit’ repudiated, the results were startling. When we started our campaign, Remain enjoyed a poll lead on ‘The Economy’ and ‘Jobs’ of 21 per cent. By polling day, this had been reduced to a mere 6 per cent and 1 per cent respectively.
Since June, our original group of eight has been reinforced by the additions of Professors David Blake and Kevin Dowd and by the great EU law expert Martin Howe QC. Between us all, we hope to make the intellectual case for what has become known as ‘hard Brexit’. In return for answering your call to arms, can we look forward to The Spectator publishing some of our material and views?
Professor Patrick Minford, Dr Gerard Lyons, and eight other members of Economists for Brexit
Screaming back
Sir: How splendid of Charles Moore to remind us of Peter Simple’s Screaming Point, ‘a topical quotation so ludicrous that it needed no gloss by him’, and not only to offer us an example from the Mail on Sunday, but also one in his own column: ‘There is an urgent need for a peacetime revival of the Vote Leave campaign —renamed The 17.4 Million Committee — to collect the best advice and information from people who actually do want Britain to leave the EU and feed it to whoever needs it, including government ministers.’
Allan Massie
Selkirk
Straight-talking Shami
Sir: I count Rod Liddle as a friend whom I hugely admire. But he is completely wrong to criticise Shami Chakrabarti’s report into anti-Semitism in the Labour party as a whitewash (13 August). I do not know how anyone who has read the report could describe it thus: it is packed with criticism of anti-Semitism in the Labour party. Anything further from a whitewash would be hard to imagine. She thoroughly deserves her peerage.
Stuart Wheeler
London SW1
Bland designs
Sir: Martin Gayford is quite right to question Capability Brown’s reputation (Arts, 20 August). Roy Strong’s book The Renaissance Garden in England is dedicated to ‘the memory of all those gardens destroyed by Capability Brown and his successors’ and is full of wonderful illustrations of Tudor gardens with their ornate geometrical layouts and their appeal to the senses, and their sheer intelligent and restful beauty. The Brown landscapes which replaced them are bland and insipid, the fitting complement to mid-Georgian neo-Palladian houses, the least interesting in all the history of Britain’s architecture.
Timothy Brittain-Catlin
Broadstairs, Kent
Poor Wales
Sir: I write with regards to Matthew Parris’s depressingly accurate article (‘Something must be done for Wales’, 20 August). As a proud Welshman and Conservative, it frustrates me deeply to see the British government consistently overlook Wales. We are in desperate need of proper investment and support, and I hope that the government utilises Brexit to prove that it does care about Wales and its future.
What angers me the most, however, is the insouciance of Welsh Labour, and how they have steadily reduced Wales to a state of ‘managed decline’. I see so much potential in my country, but under Welsh Labour, Wales will continue to stagnate into a nation reminiscent of 1970s Britain.
Gwilym Phillips
Cardiff, South Glamorgan
Maydays
Sir: There was an obvious omission in Hugo Rifkind’s list of names for followers of our new Prime Minister (20 August). The day she arrived was Mayday (derived very appropriately from m’aidez), so they are surely ‘the Maydays’?
Julia Rooth
Bradford-on-Avon
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/the-problem-with-our-golden-age/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/f69bb527d3f59f279b3ae5fcdbb32d7db3a0f1b5962f62e076b3f0f9715bf295.json
|
[
"Sophie Bradbury",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T14:48:27 | null | 2016-08-26T13:54:06 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Flabyrinth-hampstead-theatre%2F.json
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| null |
Labyrinth at Hampstead Theatre
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Top price tickets £15 (usually £28) available for Spectator subscribers for Hampstead Theatre’s production of Labyrinth on performances from 1-6 September.
Book online here using code SPECTATOR when prompted or call 020 7722 9301 (must be booked by 1 September).
About the show: 1978, New York. John Anderson is barely out of college and has landed himself a job on Wall Street. His dreams of unimaginable wealth, travel and power are made a reality as he jets around the globe selling loans to developing countries eager to borrow. And there are plenty – Mexico, Brazil, Argentina…
But cracks in the banks’ excessive lending strategy soon start to show. Despite the warning signs – and their consciences – John and his colleagues continue to pursue their targets, threatening to leave them all financially, and morally, bankrupt.
Beth Steel’s compelling new thriller explores the fallout of one of the most catastrophic economic crises of modern history, which brought Latin America to its knees for decades. Winner of The Evening Standard’s Most Promising Playwright award, Beth returns to Hampstead following the critically acclaimed Wonderland.
Anna Ledwich makes her Main Stage debut following Donny’s Brain, The Argument and the Olivier Award nominated Four Minutes Twelve Seconds Downstairs.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/labyrinth-hampstead-theatre/
|
en
| 2016-08-26T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/f600854fdfa1a9ddbb25701717bd5efcbda2e293c0b80aab3931a13bfad172c6.json
|
[
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:05:19 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fa-few-things-you-didnt-know-about-the-great-british-bake-off-such-as-how-its-all-faked%2F.json
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A few things you didn't know about the Great British Bake Off - such as how it's all faked
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
You know when late summer has arrived because conkers are starting to form on the horse chestnuts, your eagerness to get the kids back to school has reached fever pitch, and another season of The Great British Bake Off (BBC1, Wednesdays) has begun.
If it feels like there has never, ever been a time when GBBO wasn’t on, this is because there hasn’t. Here are some key facts about our favourite telly comfort blanket you won’t find on Wikipedia.
1. Mary Berry has barely aged at all since the show’s first edition was broadcast in 1946 immediately after Muffin the Mule. Mary was 11 at the time and was chosen for her cut-glass vowels, her English rose complexion and her sweet nature, designed to counterpoint the earthy manner of her rough-diamond co-presenter Stanley Holloway.
2. Each series only lasted two episodes in those days because the amount of edible stuff you can make on rationed sugar and powdered egg is very limited.
3. It was known, snappily, as ‘Competitive Bakers’ and Patissiers’ Half Hour’. Holloway presented in black tie while young Mary wore a taffeta ball gown and a tiara.
4. Where today the programme seeks to recruit candidates from as broad a range of classes, age groups and ethnic backgrounds as possible, competitors in the first series came from a much narrower field. The first series was won by the Duke of Rutland’s pastry chef, Maurice Dufour.
5. At the beginning of this week’s episode — no word of a lie — co-presenters Mel Giedroyc and Sue Perkins can be heard cracking a joke which goes like this:
Mel: ‘I’ve got Kate Moss, Cate Blanchett, Kate Middleton, Kate Bush…’
Sue: ‘Can I just stop you there? Did you mishear my voice message? I said “Cake Week”.’ Collapse of stout parties, etc.
Amazingly this is not the worst pun to have been made on the GBBO. That honour goes to the moment in series 52 when Mel appeared dressed as Batman with a black forest gateau draped from her shoulders. ‘I thought I told you to come as the Caped Crusader,’ commented Sue.
6. In the late 1960s, Mary Berry was deemed insufficiently ‘groovy’ for the programme’s youthful audience and was replaced briefly by Marianne Faithfull, whose infamous, never-broadcast hash brownie episode has attracted over 18 million views since a pirated copy made its way on to the internet.
7. In real life, sourpuss Liverpudlian bread dictator Paul Hollywood is a lovable, cuddly, cheeky chappie with a kind word for everyone. But the producers were worried viewers might confuse him with MasterChef’s Gregg Wallace and so gave him a radical makeover. Before each show, he now sits in a bath of ice while sucking a lemon and watching endless reruns of High Plains Drifter to perfect his laconic dialogue.
8. The winner will have been decided months in advance. Top reality shows these days are far too valuable to risk unscripted moments. Before each episode, contestants spend several days rehearsing every soggy bottom/forgotten ingredient/uncooked sponge disaster to give the required sense of ‘jeopardy’. An RSC coach is always on hand to help contestants, girls especially, perfect their meltdown moments — and, if all else fails, to waft a raw onion discreetly beneath their tear ducts.
9. Details of the final result are as jealously guarded as the secret of the new Harry Potter show or the identity of which major characters are next going to be eaten alive by wild dogs in Game Of Thrones. Still, the smart money at this stage has to be on Ghanaian-born Selasi, who looks suspiciously good for someone who allegedly works as a ‘client service associate in a financial institution’ (whatever the hell that means).
10. If you don’t believe it’s all faked, just ask yourself what you’d do if you were a contestant. You’d work your way painstakingly through the entire oeuvre of Berry and Hollywood, wouldn’t you, till you’d got every technique off pat? Also — just like in exams where your most important job is ‘Read the question’ — you wouldn’t go off piste. For example, if asked to make a drizzle cake, you wouldn’t — as one candidate did this week — risk Paul’s contempt by making a ginger cake, would you?
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/a-few-things-you-didnt-know-about-the-great-british-bake-off-such-as-how-its-all-faked/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/ef4b86e7c5d7133ea83a0a6fe98dc22cabb21d306a2e0a89fed28dda47a7dc7e.json
|
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"Matthew Parris",
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"Gavin Mortimer",
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"Ariane Sherine",
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"Fraser Bailey"
] | 2016-08-26T13:17:53 | null | 2016-08-04T03:00:00 | null |
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|
en
| null |
I can’t sleep for anger at the Spectator review of my friend’s book
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
May I write a review of a review? I have to get this out of my system, having been unable to sleep last night, for anger at Christopher Howse’s beastly, scoffing and unjust treatment of a new book: Simon Loveday’s The Bible for Grown-Ups, reviewed in our 30 July issue. Somebody needs to call a halt to the tedious practice of using review to show off at somebody else’s expense.
It happens that I feel a special protectiveness towards this book, having seen the manuscript last year and encouraged its author to seek a publisher. Icon books have now published him, and done his study proud.
The book deserves it. Let me tell you first (as Mr Howse, who writes about religion for a national newspaper, finds no time to tell his readers) what Mr Loveday sets out to do. Many valuable studies of the Bible place the Christian (and, more generally, faith-based) message of the great book at the centre of the examination. Others are intent upon proving or disproving, or even mocking, its claims.
Loveday’s study is different. Written neither from the viewpoint of belief or unbelief, he aims to explain what nobody ever tried to explain to me in my own religious education: how this vast collection of stories, poetry, historical records, reports, genealogical tables, inventories, testaments and legends ever got stapled together — as it were — into the thing we call the Bible.
Who wrote the various bits, and why? What other aims might they have had, beyond the composition of a sacrament to their God? How did this all end up between two covers? How were its contents chosen?
How much is meant to be a factual report, and how much allegorical? How much is included just because it is beautiful, uplifting, solemn? Which of its famous stories occur in other cultures, religions, or literatures?
And though Loveday insists he wants to set aside belief or unbelief, there is a kind of message at the core of the decade-long adventure that this work has represented for him. His book (and, he believes, the Bible) is a hymn to an irrepressible longing in the human spirit for higher meaning than the humdrum. Indeed, the great 18th-century bishop Joseph Butler argued that this longing was tantamount to a proof of the existence of the deity who placed the ache in every human breast.
Howse snipes at Loveday by reminding us that long tracts of the Old and New Testaments are workaday and uninspiring, which I think we knew. Unaccountably he then launches into sustained and unpleasant disparagement of the kind of people who want Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’ at their weddings, or feel moved by the Victorian poem ‘Invictus’ by W.E. Henley. Howse appears to have been irritated by Loveday’s suggestion that — be it through the psalms or Gloria Gaynor — people want to be inspired and uplifted at significant moments in their lives.
God knows how one comes to be defending Gaynor or Henley here, except that Howse suddenly attacks them; but I’ll do it. ‘I Will Survive’ is an anthem to women’s spirit of self-worth in the face of men who bully and put them down, and it resonates for millions, and should. ‘Invictus’ — a brave and original poem for its time — is a shout of defiance at God himself, arguing that we have the last word as to our destiny. It is charged with meaning, particularly for those who contemplate taking their own lives. Howse belittles the people who find such anthems moving: presumably because they are easy to understand and therefore (he insinuates with a sneer at Desert Island Discs) vulgar. He seems to have some difficulty with the common man, tittering that ‘The Good Book’ is a ‘folksy’ expression, of Wesleyan origin. Millions of folk, I suggest, meant the expression quite literally. They will not have been aware they were being folksy.
But underneath his sniggering at common people, and his dismissal of Loveday’s (to me, fascinating) discussion of the sources of the different Gospel accounts (on the grounds that he is already familiar and bored with it all), this Casaubon of a reviewer does have something big to say, half-glimpsed skulking beneath his jerky peregrination of a review.
I think Howse thinks the Bible cannot usefully be assessed or understood unless in a quest for religious truth. I take it this is what he’s saying in his conclusion that ‘Loveday’s big mistake is to think that “it is possible to set aside theology and history” and be left with anything in the Bible, except by accident, that is more “grown-up”.’
Now this is interesting. The implication is that the Bible shorn of witness and revelation is a windsock with no wind. Bible study is a pilgrimage or it is nothing. ‘Stand-back’ analysis like Loveday’s is not a welcome guest at the faith community’s feast.
If that’s what Howse thinks he should come out with it. It walks straight into David Hume’s trap. The 18th-century Scottish philosopher argued (‘On Miracles’) that it takes a miracle to believe in miracles. In other words, unless you have faith, then, presented with a range of possible explanations for an apparently unnatural event, it cannot be rational to prefer ‘divine intervention’ to the more mundane explanations, such as mistake, invention or hallucination. Miracles are Catch-22: your world has to have a place for miracles before you can rationally conclude that one has happened.
Howse (I think) thinks Bible study is like that: dead without the Living God and the Living Christ. If that’s right then there’s no point exploring belief unless we already believe.
Loveday disagrees, finding the Bible moving, instructive and beautiful even when its central figure is pixellated out. Though I am an atheist, this book has sent me back to the Bible. Make up your own mind, but take it from me: Loveday writes with a clarity that is little short of gripping. He will engage you in a way a sneering reviewer can only envy.
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/i-cant-sleep-for-anger-at-the-spectator-review-of-my-friends-book/
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| 2016-08-04T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/2603ee9368c53bfd570a5faffb49041eeacfa3de84f1b426ba0ff26a99860b29.json
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[
"James Woodall"
] | 2016-08-26T13:16:02 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
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Stevie Wonder, Genesis, punk and the Stones - 1976 was the year that changed music
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en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
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Ancient Rome’s scandalous special advisers
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Theresa May has brought her own advisers with her into No. 10, and as usual the knives are out for them: they are parasites, and what are the civil service and the cabinet for anyway? Romans had the same trouble with freedmen.
A ‘freedman’ (libertus or libertinus) was someone who had been a slave but been freed by his master. The emperor had hundreds of such slaves at his service, many with valuable skills, and any who were freed could be invited to retain their position in the imperial entourage, a duty they had to fulfil if their master asked them.
While such a man was a slave, whatever his position, he was a non-person. But once freed, he became a citizen (though not a full one) and that was a very different kettle of fish. As a citizen, and one so close to the levers of power, he posed a threat to everyone else fighting for the emperor’s ear. Many of these would have been of distinguished ancient families and in positions of considerable authority, and the idea that they could be usurped in the emperor’s favours by an ex-slave was not one they took kindly to.
The insecure emperor Claudius (d. AD 54) was notorious for his reliance on freedmen, and the Roman great and good reacted in kind. The younger Pliny called his freedman Pallas ‘dirt’ and ‘filth’ and was outraged that Claudius gave him the insignia of a praetor (the job below consul), devaluing the honours normally given to ‘men of good family’. It got worse: because freedmen were so powerful, senators had to suck up to them to stand any chance of winning the distinctions and the status they so desperately wanted. Behind their backs, the rich and powerful ground their teeth that ‘slaves’ were ruling them: the natural order of things was being undermined. When Nero sent his freedman Polyclitus to settle a dispute in Britain, the locals laughed (said the historian Tacitus) that a Roman army and general had to bow to a slave.
And unelected advisers? Plus ça change…
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/ancient-romes-scandalous-special-advisers/
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en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
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Could your office be killing you?
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Japanese housewives are so convinced of the value of office work that they get angry if their husbands come home early in the evenings; and this is why many Japanese husbands, fearing assault by the rolling pin, spend long periods at the pub before heading home very late. Japanese wives are deluded, however, if they believe that offices are places in which much work is done; on the contrary, they are places in which time is constantly being wasted.
Offices are not conducive to long and concentrated effort; they offer far too many distractions. You aren’t alone in an office, but amid people with whom to converse and to intrigue, to flirt or to fight, and in the presence of coffee machines and water coolers around which to engage in frivolous banter. There are also the frequent meetings at which members of staff tell each other what they are doing (or not doing), and give the impression of initiative by proposing ideas about what everyone should do next. Then there are the telephones that never stop ringing, and the hundreds of emails that need replying to, all getting in the way of useful work.
People who work at home will confirm that they get much more done that way; but even long before information technology made working at home widely possible, it was also recognised that offices could be places of much idleness. Claud Cockburn, who went to New York in 1929 as the Times’s correspondent, wrote about office life at that time in this supposedly work-obsessed city.
An American businessman, who would refuse to make an appointment with someone before 10.30 p.m., might give the impression that he was immensely busy, Cockburn said; but in fact he was someone who’d have ‘spent most of the day not getting on with the things that he theoretically should be getting on with, and therefore finds himself at about six in the evening with the whole day’s work to do’.
The American businessman, he wrote, would often try to relax himself ‘by little walks about the room to get glasses of ice-water, and every so often by trips in the elevator to the ground floor — to get one’s shoes shined, or pick out a cigar, or buy the latest edition of the midday papers’. ‘In extreme cases,’ he went on, ‘it becomes necessary to go around the corner and have a little drink or even play a little snooker.’
Such temptations also exist for the office worker in the modern City of London, but the good news now is that he is urged to succumb to them for the sake of his own health. For under a main front-page headline, ‘Working in an office as bad as smoking’, the Daily Telegraph reported last week that anyone working in an office would be dicing with death unless he took at least one hour of exercise every day. It said that medical research published in the Lancet had found that sitting for eight hours in a day would be more likely to result in premature death than either smoking or obesity, unless these sedentary hours were interrupted by moments of motion.
According to the leader of the research, Professor Ulf Ekelund of Cambridge University, just one hour of physical activity would ‘eliminate the association between sitting time and death’. But it needn’t be very strenuous or continuous activity. Just periodic trips to the water cooler or the printing machine would count. In fact, the pre-war American businessman described by Claud Cockburn had it right — going out to get the evening paper or to have one’s shoes shined or to have a drink or to play a little snooker would all help to keep the grim reaper at bay.
It is comforting to be told that working less in an office is good for you, but the experts go too far as usual by urging measures of compulsion. They ask that bus stops be placed further apart, and that streets be closed to traffic during weekends, to enforce more walking. This might improve the health of the office worker, but what about the old? Don’t they care about them?
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en
| 2016-08-04T00:00:00 |
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[
"Ben Markovits",
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A gentleman of letters competes with the players
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We’re all Huguenots now
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I’m not one of those Christians who go in for high days and holy days. Truth be told, I find Yuletide duties on the 25th of December a little popish, not to mention chronologically inaccurate. And even if I were to observe the feast days of, say, the Evangelists (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John), St Bartholomew certainly wouldn’t be on my liturgical radar.
But I do know that last Wednesday was St Bartholomew’s Day. In fact, it’s been a red letter day for me ever since I studied the Reformation as an undergraduate. I was and remain captivated by what happened that day in 1572, as a wave of Catholic violence against the Huguenots (French protestant Calvinists) swept through Paris and twelve other French cities, including Rouen, killing around twenty thousand of them.
The so-called St Bartholomew’s Day Massacre (which actually lasted some weeks) was a turning point in the French Wars of Religion between Catholics and Protestants. Although greatly reducing the Protestant numbers, it united and energised – perhaps in modern parlance we would say it radicalised – them throughout Europe and, as renowned church historian Henry Chadwick writes, ‘printed on Protestant minds the indelible conviction that Catholicism was a bloody and treacherous religion.’
Considering the injunctions of the Prince of Peace, Jesus Christ, to love one another, to turn the other cheek, to love thy neighbour, etc, it must be said that the church’s history is well-blemished. But there but for the grace of God go I. In fact, sectarian slaughter is where we all end up but for grace. And in the grace of God too, we also find martyrdom, the present variety of which has nothing to do with political intrigue in the French Royal Court or a minor doctrinal brouhaha known as the Reformation, and everything to do with, in most parts of the world, Islam.
These days one doesn’t have to recall too far back to think of the most recent Islamic terror attack. In fact, I find myself getting the order of these now routine events confused. But like the St Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, the murder of 85-year-old Catholic priest Jacques Hamel in Rouen is a turning point in this war of religion. Until now the terrorists have attacked the gratuitous artefacts of Western culture – the night clubs, the sports stadiums, the free press, the epicurean cafés, and the symbols of a quintessentially Western revolution – but not the Western church. Perhaps, however, it was always bound to happen as barbarians who hate the West adjust the focus of their terror to zoom in on what French catholic writer Jean Duchesne called ‘the root of the West, the West’s living source: Christianity.’ Notwithstanding sacramental differences, I take Duchesne’s point that the laser-like precision of Hamel’s murder meant it happened ‘in the time and the place where, tacitly and invincibly, it becomes most explicitly and intensely real: the celebration of the Mass.’ No one expects it to be the last such attack, nor should we think Islamic State and kindred caliphates will confine themselves to national or denominational boundaries.
But whereas the French massacres of 1572 brought clarity to the Protestants about the nature of their Catholic persecutors, the French murder of 2016 seems, inexplicably, to have brought only further obfuscation. As Damian Thompson noted in these pages recently, Pope Francis’ biographer Dr Austen Ivereigh referred to the ‘pointless banality of the Rouen murder,’ urging us not to glorify it by ‘ascribing religious motives.’ It’s as if the Huguenots were erroneously and unwisely glorifying those who slaughtered their compatriots by pointing out that it was the Catholics wot did it!
Sadly, however, the Western Church’s disingenuous approach to Islam began long before Hamel’s execution. Indeed, it appears that Hamel may have, tragically and unwittingly, been complicit. His parish obsessed over multiculturalism and its ecclesiastical twin, ecumenicalism. The local nuns sought out Muslim children from the public housing projects, teaching them to read, running other activities, and providing basic meals. The Archdiocese gave a block of land adjoining Hamel’s church to local Muslims to build the mosque attended by his murders. During Ramadan, other church facilities were used by Muslims for their various festal functions. As Maureen Mullarkey points out, ‘In terms of Islamic jurisprudence, the mosque and the ground under it belong forever to the eternal ummah. The [church] had ceded a portion of Normandy to the caliphate. Allah be praised!’ After the boys from next door came by and slit the priest’s throat, they apparently asked one of the hostage nuns about her familiarity with the Qu’ran. Sister Helene replied that she was indeed familiar with it and that ‘I respect it like I respect the Bible.’ In 1572 Catholics and Huguenots would have made common cause against this heretic. And against Hamel’s boss, the Archbishop of Rouen who said that there were ‘three victims: the priest and the two authors of the assassination.’ And probably against Pope Francis, who ties himself in rhetorical knots as the Vatican’s Chief Apologist for Islam.
At every opportunity the leader of the Catholic Church equates contemporary Christianity with Islam, and pronounces absolution on the latter for its violence and savagery. After the massacre at Charlie Hebdo he famously said ‘If my good friend says a curse word against my mother, he can expect a punch in the nose.’ Seriously. ‘It’s normal,’ he claimed. After Hamel’s slaying the Supreme Pontiff was quick to point out that ‘there is plenty of Christian violence as well… If I speak of Islamic violence, I must speak of Catholic violence.’ Yeah, nah! The Calvinists forgive your forebears. A couple of Saracens have just cut your priest’s throat; Islamic violence rather needs to be on the agenda.
Hamel’s last pastoral letter called for communities to live together and ‘accept each other as they really are.’ Christians (metaphorically at least) are all Huguenots now, perhaps even being prepared for massacre. The only distinction is whether we follow the priest’s pastoral advice and approach martyrdom (or whatever good or evil Providence has in store) with a view of the world as it really is, or whether we follow the priest’s practice and becomes martyrs to our own naivety about what is, sometimes at least, ‘a bloody and treacherous religion.’
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| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
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Portrait of the week
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Home
Virgin Trains released videos showing that there were seats available when Jeremy Corbyn, the leader of the Labour party, was filmed sitting on the floor of a railway carriage saying: ‘This is a problem that many passengers face every day, commuters and long-distance travellers. Today this train is completely ram-packed.’ He then continued his journey in a seat. The RMT union called two more days of strikes for guards on Southern. Sir Antony Jay, the co-writer of the series Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister, died, aged 86.
British competitors returned from the Olympic Games in Rio with 67 medals, of which 27 were gold, beating their performance in the London games of 2012 and coming second in the medal table between the United States and China. Celebratory parades were announced for Manchester and London in October. Persimmon the housebuilders reported a 29 per cent increase in profits for the first half of the year, with ‘robust’ customer interest since the EU referendum. Drones were intercepted by police over Pentonville prison carrying drugs and mobile phones. After losing £50,000 worth of York stone in a year, Leeds set about spraying its paving with traceable SmartWater.
A jury in Manchester heard that Jalal Uddin, aged 71, was murdered in February by two supporters of the Islamic State because he practised a form of Islamic healing called Ruqya. David Hoare resigned as chairman of Ofsted, the education regulator, after having said of the Isle of Wight that people ‘think of it as holiday land. But it is shocking. It’s a ghetto; there has been inbreeding.’ Tesco removed the flag of Scotland from strawberries grown there and replaced it with a Union flag. Six people died in five incidents during high seas on British coasts. A 17,000-ton oil rig was towed off rocks at Dalmore on the Isle of Lewis, on which it had been aground for a fortnight.
Abroad
Video footage of five-year-old Omran Daqneesh covered in ashen dust and fresh blood, sitting silent on a seat in an ambulance in Aleppo after an airstrike, moved western audiences, but led to no definite action. An Islamic State suicide bombing of a Kurdish wedding at Gaziantep in Turkey near the Syrian border killed 54 people. Turkish tanks moved over the border into Syria after Turkish forces had bombarded Islamic State targets in Jarablus in Syria and at the same time bombarded Syrian Kurdish forces nearby, apparently to stop them from taking Jarablus themselves. In Iraq, pro-government forces launched an attack intended to regain Qayyarah, 40 miles south of Mosul, from the Islamic State. Iraq hanged 36 men convicted of involvement in the massacre of hundreds of soldiers near Tikrit when it was overrun by Islamic State in 2014. The Nigerian military said it had killed several commanders of the Islamist group Boko Haram in an airstrike. Ahmad al-Faqi al-Mahdi, a member of Ansar Dine, an Islamist group, pleaded guilty at the International Criminal Court in the Hague to destroying cultural sites in Timbuktu, Mali, in 2012.
Many were killed by an earthquake with a magnitude of 6.2, with an epicentre six miles beneath Accumoli, 60 miles north-east of Rome. The German government considered a leaked civil defence plan calling on all citizens to store enough food to last ten days in case of terrorist action. A woman paddling at Cannes in a tunic and hijab said she was fined by police because she had contravened a decree by the mayor saying: ‘Access to beaches and for swimming is banned to any person wearing improper clothes that are not respectful of good morals and secularism [laïcité].’ Smugglers drove lorries with hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of EU fruit into Russia from Belarus. The deputy chief of police for Manila issued a memorandum forbidding policemen from picking their noses.
Johannesburg council elected Herman Mashaba from the opposition Democratic Alliance as mayor, breaking the 20-year control of the city by the ANC. The Court of Arbitration for Sport upheld the International Paralympic Committee’s ban on all Russian competitors taking part in the Rio games in September. Sponsors dropped the US Olympic swimmer Ryan Lochte after he was found to have lied about being robbed at gunpoint by a policeman after a night out in Rio. China opened a 1,400ft long glass-bottomed footbridge 1,000ft above a gorge at Zhangjiajie, in Hunan province. A man in Amritsar who complained of stomach pains was found to have swallowed 42 knives. CSH
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| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
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Sorry, but Opec won’t back up this oil-price rise
| null | null |
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How many Olympic medals did Opec win? The answer (though I’ll bet no one else has bothered to work this out) is 15, or an average of 1.07 medals per member of the world’s leading oil-producer cartel. That result — boosted, I should add, by the five-medal triumph of the Iranian wrestling team — compares with the now notorious aggregate figure of 325 for the EU, including Team GB’s 67. I highlight the contrast only to make the point that, as power blocs go, resource-rich Opec is piss-poor at managing its affairs to advantage: the indolent leadership of the Saudis (Rio medals: zero) and their permanent stand-off with Iran means timely and co–ordinated decisions rarely happen.
All this is by way of preamble to a quick look at the oil market, which has registered an August rise in crude prices from $42 to $51 a barrel, offering optimists another reason for post-Brexit cheerfulness. But I have to report that the surge — which may already be over — was based not on perky industrial demand but on speculation that Opec members, due to meet in Algiers next month, will decide to limit production in order to underpin prices.
The truth, however, is that the Saudis have actually increased production in order to defend their market share, while flows have also increased from Iraq and Nigeria and new wells have come on stream in the US. So the supply glut continues, the price is more likely to drift down again, the industry will continue cancelling or deferring exploration projects that require $60 a barrel or better — and Opec is no more likely to agree sensible measures to steady the market than to field a winning bobsleigh team at the 2018 Winter Olympics.
Sanity creeping in?
Among lively responses to my recent item on executive pay and the possibility of using state-owned RBS as an experiment in reducing it, this one from a senior City whistle–blower: ‘Are you aware that the situation is even more absurd than you say? Since the EU bonus cap [introduced in 2014, limiting bonuses to 100 per cent of salary or 200 per cent with shareholder approval] we all had our basic salaries raised to ridiculous levels to ensure no one loses out — which of course has the perverse effect that people work less hard and frankly care less about the performance of the bank.’ Executives just four years into their careers command base salaries of up to £150,000, and ‘managing directors’ (of whom every firm has dozens) up to £600,000. But at RBS — ‘now the City’s biggest hire-and-fire shop’ — the base scale is even higher: up to £1 million for a junior director and £1.5 million-plus for an MD. ‘Total madness,’ says my informant.
I agree, and not only because I’ve always thought the EU bonus cap (promoted by socialists in the European parliament) was an unwarranted interference that was always going to have perverse results. It’s my simple view, held since I was myself a City insider and would-be whistle-blower long ago, that the prospect of life-changingly high rewards for no personal risk more often leads people to behave worse than to perform better.
So I’m intrigued to see that fund manager Neil Woodford has decided to scrap all bonuses for the staff of his investment firm because, as his colleague Craig Newman put it, ‘Bonuses are largely ineffective in influencing the right behaviours… There is little correlation between bonus and performance and this is backed by widespread academic evidence.’ Good to see sanity creeping in, even before Theresa May has had time to sink her teeth into the topic.
What universities need
For those who have been following my strand about tech start-ups and future unicorns, the most interesting news of the week was a £75 million capital-raising for Cambridge Innovation Capital, a venture fund that was launched three years ago under the auspices of Cambridge University and hopes to float on the stock market. CIC has so far made 13 investments in fledgling firms born in university labs or the adjacent ‘Cambridge cluster’, in fields ranging from DNA decoding to music software. An early backer of CIC itself was Arm Holdings, the microchip designer recently bought by SoftBank of Japan, and a new investor is none other than Neil Woodford, mentioned above.
All this presents an excellent mechanism for commercialising our world-class brainpower by recycling capital accumulated among earlier cohorts of entrepreneurs. The UK pioneer was Imperial Innovations, originally the ‘technology transfer office’ of Imperial College London, which floated on the Aim market in 2006 and has holdings in 93 ventures. Every university should have one of these vehicles. Indeed I’d go as far as to say that — as a condition of the continuing post-Brexit research funding about which the higher education sector is currently in a froth — universities minister Jo Johnson should make it compulsory.
Au revoir
One last item on French restaurants before I leave for home. La Récréation at Les Arques (Lot) — a hamlet that’s also home to a museum of the Russian-born expressionist sculptor Ossip Zadkine — offers an idyllic Sunday lunch in a shady courtyard that was once a school playground. You can read about it in Michael Sanders’s book From Here, You Can’t See Paris — but can I conjure a parable out of it? Of course I can. Here is a thriving husband-and-wife venture (Ludovic and Maria Soupirot have succeeded founders Jacques and Noëlle Ratier) that has brought life to a redundant rural schoolhouse with no other nearby businesses, and made good jobs for young chefs and front-of-house staff — so a fine example of creative regeneration. And that’s all for August’s gastro-economic theme, except to throw in the name of my equally idyllic homeward stop: L’Auberge du Val au Cesne, in a verdant Normandy glade south of Yvetot. A la prochaine visite!
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/sorry-but-opec-wont-back-up-this-oil-price-rise/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/33b43bf8c03cbadf5aad7f513e923e8f29337e72e1f5283341de1483750b01ad.json
|
[
"Paul Keegan",
"Spike Bucklow"
] | 2016-08-26T13:15:34 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fthe-power-and-glory-of-red%2F.json
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/Seraphs.jpg
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en
| null |
The power and glory of red
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Early on in his excellent and protean biography of a colour, Spike Bucklow quotes Goethe, writing in 1809:
Every rope in the English Navy has a red thread running through it, which cannot be extracted without unravelling the whole, so that even the smallest length of rope can be recognised as belonging to the crown.
Bucklow’s book follows a red thread through human history, whose twin strands are material extraction — the animal, vegetable and mineral lives of red — and the extraction of meanings from redness itself.
All colour is cultural. We have our private definitions — the unshareable conviction as to what is and is not red — but it is societies that ‘make’ colours and their associations. Colour has always been used to code and classify, to divide and demarcate. In the case of red, the borders are especially porous: ‘red line’ and ‘red carpet’ belong to different worlds, as do red lips and red-eye. Many of red’s meanings are monitory — red alert, red peril, red rag — but there is also a ‘red’ sea which is itself a red herring, or there is red-handedness. Red runs to excess — it always says too much.
It is a colour which has always dreamt of putting order into chaos. Not for nothing does ‘cosmetic’ derive from Greek cosmos (‘to order’), just as rouge helped structure the social cosmos of the court at Versailles, where ‘the brighter reds were more aristocratic’. Red contains the most colour sensations, the richest play of nuances, the greatest contradictions, and it goes further back than any other colour. Until Roman times, to dye a material meant almost invariably to change its appearance to red (which included ochres and pinks and purples). Red was not a colour so much as the colour.
The first part of Bucklow’s Red summarises the search for redness, condensing a vast field of inquiry into a lucid narrative. Beginning with red-bearing insects, notably cochineal, which were used for dyes in both old and new worlds. Madder was the most ancient and widespread plant-based red, used as cosmetics, food colouring, medicine, dye (it ‘fixed’ on to cotton whereas other extracted reds only fixed on to wool) and as artist’s pigment. Winsor & Newton were still making reds from madder roots until their London factory closed in 2011.
The pursuit of red was above all a mineral story — of hidden reds, or reds wrested from what is non-red, such as the firing of yellow ochre to produce red ochre. Earth yielded solid reds from prehistory, not least in the found form of crystals — rubies, garnets and other carbuncles — around which magical explanations proliferated: rubies came from the heads of dragons
and snakes; bright stones were washed from the rivers of Paradise; and whatever shines out of earth’s darkness must have heavenly origins.
Extraction involved intervening with the material structures of the world, a notable example being the age-old synthesis of vermilion from cinnabar, which was chemically the same but alchemically different, the whole painstaking exercise a form of magical play with subterranean redness. Bucklow calls it an ‘inorganic love story’, and the impulse to make red vermilion spanned the old world from end to end.
Red earths were collected long before becoming sources of iron, but the smelting of ‘red’ iron was a new crossroads of meanings, producing both ploughshares and swords, peace and war. Iron is extracted from ores, though it sometimes comes from above in the form of meteorites. When Cortés asked the Aztecs where they got their iron they pointed at the sky, and traditional metallurgy allied itself with planets and gods: iron with the red planet Mars and the god Ares.
Just as the need to create and recreate red spanned the old world, the rush for industrial reds drove the chemical revolution of the 19th century. New reds were conjured from coal tar, a lowly industrial waste product, and the madder industry was largely wiped out when its artificial double — named alizarin — was synthesised in 1869. Brave new reds, as Bucklow calls them, introduced a new language of colour as hue rather than as tone. This distinction recurs fleetingly in his argument, yet it seems crucial. Red for us today is a range of fixed hues, but formerly its production involved saturated tones, which were more dynamic and unpredictable. Basically not all reds were red, and earth colours were a striving towards red. The instability of red was integral to redness, an epitome of nature itself as a book of changes, and even of our own transient creaturely predicament.
At all points Buckow’s argument ranges backwards and forwards. Colour itself was traditionally thought of as matter, the envelope of beings and things, and Latin color derives from celare, to cover or dissimulate or hide. The shift to an understanding of colour as light was momentous, and it occurred early on in the West. (Bucklow does not broach the theological aspects, though debate raged in the early middle ages: if colour was matter then it belonged to the world of fallen things and should be rejected; if light, then it partook of divinity and must be embraced.)
Aristotle had proposed the earliest known chromatic scale, seeing colour as a progressive diminution of light, in which red was midway between white and black. This persisted as the scientific explanation until the 1660s, when Newton refracted light into a spectrum of seven colours. Science learnt to measure colours as wavelengths; artists and artisans learnt to think in terms of shades and ‘nuances’, primary and secondary colours, complementarity and optics. Henceforth colour could be measured, mastered, reproduced, and it lost some of its mystery. Neuroscience redefined colour as sensation: what is registered by the eye and transmitted to the brain. Henceforth colour existed in so far as it was perceived. ‘Is a red dress still red when there is no one to look at it?’ asked Goethe in his Theory of Colour. The answer then and now is ‘No’.
But the triumph of the spectrum obscures the cultural forces which shape our sense of colour. The Cartesian understanding of nature — as an ‘it’ out there — largely silenced colour. Chemistry’s commodification of colours enlarged their range but reduced their meanings. We can impose definitions on the physical world but these do not answer the question ‘why?’ — why for example red is complicit with power, whether legitimate or revolutionary. Formerly, red meanings announced themselves, suggests Bucklow, and human reality shaped itself around them.
To a modern understanding colour presents itself as a conundrum, or narrows to a problem in language, as pondered by Wittgenstein at the end of his life:
If we are asked what do the words red, black, and white mean? we can of course immediately point to things having these colours. But our ability to explain the meaning of these words goes no further.
Bucklow’s book restores many lost meanings. Starting from materials, from colour speaking through matter, it ends as a poetics of red: charting the deeds and sufferings of a light that has passed through darkness — through the ‘veil of matter’ — to reach us and become visible in the form of a red sky at night.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/the-power-and-glory-of-red/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/366031e6fa4d0fdf4700149c13258b98631bcf54525830086669f9c93fb9a010.json
|
[
"Nicholas Farrell",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:16:09 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fitalys-migrant-purgatory%2F.json
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|
en
| null |
Italy’s migrant purgatory
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Ravenna
At a car park a short walk from Dante’s tomb, one of the gang of illegal immigrants who tell motorists where to park and hound them for cash agreed to talk to me for €20.
His name was Billy, he said, and he was 22. He was from Senegal and a Muslim. He had come to Italy by fishing boat 14 months ago from Libya, where he had arrived via Mali and Algeria. He paid €200 for the trip (the going rate is said to be at least €1,000) and his boat landed at Lampedusa, 160 nautical miles from Tripoli. ‘Why did you come?’ I asked. ‘In Senegal, no jobs,’ he replied. No war either, I pointed out: ‘You’re not refugees.’ ‘Yes, we are,’ Billy insisted. ‘Tribes are fighting in Senegal.’
Last week, this car park near Dante’s tomb became a national story when a woman police officer vented her frustration on Facebook. She had told one of the migrants to leave drivers alone, but he had refused. ‘There’s nothing you can do to stop me,’ he crowed. Her Facebook diatribe was undoubtedly racist. She now faces the sack. Billy had had nothing to do with it, he said, but he knew who had. ‘It was a Nigerian and we shouted him never come car park again. Senegalese not like Nigerians. Senegalese good people.’
I had never met a Muslim called ‘Billy’ before, so I asked him to write down his name. He couldn’t write. He spoke poor Italian, no English and — oddly for a Senegalese — no French. He makes seven or eight euros a day at the car park, he said. The police had fined him — it was unclear for what, exactly — a couple of times. Once, the fine was €400, which he had not paid. ‘No jobs, no money,’ he explained. He now lives in a rented flat with two Senegalese illegal migrant friends who, like him, work in the car park.
Most migrants, lured across the Mediterranean by the fool’s promise of a better life, aim to leave Italy as soon as possible. They want to reach a country which has better job prospects and a decent welfare system. Already this year the number of illegal migrant arrivals in Italy by sea, nearly all from Libya, has exceeded 100,000, according to the United Nations High Commission for Refugees. Most were ferried to shore by Italian and other EU naval vessels after being intercepted in rubber dinghies and fishing boats. With the high season for boat people still to come in September and October, Italy could well beat its 2014 record of 170,000 — there were 160,000 last year — especially now that the route into the EU from Turkey has become far more difficult.
During the referendum campaign in Britain, the Remain side warned that the infamous ‘Jungle’ at Calais would move across the English Channel to Dover if Britain left the European Union. But if anything, the ‘Jungle’ is moving south to Italy. In the past, migrants could move on out of Italy pretty easily because there were no border controls. But now the Schengen Agreement on free movement across EU borders has collapsed: France, Austria and Switzerland (a non-EU member) have brought back border controls at their frontiers with Italy. So now thousands of migrants are massing at Italy’s land frontiers, unable to cross them.
In Ventimiglia, migrants are camped out on the rocks next to the sea alongside the road and railway line, trying to get to France. In Como, not far from the £7.5 million palazzo belonging to George Clooney, the Holly-wood refugee champion, they sleep on the floor at the station or in parks hoping to get to Switzerland. They are trapped in Italy — God help them. The situation in Milan — gateway to the north — is so bad that a decommissioned army barracks is to become a huge migrant camp.
Over the past three years, half a million boat people have arrived in Italy, of whom only a minority can honestly be called refugees. They are mostly single men from sub-Saharan Africa and, like the car park valets from Senegal near Dante’s tomb, economic migrants. No one disputes that genuine refugees should be given sanctuary. The big question is: where? According to the Geneva Convention, a potential refugee must apply for asylum in ‘the first safe country’ reached, which in this case would mean somewhere in Africa. This never happens. No one seems to question why. The provisions of the Dublin Regulation also state that, once in the EU, a potential refugee must claim asylum in the first country reached.
But for those in search of better prospects, rather than sanctuary, Italy — where the economy is suffering and unemployment benefits are nonexistent — is a very bad bet. To get out of Italy, however, migrants must avoid claiming asylum there. Otherwise, as a result of the Dublin Regulation, they cannot subsequently claim it elsewhere.
Many of them, therefore, conceal their true identities from the Italian authorities and refuse to have their photos or fingerprints taken. Many disappear. Of the 160,000 migrants who arrived by sea last year, only half claimed asylum in Italy (mostly Nigerians, Pakistanis, Gambians and Senegalese and a few hundred Syrians). In the same year, the Italian courts issued 30,000 migrant expulsion orders, but only half that number were enforced. The whereabouts of the 80,000 boat people from 2015 who did not apply for asylum is anyone’s guess.
In the case of Billy and his friends, all three had, in fact, applied for asylum. A few months ago their applications were turned down and they were served with expulsion orders. Yet they are still in Italy, with no money, no proper job and no prospects. I had a suggestion: ‘Go to England. The government gives everyone money there.’ ‘Oh yes?’ Billy replied. ‘We’ll go now!’
Britain — unlike the EU and Germany — is right to use aid to keep refugees as near as possible to their country of origin. It costs just £2,500 to house, feed, clothe and educate one Syrian refugee for one year in Jordan, compared with more than £25,000 in an EU country. The same is surely at least as true for economic migrants who remain in their country of origin. To encourage people like ‘Billy’ to cross the Mediterranean by dinghy or fishing boat from Africa to Italy is to condemn them to purgatory.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/italys-migrant-purgatory/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/92ddb1ba34ff5435b72da3138311af2768a498688ec78eb9c64315911a026cd9.json
|
[
"The Spectator",
"Nick Cohen",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:11:42 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fportrait-week-490-4%2F.json
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|
en
| null |
Portrait of the week
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Home
Theresa May, the Prime Minister, who was supposed to be on a walking holiday in Switzerland, wrote to Xi Jinping, the Chinese President, saying that she wanted to strengthen Britain’s trading relationship with China despite uncertainty over the construction of the nuclear power station at Hinkley Point. During her absence and that of the Chancellor of the Exchequer from Britain, Boris Johnson, the Foreign Secretary, was the ‘senior minister on duty’, Downing Street conceded. Regulated rail fares in England and Wales and regulated peak-time fares in Scotland will rise by 1.9 per cent in January, that being the annual rate of inflation in July, as measured by the Retail Prices Index (up from 1.6 per cent the month before). As measured by the Consumer Prices Index, inflation rose to 0.6 per cent in July from 0.5 per cent in June. Unemployment fell by 52,000 to 1.64 million by June; claimants continued to fall in July after the EU referendum. A diplomat from the North Korean embassy in Acton, west London, defected and fled abroad with his family.
In the Olympic Games, Britain overtook China at the end of the first week in the medal tables, reaching second place to the United States. British gold medals included six for cycling and three for rowing. A dog seized by police in June and returned to its owner last week killed a man in Huddersfield five days later. The sale of so-called zombie knives, with curved blades and serrated edges, was made illegal.
Anjem Choudary, 49, the Islamic cleric, and a supporter of his, Mohammed Mizanur Rahman, were convicted of inviting people to support the Islamic State, contrary to the Terrorism Act 2000. Public Interest Lawyers, the solicitors’ firm that brought forward many allegations of wrongdoing by British troops in the Iraq war, is to close this month, having been told it would no longer receive legal aid funds. Dalian Atkinson, 48, who used to play for Aston Villa, died after police in Telford, Shropshire, used a Taser on him during a confrontation in which he shouted: ‘I am the Messiah.’ Simon Danczuk, the MP for Rochdale, was arrested and spent two nights in a police cell in Alicante following a loud row with his estranged wife Karen. A ten-month-old child diagnosed as having tonsillitis was found after two weeks to have a 2cm plastic angel wedged in his throat.
Abroad
Russia used a base in Iran to carry out air strikes on Aleppo and other targets in Syria. Residents of Manbij in northern Syria celebrated the capture of the city from the Islamic State by Kurdish and Arab fighters backed by the United States. Boko Haram, the Islamist group in Nigeria, posted a video of 50 of the 200 schoolgirls it had kidnapped from Chibok in 2014. The mayor of Cannes banned full-body swimsuits known as burkinis from the beach, calling them a ‘symbol of Islamic extremism’. An airstrike by the Saudi-led coalition against Houthi rebels in Yemen hit a hospital in Abs run by Médecins Sans Frontières, killing at least 11 people. One in four women living in Rustenburg, a platinum-mining area in South Africa, has been raped at some time, a survey by Médecins Sans Frontières found.
Turkey released 40,000 criminals to make room in prison for people arrested after last month’s failed coup. The Polish government agreed a new law against ‘insulting and slandering the good name of Poland’, such as by referring to wartime ‘Polish concentration camps’. João Havelange, the predecessor to Sepp Blatter as president of Fifa, died aged 100. In Switzerland, a 27-year-old Swiss man died after setting fire to a train and attacking six people with a knife, one of whom died. People in Nanning, in the Guangxi autonomous region of China, fitted parked cars with plastic skirts to stop rats getting in.
‘We should only admit into this country those who share our values and respect our people,’ Donald Trump, the Republican candidate for president, said in a speech suggesting a new screening procedure: ‘I call it extreme vetting.’ The United States sent 15 men held at Guantanamo Bay to the United Arab Emirates, leaving 61 imprisoned at the base in Cuba. Australia agreed to close a detention centre for asylum seekers on Manus island in Papua New Guinea. Damin Pashilk, 40, was charged with 17 counts of arson connected with the wildfire at Lower Lake in California that has destroyed more than 175 houses. Floods in Louisiana affected 40,000 houses. CSH
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/portrait-week-490-4/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/d69995ebe854c754d62416155f0bc27df86ff9584a635f8a98914cb778ddb0c1.json
|
[
"Mary Killen",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:13:07 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fhow-to-cope-with-two-groups-of-friends-in-one-corner-of-greece%2F.json
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|
en
| null |
How to cope with two groups of friends in one corner of Greece
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Q. We have been invited to stay with a generous friend in Greece. Now we hear from other (slightly closer) friends that they will be staying very nearby. They have been emailing to say that the two house parties must get together. We know the last thing our host will want is to see some other people he knows from London. Even though he quite likes them, he won’t want to make the mental effort as this is to be a laidback holiday. We just want to blob and eat junk food, while the other lot are healthy and sporty. Also they are quite nosy and will want to see his house, but he is very private. I haven’t told our host because we don’t want to put him in the position of having to say he doesn’t want to go to the others’ house (which he won’t, as it will presuppose a return match) and nor does he want them to come to him. It seems very unfriendly not to see our other friends, though. We would feel shifty if we slipped out to see them, and it would make our host look unfriendly. How should we tackle this, Mary?
— Name and address withheld
A. Don’t overexplain. Just tell the rival house party that you think the etiquette is for them to go directly to your host and suggest you meet up at a picnic on the beach for which you all self-cater. This would seem much less threatening and open-ended.
Q. I have no idea how to tell a girl at my school that I like her in a romantic way. We see each other after school sometimes because I go to her house and she comes to mine. While many of my friends talk about going to bases — first base, second base, etc. — I have never been to any of these. How should I make my feelings known? I can’t think how to make a declaration or even if I should make one, but I have a feeling she may like me too. I am 15.
— Name withheld, London W8
A. You can sidestep this potential embarrassment by having a proxy convey the intelligence for you. Next time you visit the girl at her house, bring her a bunch of flowers as a present. Her mother will ask her where the flowers came from. When she tells her mother that you were the source, the mother will explain this means you must like her in a romantic way. Once she knows that your intentions are romantic, the girl will make her own feelings known.
Q. When I go out with a gang of old friends, all of us having made the effort to get together, it is annoying if everyone stays glued to their mobile. No one wants to be on their phone throughout dinner, but everyone trying to contact us expects instant answers. What should we do, Mary?
— P.W., London SW3
A. Why not get all your friends to agree to turn off their phones and place them in the centre of the table? Say they can check their messages briefly at the end of the second course. The deal should be that anyone who cracks early must pay for everyone else’s dinner.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/how-to-cope-with-two-groups-of-friends-in-one-corner-of-greece/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/17ecb48da79c22d9b6dd9ba75d7f3073f623d134f4a6e5c89fa3765f1942bf4c.json
|
[
"Donald Mcdonald",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:02:45 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fculture-buff-100%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/culturebuff_specaus-27-august_post.jpg
|
en
| null |
The Spectator
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
This is the time of the year when the major performing arts companies announce their seasons for next year, beginning the marketing to attract the commitment of vital subscribers.
The Sydney Symphony Orchestra has already announced its 2017 season as has the Melbourne Symphony. Sydney Symphony has put together an amazingly varied program with 16 series or packages of concerts designed to appeal to almost every taste. You might describe it as cultural market segmentation of a high order.
The SSO season includes a number of ‘Special Events’ which are linked to what the orchestra calls its Connoisseur Series and they are genuinely special. They include star violinist Maxim Vengerov, on a return visit to Australia, playing the Brahms Violin Concerto in mid-February and the much admired cellist Pieter Wispelwey playing the Bach Cello Suites 1 to 6 in August. But perhaps the most special event will be the Australian debut of pianist Martha Argerich.
Regarded as one of the outstanding pianist of the age, the Argentine born artist has waited a long time for the right opportunity to come here.
With the SSO, she will be playing the Beethoven Concerto No. 1 to be conducted by Charles Dutoit, the second of her three husbands, with whom she is clearly on good musical terms. Australian concertgoers, familiar with Martha Argerich from her many recordings, will certainly regard her visit as a special event.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/culture-buff-100/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/c581c16f228b0be50750d59fcf07c9bfdfb65207a14797a72dccd38a7bf94245.json
|
[
"Damian Thompson",
"Marc Lewis"
] | 2016-08-26T13:15:48 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Faddiction-and-the-recovery-gurus-who-profit-from-it%2F.json
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en
| null |
Addiction and the 'recovery' gurus who profit from it
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Perhaps because so many of them are former drunks and junkies, ‘addiction experts’ are touchy people. Often they don’t like each other — hardly surprising, since they are fighting each other for such a lucrative business. You can make bigger bucks out of selling ‘recovery’ than by peddling drugs.
That’s not to imply moral equivalence, but the two do have one thing in common: plenty of repeat customers. In any media report of a celebrity’s battle with substance abuse, the words that you’re most likely to read before ‘rehab’ are ‘in and out of’.
Ah, say the addiction gurus, but that’s because they’re suffering from a disease. This is one area in which the rivals speak with one voice. The notion of addiction as an incurable, relapsing disease is the bedrock of the recovery industry. Especially the relapsing bit.
It’s a brave man who challenges the disease theory — especially if he is himself a specialist in addiction and therefore runs the risk of being cold-shouldered at conferences and savaged in professional journals. Step forward Dr Marc Lewis, a neuroscientist who spent over 20 years as a professor of developmental psychology at the University of Toronto before taking up a teaching post in the Netherlands. His new book is subtitled ‘Why Addiction is Not a Disease’. He’s not the only academic to rubbish the disease model — but, so far as I’m aware, he is the first who has done so by setting out a comprehensive theory of addiction rooted in neuroscience.
The Biology of Desire focuses relentlessly on the chemistry of the brain. That is what makes it the most important study of addiction to be published for many years. ‘Clear, insightful and necessary,’ proclaims the plagiarist Johann Hari on the cover — a worthless plug if ever there was one, but he’s not wrong.
Neuroscience isn’t just a fashionable subject: it’s all-conquering. Since the 1990s it has colonised one area of research after another. The human brain is the most complex object in the universe, and recently we’ve begun to understand how it works.
This makes neuroscience (which encompasses the entire nervous system regulated by the brain) a source of extraordinary promise and problems. Experts in one field after another have been forced to rewrite their textbooks; but their new findings are often out of date and sometimes discredited by the time they’re published.
That’s because neuroscience relies heavily on functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI), a non-invasive but very expensive type of brain scan that allows us to see different regions of the brain light up as we perform everyday activities. One day, fMRI may help us to reverse Alzheimer’s and other horrors. It’s not a tool we can abandon just because researchers
inevitably have to do a lot of guesswork based on small sample sizes.
What we must stop doing, however, is turning that guesswork into grand theories that try to explain human nature on the basis of fMRI images of the brain lighting up when people (for example) say a prayer, vote Republican or chop up a line of coke.
The study of addiction has been grotesquely distorted by ‘voodoo correlations’ between brain imaging and behaviour. In particular, as Lewis points out, fMRI scans have been a godsend to believers in the notion that addiction is a disease.
Observable changes in the brain caused by drug use became part of a simple, scary, media-friendly narrative of drugs and other addictive experiences ‘hijacking the brain’. And the fact that these changes were still measurable after an addict cleaned up his act was taken as proof that the ‘disease’ of addiction is irreversible.
Lewis is just the man to demolish this theory. First, he’s a seriously distinguished brain scientist. Second, as he revealed in his previous book, Memoirs of an Addicted Brain (2012), when he himself was a young man he was so ‘fucked up’ by his craving for a high that he stole opiates from the science lab.
In the end he broke the habit. And that’s how The Biology of Desire portrays addiction: as a collection of habits deeply engraved in the brain. Lewis says there is no reliable formula for overcoming these patterns of behaviour, which — as his gruesomely entertaining case studies demonstrate — differ markedly from each other in respect of both biology and social context.
The good news is that there are many different routes out of addiction, though the recovery movement does its best to block them by spreading the message that addicts are ‘powerless’ unless they surrender their willpower and their bank account details to its ‘experts’.
Lewis is an amiable guy and tries not to be rude about his critics. He can’t,
however, hide his contempt for most of the 15,000 drug and alcohol rehab centres for whom the ‘disease model’ is a licence to print money. The cold-blooded methods employed by the recovery industry have never been properly scrutinised. Perhaps they should be the subject of Lewis’s next book.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/addiction-and-the-recovery-gurus-who-profit-from-it/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/107218c91b4f2cf47db06a454dc32246a658ad25701247beb806d6138ed58641.json
|
[
"Ariane Sherine",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:12:30 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/Wedding-for-One_SE.jpg
|
en
| null |
The rise of marriage for one
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
As far as the bride was concerned, the wedding was perfect. Her dress was beautiful, the vows were traditional and she changed her name after the ceremony. The clifftop scenery was breathtaking, the seven bridesmaids were encouraging and supportive: move over Princess Di. There was only one thing missing: the groom. Like a growing number of single women, Sara Starkström had decided to marry herself.
‘I thought about people marrying other people without loving themselves first,’ says Starkström, a writer, explaining what many would call a bizarre overreaction to finding herself single at the age of 29. ‘How could they pledge to do all this stuff for another person when they couldn’t promise themselves the same thing? I decided to marry myself to celebrate my independence and strength. I did it to promise to be my own best friend.’
Ariane Sherine and Fraser Nelson discuss the rise of marriage for one
Though it wasn’t a legally binding ceremony (Starkström changed her surname using the Swedish equivalent of deed poll), the 36-year-old takes her married status seriously and, nearly seven years on from the wedding, still celebrates her anniversary: ‘Every year on the 9th of September I have to honour my vows, and really try to live up to the promises I made.’
But while this may all sound mad, narcissistic or completely pointless, self–marriage is one way to embrace the reality in which ever increasing numbers of women find themselves — wanting to settle down, have children and make a lifelong commitment, but being short of a man to do it with. Today there are more single people than at any previous time in history, especially in large cities. In America, where Beyoncé sang about ‘All The Single Ladies’, unmarried women now outnumber the married. In the UK, this happened ten years ago. Fewer women than ever want to become wives. Those aged between 25 and 44 are not even cohabiting — they are five times more likely to live by themselves today than they were in 1973 — and almost half of children are born out of wedlock. That figure is likely to expand massively in the next generation. The Marriage Foundation predicts that, of people in their twenties right now, only one in two will marry at all.
Marriage has been on the wane for some time. But what’s new is the decline in the number of women who are looking for a partner, let alone a husband. This is not a Bridget Jones-like tragic story. If we can’t find a knight in shining armour, we make alternative arrangements: the act of self-marrying is merely an extreme way of declaring that there is no hole in our lives.
In previous generations, we single ladies approaching or embracing middle age would have been called ‘spinsters’ and pitied by society at large. Now, societal expectations are evolving fast. Single women are not only challenging the prejudices against us: we are also creating our own support networks to replace traditional marriage, making fulfilling and self-sustaining arrangements with siblings, friends and flatmates, with whom we can share the intimate details of our lives. Single women may be technically alone, but we are not lonely.
Starkström may be Swedish, but self-marriage — or ‘sologamy’ as it is sometimes known — is not an exclusively Nordic phenomenon, although it is very new. The first account of a self-marriage I could find took place in the Netherlands in 2003 — the solo wedding of 30-year-old artist Jennifer Hoes. This may have been inspired by a Sex and the City episode that aired the same year, in which the show’s star single girl, Carrie Bradshaw, announces that she is marrying herself since she’s fed up of celebrating her married friends’ life choices and never her own. Whatever the catalyst for it, Hoes’s marriage generated a lot of publicity and seems to have started this baffling trend: since 2003, there have been multiple reports of single women marrying themselves in the UK, as well as in Australia, Canada, the Netherlands, Taiwan and the USA.
The practice appears to be particularly popular in Japan. Cerca Travel, a travel agency in Kyoto, offers a two-day ‘Solo Wedding’ trip for the comparatively inexpensive price of £2,500. The bride can enjoy dress fittings, choose her own bouquet with the help of a floral designer, have her hair and make-up done professionally, pose for a photoshoot and spend a night in a honeymoon suite in a luxury hotel. (Until recently, she could even choose her own fake groom, but not one woman took up this option, so the service was withdrawn.)
Only a handful of women are holding these eccentric ceremonies. But they are representative of a much wider group of women who have found fulfilment and stopped looking for a man. Sologamists are everywhere, even if that’s not how they describe themselves — you probably know a few.
So why aren’t they getting hitched? Perhaps the issue resides with their potential mates. For while it is true that marriage rates have declined in every category of earners, the decline is far starker among middle- and lower-income groups.
While it is likely that this decision not to marry is partly men’s as well as-women’s — a working paper from the National Bureau of Economic Research found that people get married when they feel they are financially ready and ‘marriageable’ — the ‘bread-winner hypothesis’ is still prevalent. Although women want to wed, they only want to marry a successful man with a secure job — and they will put off marriage until they find such a man, or until the man they are with is at that stage. The problem, particularly for women on lower incomes, is a lack of marriageable men. Economic trends — and the expansion of service jobs — have helped women, but the decline of manufacturing has hurt men, especially those who leave school aged 16. As they struggle to find their place in the economy, they also struggle to find a woman. The girls they went to school with take far better advantage of their opportunities, and feel little need to compromise.
Lara Prendergast speaks to Grace Gelder, a woman who married herself
The tendency of women not to marry low-earning men is not superficial or an indication that they are gold-diggers. Unlike previous generations, we are not under economic pressure to couple up — indeed, women in their twenties now out-earn their male counterparts — but we do require financial security if we are going to take a career break to start a family. Bringing up children is the one thing that is still a lot easier to do with a man around, in financial and practical terms, as well as in the obvious biological respect. Ideally, we’d all like to give our children two loving parents. But while single women can adopt, foster or use a sperm donor, it’s hard to support a family on a single income.
Many professional women find themselves in this predicament. Most of us want, or at least aspire, to ‘have it all’ — and that includes someone to love and share our lives with who, ideally, could support us if we take time out from our careers to have a family. By law, British women are entitled to take a year off for each baby. But though we receive 90 per cent of our average pre-tax weekly earnings for the first six weeks, this usually drops to £140 a week for the next 33 weeks, and dwindles to nothing at all for the remaining 13. We could really do with a partner’s financial support, and there are simply not enough ready and willing high-earning men to go around.
And so, if women can only ‘have most of it’, why shouldn’t that include ‘the big day’? Sologamists get to feel like a princess, surrounded by friends and family, and enact every non-legally-binding part of a wedding ceremony, including the photos and promises. They get the memories without the man, and the celebration with no fear of future acrimony. With 42 per cent of UK marriages currently ending in divorce, some might say self-marriage, or no marriage at all, is a more sensible option than conventional wedlock.
While many commentators make scathing judgments about sologamy (the feminist blog Jezebel ran a dismissive piece called ‘Single women, please stop marrying yourselves’, chiding, ‘You should be aware that you’re no trailblazer and you’re sure as hell not thumbing your nose at the system. You’re buying into it’), this hasn’t stopped increasing numbers of women from taking the plunge. For Starkström, self-marriage was a liberating act for which she is quite happy to take all the jokes ‘about me carry-ing myself over the threshold and making love to myself’.
Nor does every sologamist subscribe to the idea that their marriage is a placeholder for an unavailable man. DJ Maureen Schipper, a staunch feminist, considers it quite the opposite, and describes her plan to marry herself as a ‘significant step in my personal growth’. She explains: ‘Unpicking the prince on a white horse myth, untangling my emotional needs from what I was socialised to expect and no longer pining away for a man to make me whole was a lifetime’s work.’
The point is, settling down doesn’t mean the same thing as finding a partner. After being single for seven years, the artist Tracey Emin chose last May to marry a rock in the garden of her house in France. She said of her new partner, ‘It is beautiful and dignified, it will never let me down’ and referred to the stone as ‘an anchor — something I can identify with’. Instead of a wedding dress, she wore her father’s funeral shroud.
In India in 2006, a Hindu woman confessed that she had fallen in love with a snake. She subsequently married the snake in a Hindu ceremony. More than 2,000 people took part in the celebration, as they thought the wedding would bring good luck. The snake was not present, perhaps suffering from cold feet; a brass representation acted as a substitute.
In a similar case the previous year, a British woman sealed a 15-year-long affair with a dolphin in Israel, calling him ‘the love of my life’. After saying ‘I do’, she bestowed upon him a kiss and a herring. Yes, it sounds odd. As well as animals and a rock, there are accounts of single women flouting convention by marrying a sandwich in Las Vegas, a clay pot in Uttaranchal (when the bride’s fiancé was un-avoidably delayed on the big day) and a rollercoaster in Pennsylvania. The latter bride defended her decision by saying ‘I’m not hurting anyone.’
Perhaps this is the crux of the sologamy issue: self-marriage is harmless, cheap compared to the £20,500 average cost of a classic wedding, and the union seems to make the bride very happy. If only the same could be said for the majority of traditional marriages which feature a groom. Princess Diana’s fairy tale fell apart when she found that there were three people in her marriage. Now, for an ever-increasing number of determined modern women, one is more than enough.
Spectator.co.uk/podcast
Hear Ariane Sherine discuss sologamy with Fraser Nelson.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/the-rise-of-marriage-for-one/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/9c65651d09964172ed8d7190e1afa08039ffbad452fefd70d2897641c3de6238.json
|
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"Douglas Murray",
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] | 2016-08-26T13:04:39 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/leader_specaus-27-august_post.jpg
|
en
| null |
Time to lead, conservatively
| null | null |
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|
The list of unresolved and vexed issues that confront the new parliament this week would be enough to give even the most experienced and wise leader pause for thought. Alas, in Malcolm Turnbull the nation has a Prime Minister who, despite clearly having enormous faith in his own abilities to provide sound, solid and inspiring leadership, has yet to transform such self-belief into public confidence and acclaim.
It is hard to think of a single issue where the Prime Minister is assured of making decisions in the next few months that will not manage to further antagonise and alienate large swathes of mainstream Australia. From changes to superannuation, to gay marriage, to grappling with debt and deficit, to offshore detention, to indigenous recognition and yes, even to amending Section 18C of the Racial Discrimination Act, the days of hesitation and inaction must now draw to a close. Mr Turnbull must lead, conservatively.
It didn’t need to be this way. The tortuous eight week election campaign and the tedious ten month ‘on and off the table’ period that preceded it gave ample opportunity for Mr Turnbull and his team to outline a clear, conservative vision for the future backed up by solid policy work. That they failed to do so is a failure of Mr Turnbull’s leadership skills coupled with unrealistic expectations from ninety-nine per cent of the media about what a Turnbull prime ministership would deliver. (The other one per cent is staring you in the face.)
Mr Turnbull can succeed. But to do so, he must become a leader who stands for clearly identifiable conservative values that mainstream Australia are comfortable with. These do not include behaving like a hipster ABC producer trying out slogans on twitter.
Firstly, and most importantly, Mr Turnbull must address our national debt. As Chris Smith writes in this week’s issue, the billion dollars being frittered away each month on interest on our debt is a national scandal. Allowing our debt burden to drift, or to become the plaything of the new Senate, is no longer viable. If the newly-elected government will not offer the leadership to cut our bloated welfare, education and health spending, it is almost certain that ‘events’ will do the job for us at some point in the guise of another major financial crisis. Unless the budget is brought rapidly back into balance, it is more than likely that the big ‘R’ in Mr Turnbull’s legacy will stand for Recession rather than Recognition.
Taxing superannuation is not the way to address debt. Already, the Australian reports that the changes made to super in the budget have seen contributions slump by $800 million in the June quarter. Confidence in super is being shattered. Ironically, Treasurer Morrison’s one and only likely legacy will have been to wantonly dismantle the successful Keating-Howard era superannuation system as assuredly as the unlamented Mr Kevin Rudd dismantled its successful border policies.
The refusal to countenance amending 18C is a disgrace, as James Allan writes this week, showing Mr Turnbull to be a leader happy to ‘actively block reform’. There is a key difference between when Tony Abbott (wrongly, even by his own admission) shied away from amending 18C, and now. That difference is of course the three QUT students who are living proof of how 18C actually incentivises people with prior (forgive the pun) grievances to see ‘racist’ behaviour in the actions of people with different coloured skin where none actually exists, and to thus pursue them for financial compensation. This is a world away from the heated debate about whether a popular columnist’s musings on the nature of mixed indigeneity were ‘racist’ in tone or in fact. That Andrew Bolt was found guilty for stating the bleeding obvious was, to this magazine, a complete travesty of justice. But if any of these three QUT students are prosecuted, with the disastrous impact that that will have on their lives and careers, this will go down as the greatest miscarriage of justice in Australian history since the conviction of Lindy Chamberlain.
The failure of Howard-style clear-sightedness from Mr Turnbull on what Julia Patrick labels the ‘two bad ideas’ of Recognition and the Treaty is fuelling dissatisfaction and anger on all sides. Indigenous Australia is being titillated by the fantasies of aboriginal activists and their cohorts in the self-loathing white left. Mainstream Australia is more than happy for purely symbolic gestures (à la Mr Rudd’s ‘Sorry’, or Noel Pearson’s ‘Preamble’) if and only if they are complimented by practical actions (as in clamping down on welfare being spent on grog). But what mainstream Australia will not tolerate in any shape or form is new legal rights and financial ‘settlements’ being bestowed upon citizens of one particular colour (particularly when that colour is not always visible to the naked eye; but let’s not go there lest we stumble onto issues referred to above).
And then there’s the Plebiscite, potentially threatened by the Safe Schools and other fellow-travellers piling on board with their opportunistic left wing social engineering agendas. Penis tucking, anyone? Er, no thanks.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/time-lead-conservatively/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/f5a9552fe5c36d98ea4b7d29ad3c1bc41c5726645302c6a0875bc4fa46e5ff93.json
|
[
"Boyd Tonkin",
"Jón Kalman Stefánsson",
"Translated Philip Roughton"
] | 2016-08-26T13:03:32 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
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en
| null |
Gale-force lyricism from Iceland’s most poetic novelist
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www.spectator.co.uk
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Centuries before their footballers learned giant-slaying ways, Icelanders knew how to startle the world with tall stories. In the moonscape that birthed Sagas and Eddas, little grew but epic tales. When this novel’s protagonist, the troubled poet-turned-publisher Ari, announces in an interview that he has given up authorship, his aunt Elin sends him a heartbroken letter. To see ‘one of our own’ write books, she writes, ‘made us feel almost as if everything had meaning’. Especially for a restless kid from the black lava fields of Keflavik, ‘this peculiar town situated behind the world’, where nothing happens and ‘it’s just work, just fish, the Yanks and the wind’.
Those Yanks — and their military encampment — depart as the Cold War thaws. The US base, both curse and cornucopia, mutates into the sleek airport, showcase for ‘a modern nation’ where weekenders in search of Nordic cool now land. The fish-processing factory which employed young Ari (and Jón Kalman Stefánsson, by the way) closes as crooked deals with ‘sea barons’ leave Keflavik marooned as a ‘quota-free’ town. That leaves the sea (‘To be at sea is to be alive,’ insists one of Ari’s silver-tongued forebears), the wind — and the stories that blow through the novel.
Set in Iceland’s west fjords around 1900, Stefánsson’s glorious trilogy — Heaven and Hell, The Sorrow of Angels, The Heart of Man — proclaimed a talent not only for gale-force lyricism but the delicate carto-graphy of a hero’s mind. This novel, which will have a sequel, begins today with Ari — middle-aged, divorced, disconsolate — returning from Denmark to visit his sick father. Soon it dives back both to Ari’s late-teenage years in Keflavik and to his grandparents’ harsh lives as fisherfolk on the eastern coast. Around these storm-battered shores, Stefánsson’s prose — translated with craggy eloquence by Philip Roughton — rolls and surges with oceanic splendour. ‘God,’ as the literary fisherman Tryggvi puts it, ‘composes magnificent poems.’
As the book moves between the panels of its triptych, the Iceland of Ari’s clan loses its loneliness — and, arguably, its grandeur. Though written with panache, sections set in 1980 and the present drift towards the sea-lanes of rhapsodic introspection now commanded by Karl Ove Knausgaard, the admiral of angst. That ‘modern nation’ breeds modern people, with their Beatles obsessions, frayed marriages, laptops and neuroses. Yet even amid a standard-issue mid-life crisis, Ari feels the tug of stronger yarns. His castaway state channels the salt-scoured wisdom of the old story-tellers: that ‘Humanity is ephemeral, our lives birds’ songs, seagulls’ cries, then silence.’
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/gale-force-lyricism-from-icelands-most-poetic-novelist/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/21c1d56428e0c6ca1a0436ad68ce95cdc77a61efda0991cc4e35633373a1a68a.json
|
[
"Martin Gayford"
] | 2016-08-26T13:04:57 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
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| null |
The countryside contains enough show-stopping paintings to rival the National Gallery
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Last Sunday, I went to see two of the greatest paintings in Britain — at least in the estimation of our Georgian ancestors. When they first arrived here, in 1790, they were accompanied by a special naval escort. After Turner saw one of them, he said the experience made him both ‘pleased and unhappy’, because it seemed beyond his powers to imitate.
These are the so-called ‘Altieri’ Claudes, by any reckoning among the most spectacular pictures produced in late 17th-century Rome. Today they hang at Anglesey Abbey, Cambridgeshire, where — at least on the afternoon I was there — few others had found their way to see them. Not that the place lacked visitors. The car park was packed; the park and gardens full of family parties sitting in deck chairs enjoying the unusual experience of hot weather in an English summer.
There were plenty of people in the rest of the house, diligently examining the bedrooms, bathrooms and possessions of the late Lord Fairhaven, who left it all to the National Trust. But not many penetrated to the room where the Claudes hang, down a staircase near the end of the circuit, although a mother came in while I was there together with a toddler who took an intense interest in both ‘The Father of Psyche sacrificing at the Temple of Apollo’ (1662–63) and ‘The Landing of Aeneas at Latium’ (1675). We could both examine the fabulously delicate treatment of woodland shade, distant hills and light-filled air in tranquillity, far from the madding and maddening tourists and tour groups you would be surrounded by in, say, the Louvre. It was a good example of an old-fashioned experience: going to the country to look at art.
In the days before the world was filled with museums — as it is nowadays — this was routine. In 1811, when John Constable went to Salisbury to visit his friends the Fishers — the bishop of the diocese and his nephew — naturally, he and his hosts made an excursion to Longford Castle to see the Earl of Radnor’s pictures. There they would have seen quite a few masterpieces now on view at the National Gallery, among them Holbein’s ‘Ambassadors’ and Poussin’s ‘Adoration of the Golden Calf’.
Nor did this exhaust the supply of old masters in the vicinity. If Constable had set off from Salisbury in a different direction, he would soon have come to Wilton House, with its array of Van Dycks in an interior by (or at least in the style of) Inigo Jones: the perfect combination of Caroline pictures and architecture. Not far to the south and west near Blandford in Dorset is Kingston Lacy, where a wonderful Velázquez portrait, of Camillo Massimo, has hung since at least 1821. That collection — one of my favourites — also boasts two show-stopping portraits by Rubens (one pictured right) and Sebastiano del Piombo’s ‘Judgement of Solomon’, one of the most intriguing Venetian pictures in existence, left unfinished at the moment when Sebastiano left for Rome, and switched from being an associate of Giorgione to being an acolyte of Michelangelo.
Wiltshire and Dorset, admittedly, are well off for great art. There aren’t many parts of lowland Britain, however, where you are far from a masterpiece. Even to list the most magnificent ensembles — the 24 Canalettos at Woburn Abbey in Bedfordshire, the 19 Turners at Petworth, Sussex — gives an idea of the riches spread over the counties of Britain. In aggregate, naturally, there’s a great deal of what Georgian aristocrats most coveted — warehouses full of Gainsborough and Reynolds, whole galleries of Canaletto, masses of Claude (eight of those at Holkham on the Norfolk coast alone). Scattered here and there, however, there’s a bit of just about everything: two exquisite Watteaus on the Isle of Arran, for example.
Once upon a time an extraordinary number of old master paintings were in British country houses, some bought on the grand tour — like the two organ doors and an altarpiece by Veronese at Burghley House, Lincolnshire, which took the 9th Earl of Exeter’s fancy as he passed through Venice in 1769. Many more were snapped up at auctions, especially after the French Revolution.
For over a century now, though, the flow has been in the opposite direction. The stately homes of England have been emptying out. Innumerable pictures that used to hang on their walls are now in the major museums of the world. It’s a long time since Velázquez’s ‘Rokeby Venus’ was to be seen at Rokeby Park; it’s been in the National Gallery since 1906. One of the pictures Constable might well have seen while going round Longford Castle in 1811 was Velázquez’s portrait of Juan de Pareja, since it had probably been bought by the 2nd Earl a few months before, a snip even in Regency era money at £151. Since 1970 it’s been — on a subjective but reasonable assessment — the most outstanding painting in the Metropolitan Museum, New York (its nearest rival in that collection, Rembrandt’s ‘Aristotle with a Bust of Homer’, was at one time in Hertfordshire).
And yet, no matter how much art disappears from the walls of British castles and mansions, plenty remains: probably enough, if it were all gathered together, to make up quite a respectable alternative National Gallery. Museums and exhibitions are invaluable institutions, but especially in summer it’s worth remembering that we can still do as Constable did, and look at paintings in the country.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/the-countryside-contains-enough-show-stopping-paintings-to-rival-the-national-gallery/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/4c5bc415a8c7440e8be875a05968759860c45960f01cb8b0e2c59e8a4ab51538.json
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en
| null |
A toast to the glories of Provence
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Friends have a house in Provence, near the foot of Mont Ventoux. Even in a region so full of charm and grace, it is an exceptional spot. Although nothing visible dates from earlier than the 18th century, the house is in the midst of olive groves and there has been a farm dwelling for centuries. I suspect that one would find medieval masonry in the foundations. Beginning life as a simple farmhouse, it has been bashed about, added to and poshed up. On the western side, the exterior has pretensions to grandeur. The other elevation is more feminine; you expect to find Fragonard painting a girl on a swing.
At this season, the parasols act as the drawing room. There is a pool, and there were expeditions to Nîmes, Orange and Avignon. But it was also pleasant to read a book while occasionally looking up beyond the oleanders to the heights of Ventoux. On some evenings we saw shooting stars. Pleiades, the stars are known as, and everything in Provence calls Ronsard to mind. Here, carpe diem is a pleasure and a commandment.
Within fig-gathering reach of the house is an enchanting garden, and its kitchen plots almost yield more than the inhabitants can eat. This is the realm of Ceres. Provence ought to have such a tutelary goddess because the Romans created it: Provincia Romana. Was that not the greatest civilising mission in the history of imperialism, surpassing anything that even we British achieved? The conquerors do not only deserve credit for their buildings, but for the Romanesque architecture which they inspired. Modern Provence is a Franco-Roman flowering: Roman genius and discipline, the bounty of nature — and French peasant cunning. It is an irresistible combination; Julius Caesar meets Père Goriot (but if poor old Goriot had lived in Provence he would have softened and there would have been no story).
I have a prejudice against pink wine, except in the form of very old port. But all wines flourish in the right context. Pink champagne might be fine if drunk from a tart’s trotter in Madame Claude’s; I have never tried. In rural Greece, retsina works; in San Gimignano, the same is true of vernaccia. Neither would stand up to a wet London day in November. In Provence, once the last crumbs of croissant had gone, we moved on to local rosé, which has the merit of being non-alcoholic. The whites slipped down equally gently. The wines of Glen Luberon, on the other side of Ventoux, have improved greatly in recent years.
Saucisson, ham, chèvre: the regional produce is superb. Ned and Louis, precocious gourmets whose exploits have been celebrated in this column, broke records for the consumption of snails. The little local restaurants that we tried were all admirable: they have to be, as most of their customers are French. Moreover, despite the collapse of the pound, it did not feel as if we were paying in a strong currency. I fear it might be different in Paris.
But there are restaurants which add trumpets to locality and take terroir to new supremacies. In Avignon, next to the Palais des Papes, a chef called Christian Etienne pitched his toque a generation ago. He has now handed over to disciples. Over the past 20 years, I have eaten there three times, and nothing changes. It has a Michelin star: why only one? There is a serene self-confidence, and indeed a hint of civilised arrogance. This kitchen knows how to cook, and sees no reason for pretend humility. It makes local ingredients sing, as Provençal chefs did for the Avignon Popes. Though only just ready, a white Châteauneuf, Domaine de la Janasse 2014, was a sound recommendation. But it will keep for years. A Gigondas, Domaine de Montirius ’07, was equally delicious, as was a Domaine du Cayron from the same year. That appellation can reach heights.
There is only one thing wrong with Provence. Leaving it.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/a-toast-to-the-glories-of-provence/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/48fd5043bb8dfb696562f0b333c82cda85a5d4fabda81f352c6df3bfe936a4f2.json
|
[
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole",
"Joe Williams",
"Andrew Smith"
] | 2016-08-26T13:16:29 | null | 2014-09-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2014%2F09%2Fthe-politics-of-ppe%2F.json
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2014/09/g61.jpg
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en
| null |
How an Oxford degree - PPE - created a robotic governing class
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
If graduates from an architecture school designed buildings that were unfit for human habitation or doctors from a university’s medical faculty left death in their wake, their teachers would worry. The graduates of Oxford’s Politics, Philosophy and Economics course form the largest single component of the most despised generation of politicians since the Great Reform Act. Yet their old university does not show a twinge of concern.
Alex Salmond spat out ‘Westminster’ as if he meant ‘Babylon’, and every time he did, thousands of Scots decided to leave Britain. Ukip, a vehicle for another cynical demagogue, convinces its growing band of supporters that all politicians are liars (apart from Mr Farage, of course). Beyond party labels and nationalist sympathies is an ‘anti-politics mood’ that captures citizens of all beliefs and none (although ‘mood’ strikes me as too mild a world for the derision and the fury). Will Jennings of Southampton university pointed me to research which showed 80 per cent agreed with the proposition that ‘politicians are too focused on short-term chasing of headlines’, with just 3 per cent of respondents disagreeing. ‘You never see results like this,’ he said.
A remarkable number of the politicians voters despised for their tricks learnt their politics at Oxford: David Cameron, William Hague, Theresa May, Jeremy Hunt, Ed Davey, Danny Alexander. Matthew Hancock, Ed Miliband, David Miliband, Ed Balls, Yvette Cooper, Angela Eagle, Maria Eagle, Rachel Reeves and Stuart Wood. There are more PPE graduates in the Commons than Old Etonians (35 to 20). Remember I am not talking about Oxbridge-educated politicians, who make up 50 per cent of ministers and 28 per cent of MPs, but the graduates of just one Oxford course.
Ambitious young men and women now believe they must study politics at Oxford if they want to get on in politics. And not only ambitious Brits. Christopher Hood, the editor of the only academic study of PPE, says that at one point in the last decade 5 per cent of the world’s foreign ministers had enrolled at St Antony’s — Oxford’s postgraduate college for political studies. What Oxford teaches ought to be of more than academic interest.
The French keep a jaundiced eye on the énarques, the graduates of de Gaulle’s Ecole nationale d’administration, who always seem to end at the top of business in politics whoever is in power. In Britain, however, there is little beyond protest against the ‘private school Oxbridge elite’, which fails to understand that Oxford and Cambridge are meritocratic institutions, open to all qualified students regardless of parental wealth, while private schools most assuredly are not.
Occasionally, left-wing writers have noticed that the Oxford economics department sent its rosy-cheeked charges into a wicked world without a clue about the risks of a coming crash, but you could say the same about every economics department on the planet. As Oxford is a federal university with independent colleges, I cannot see how an academic or group of politics graduates could impose a party line. That you hear occasional complaints from the right as well convinces me that none exists. (One conservative editor hands PPE graduates a remedial right-wing reading list to bang ‘sound’ thinking into their misguided young minds.)
Oxford’s issue is not what it thinks but how it thinks.
Last week Vernon Bogdanor described his astonishment that the man he called ‘my ablest pupil’ (David Cameron, PPE, Brasenose College) was drawing up a new constitution on scrap paper. You don’t rush fundamental change with barely a moment’s thought, the visibly shaken Bogdanor told the BBC. Cameron’s behaviour was ‘absurd’.
As Professor Bogdanor’s least able pupil, I hate to be the one to break it to him, but banging out ideas with barely a moment’s thought is exactly what PPE students do. They study three separate disciplines yoked into one course. In the first year, they must produce essays on John Stuart Mill one minute and parliament the next; on microeconomics, modern French history, Rousseau, Marx, formal logic, the US Congress and whether it is better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied.
‘I always invited PPE-ists to my parties,’ said Madeline Grant, who left Oxford last year. ‘They could talk about anything. Whether they knew anything did not bother them in the slightest.’
I don’t dispute that Oxford produces world-class thinkers, but it also churns out world-class bullshitters. Career politicians with no interests outside politics have always existed, as the lives of Pitt the Younger, Lloyd George and Asquith show. More novel, or more common than they once were, are politicians who believe that governing is managing; that the tactics of Peter Mandelson (PPE, St Catherine’s College) are all they need to know: lead the news cycle, write the headlines, buy off Murdoch, offer a concession to anti-immigrant feeling here, a tax-raising power to Scots there, then wait for the next wave to surf.
PPE essay crises are the perfect preparation for politicians who will distil a complicated society down to a few slogans — ‘It’s the economy, stupid’ — and confine their reading to the handful of texts that impress their peers: Caro on Lyndon Johnson, Thaler on nudging. Above all, the flightiness of PPE encourages puppeteer politicians, who stand above their society pulling the strings, rather than men and women who represent solid interests within it.
If Oxford will not split the course into separate subjects to encourage serious study, there is one small reform it could implement in compensation. It offers students the option of producing a 10,000-word dissertation. The study must be original research, and students must have a genuine interest to see them through the hard work ahead. Several told me that they and their contemporaries refused to write dissertations for these very reasons. Could not Oxford make the option compulsory and force students to concentrate on one hard topic, if only for a few months? Would it not then produce politicians who were more likely to root themselves in their country rather than skim its surface like pond-skating insects?
Nick Cohen is a Spectator blogger, Observer columnist and author of several books.
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http://www.spectator.co.uk/2014/09/the-politics-of-ppe/
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en
| 2014-09-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/0b1593ab3c9972865476d69f48101e67c1f2115178bb54400080c791acdb8005.json
|
[
"The Spectator",
"Nick Cohen",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole",
"John Vernon",
"Anthony Thompson"
] | 2016-08-26T13:16:33 | null | 2016-07-28T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F07%2Fthe-post-brexit-the-economy-is-more-open-than-ever%2F.json
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The post-Brexit economy is more open than ever
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
For all Gordon Brown’s economic mistakes, he at least tried to build confidence in the British economy. In the build-up to the European Union referendum, David Cameron and George Osborne did the opposite. Osborne, as Chancellor, ignored the good news, accentuated the bad and tried to portray Britain as an economic weakling propped up by EU membership. He was joined by a great many investment banks who produced analyses saying that Britain’s life outside the EU would be catastrophic.
Since the referendum, these anticipations of doom have continued. It is rather strange to watch. Encouraging economic news — the increase in high-street spending, the buoyant demand for jobs through recruitment agencies — is brushed aside. But the surveys about sentiment, which are more negative, are being seized upon as proof of the Remain side being right all along. The Brexit vote might have passed, but the debate goes on: its advocates looking for signs of optimism, and its opponents muttering about ‘hard Brexit’ and almost willing economic collapse.
It’s hard to read into what few economic indicators we have seen since the Brexit vote. A trend is already discernible, however. When businesses are rung up by pollsters and asked about their confidence, they profess to being more miserable than at any point since the last recession. Yet when it comes to doing business, their customers so far seem unaffected. People are shopping, hiring, borrowing and creating wealth just as they were before. The Bank of England’s assessment of business activity in the month since the referendum reports ‘business as usual’, with firms hiring, borrowing and investing as normal.
Much has been made, too, of the Manufacturing Purchasing Managers’ Index, which measures hard data such as sales and orders and which this month fell to 49.1. Anything below 50 indicates a contracting economy. But the fall was less than many had predicted, and the index has falsely suggested slowdowns in the past. It spent most of 2012 below 50, yet a recession did not follow. Nor is the index wholly negative — it suggests a sharp rise in exports over the past month, which must be the early fruits of the drop in sterling.
There were fears that growth would grind to a halt ahead of the referendum, as fear of the unknown stopped firms investing. But as we know now, growth accelerated.
It would be strange if business confidence did not wobble after the unexpected vote for to leave the EU. For most of this year, businesses have been told by everyone — from the Chancellor of the Exchequer to the Confederation of British Industry — that Brexit would mean immediate disaster. It’s since emerged that Mr Osborne banned the Treasury from making any preparations for Brexit — presumably because, if such plans leaked, they might contradict the gloom predicted by his campaign. That added to the atmosphere of uncertainty after 23 June. David Cameron resigned, and for ten days after Brexit, Britain seemed to lack leadership.
Businessmen who surveyed the chaos might have had good cause to feel gloomy. But then they would go back to their businesses and see that the fundamentals had not changed.
Interest rates remain at the lowest level in 400 years, employment is at a historic high, inflation is benign and export markets are as every bit as open as they were at the beginning of June. As you’d expect: we won’t leave the EU for at least two years, so why should trade suddenly contract now? Indeed, a falling pound sucks in investment — as we saw when Japan’s Softbank bid £24 billion for ARM, the Cambridge-based silicon chip manufacturer. WellsFargo, the US bank, has decided to spend £300 million on a new European headquarters in London. It had planned to lease the office, but after Brexit agreed to buy.
Far from retreating into isolation, the UK economy now looks more open than ever. It is gradually dawning on all but the most stubborn in the Remain camp that the world still wants to do business with an independent UK — and that, freed from having to tag along with EU trade deals, this country is now able to negotiate mutually favourable arrangements with fast-growing economies such as India and China. Meanwhile, the EU’s problems continue. Standard and Poor’s, one of the world’s top credit ratings agencies, warned recently that the EU is ‘unsustainable in its current form’.
This is precisely the concern that persuaded 52 per cent of Brits that our long-term future is best served outside the EU. Nobody doubted that economic turbulence would follow, but the case for optimism far outweighs the case for pessimism. Brexit is neither an economic drag nor a stimulus: it is simply the removal of a constraint. What Britain now goes on to achieve depends entirely on the vision and ambition of those in power. Politicians and businesses should snap out of their sulk, and see Brexit for what it is: the greatest opportunity ever handed to a government by an electorate.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/07/the-post-brexit-the-economy-is-more-open-than-ever/
|
en
| 2016-07-28T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/72504d8faa832251ab930f0fd62985799dbffefdc9c7a1e0e6fa87ffe7d3fc20.json
|
[
"Charles Moore",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:06:36 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
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Why was I able to 'vote' twice in the EU referendum?
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
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When you vote in Britain, there is a relaxed feeling in the polling stations. This is a long-established part of our culture, the atmosphere seems to say, and you are trusted to follow its rules. But, as Sir Eric Pickles’s review of electoral fraud suggests, the ballot is not nearly as secure as it should be. If that trend continues, the results will be called in doubt, and then democracy really is in trouble. For a long time, I have suspected the process and so, in the recent EU referendum, I tried a couple of experiments, helped by the fact that I am legally registered to vote in London as well as Sussex (though of course one may cast only one vote in a national election or referendum). In Sussex, I went to the polling station early. I took my polling card, which is not compulsory, and asked the clerk what the significance of the barcode on it was. He had no idea, so presumably it has no security function (or the clerks are poorly trained). I voted to leave the European Union. Then I caught a train to London, where I went to my local polling station. There I presented my London polling card, unchallenged. I went into the booth and wrote on the ballot paper ‘I am spoiling my ballot because I have voted already. This second vote is my protest at how lax the voting rules are.’ I had agreed this in advance with the editor of this paper, as being in the public interest. If it is so easy for hundreds of thousands of people who legitimately have more than one vote (e.g. second-home owners, students) to vote more than once, it must be almost equally easy to acquire more than one vote by false registrations at legitimate addresses.
There is a school of thought which fiercely objects to identity checks at polling stations because they discourage the less educated. No doubt such checks could be used oppressively, but surely, in a computer age where an ID check is an everyday occurrence for most people, it can be fairly and simply done. If we don’t take voting validity seriously, we don’t take voting itself seriously. It is typical of the official sense of priorities that while almost no effort was made to ensure my voter identity, I have in the last two years received 41 letters in my London flat, where I do not possess a television, threatening me with investigation and prosecution unless I buy a TV licence.
When it was reported that Liam Fox and Boris Johnson are already squabbling about who should be in charge of what in relation to Brexit, this was taken by some to be a feather in Theresa May’s cap. Isn’t she clever to have set Leavers against one another, was the thought. Downing Street sources were quoted as saying that she took a dim view of these silly games. But if it is true that Cabinet ministers are already at loggerheads about their roles, might that not suggest that the Prime Minister who invented these roles — and entire new government departments — has not properly defined them? Certainly the short-term effect of Boris, Fox, David Davis and, come to that, Theresa May herself, all fishing in the same waters, will be much confusion among newly appointed officials and conflicting advice, including legal advice. As this column has pointed out before, there is an urgent need for a peacetime revival of the Vote Leave campaign — renamed The 17.4 Million Committee — to collect the best advice and information from people who actually do want Britain to leave the EU and feed it to whoever needs it, including government ministers.
The Twelfth of August was heralded for me by an email from the RSPB. ‘RSPB warns driven grouse does not have a future without change’. Jeff Knott, the head of the society’s nature policy, goes on to say that ‘The illegal killing of birds of prey like the hen harrier must end, and sadly this tars the reputation of every grouse moor estate and every shooter.’ It would be wearisome (not least because Matt Ridley’s piece last week set it all out so well) to go through how most such accusations about the killing of hen harriers are false, how hen harriers do better on kept moors than on unkept ones, and how grouse moors do a great service to upland species diversity. The simple point to make here is that this is not the email of a charity which seeks to maximise the constituency of those who care about birds. It is the message of a campaigning organisation with such a power-urge that it thinks it can decide the future of an independent sport. Why are charities so often taken over by people with quite different aims from their memberships? Why is it allowed?
So here follows a completely non-political nature item. Last week, in our vegetable garden, my wife came across a young badger gorging on our windfall plums. She summoned me to see it. Having done so, I then walked the dog for an hour, but the badger was so intent on its feast that when I returned it was still scoffing, and quite failed to notice us until the dog gave a great lunge on her lead and started barking. Then it lumbered off beneath the hedge. Being young, the badger was pretty, but it had no ears, nor any evidence that it had ever had any. Was it mentally defective, which would explain its insouciance, or a rare breed?
The late Peter Simple used sometimes to include in his column a topical quotation so ludicrous that it needed no gloss by him. This item was always called Screaming Point. It should be revived, particularly to take in comment by Remoaners. Here is mine for this week, from Rio: ‘In those moments, Farah seemed to embody the best of the London Games. Before the lurch backwards to Brexit and all the fear and xenophobia it carried with it, Farah’s popularity seemed to be the embodiment of a new inclusivity.’ Oliver Holt, Mail on Sunday.
If Britain stays ahead of China in the Olympic medal table, will this make China tougher about the Hinkley Point deal — to get revenge — or softer, because China respects only superior power?
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/why-was-i-able-to-vote-twice-in-the-eu-referendum/
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en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/339179b8f5bbd6de3f13535a982589d77c6fd75516cb82a4196c65df535d5eac.json
|
[
"Stig Abell",
"J.M. Coetzee"
] | 2016-08-26T13:14:38 | null | 2016-08-18T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fj-m-coetzee-has-lost-the-plot%2F.json
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J.M. Coetzee has lost the plot
| null | null |
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The Schooldays of Jesus is not, as it happens, about the schooldays of Jesus. It is the Man Booker-nominated sequel to The Childhood of Jesus (which, you guessed it, did not once refer to the childhood of Jesus either). J.M. Coetzee is now so much part of the literary pantheon, so liable to be rewarded by the critical classes and the academic industry surrounding him, that he no longer needs to worry about basics such as having a title that makes sense.
He should still worry, one feels, about telling a story worth following. Like its predecessor, his new novel is set in a nameless Spanish-speaking province; a Kafkaesque, ‘featureless’ and ‘dreary’ place. It is pre-technological in the sense that people have to use telephone boxes and can only listen to one of two radio stations (nobody stops to order a chai latte, for example,
or Facebook their friends), but otherwise timeless.
We view the world through the eyes of Simón, a ‘dry soul, deficient in passion’, ‘the exemplary stepfather, the man of reason, the dullard’, ‘the stupid one, the blind one, the danceless one’. He is not great fun to be around, as you can see. He is only a stepfather in the sense that he looks after the ingenuous young boy Davíd, sharing that responsibility with Inés, a woman for whom he has no affection (‘they have nothing to say to each other; they have next to nothing in common’).
In the town of Estrella (meaning ‘star’, which could be significant; although the other named town is ‘Novilla’, meaning female cow), they try to find an appropriate school for Davíd. Three are available: the Singing Academy; the Dance Academy (‘devoted to the training of the soul through music and dance’); and the Atom School (‘they teach about atoms. They watch atoms through a microscope, doing whatever it is that atoms do’).
Davíd is sent to the Dance Academy, which espouses an incomprehensible — to Simón and, for that matter, to me — philosophy about numbers (‘to bring the numbers down from where they reside, to allow them to manifest themselves in our midst, to give them body, we rely on the dance’), and is run by Ana Magdalena, who has ‘perfect features, perfect skin, perfect figure, perfect bearing’, but no eyebrows. Her fate is to be strangled by her janitor lover, Dmitri, and much of the novel is taken up with the aftermath of that crime.
Along the way, we are treated to the full range of Coetzean philosophical preoccupations, often set up in the form of rather weighty dualities: man and animal; child and adult; body and soul; ‘love and hate; you can’t have the one without the other. Like salt and pepper. Like black and white.’ The novel also investigates the thorny concepts of truth, justice and criminal responsibility. (‘What if we were not ourselves, or not fully ourselves, when the action in question was performed? Was the action then ours?’)
It does so at little depth and with little effect. Mostly this is because ideas are approached through an interminable array of questions, which make you feel that you are trapped in a car with a querulous child: ‘Why did you do it, Dmitri? Why? Why? Why?’; ‘Why? Why is it she alone before whom he feels his nakedness?’; ‘Who is he? Who are you? Indeed, who am I?’
Simón patiently tries to answer questions about his own life, and the novel has to follow his dogged, workaday approach; indeed a more accurate title might have been ‘The Sermons of Simón’. He says things like ‘charity is other people’s goodness, other people’s kindness’ or ‘inner qualities are qualities like kindness and honesty and a sense of justice’. And Coetzee’s fidelity to his central character means that the surrounding prose is doughtily uninspired throughout, liable to slip into remorseless cliché and boring metaphor: ‘he has to kick his heels’; ‘the story will spread like wildfire’; ‘a feeling of loss rolls through him like a fog’; ‘the evening yawns before him like a desert’.
Perhaps the most affecting page of The Schooldays of Jesus is the one that lists all the previous novels of J. M. Coetzee. He once wrote fierce and disturbing allegories set in nameless places (Waiting for the Barbarians; Life & Times of Michael K); he once wrote mordant and ironic tales of growing up (Boyhood; Youth). And in Disgrace, he wrote his masterpiece: a novel that dealt with weighty moral issues but never forgot the thud within the blood, the carnality of realism and the beauty of words.
Critics and academics will cluck over his latest book, play hunt the allegory and congratulate themselves and the author for their smartness. But a novel is not a crossword puzzle. It is an act of imaginative empathy, of drawing a reader into an unstoppable story. Coetzee used to write novels that proved that. Now he does not.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/j-m-coetzee-has-lost-the-plot/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/36da58675a9c8bb4f6fc1991fed9b6d73f2c5b5a5e50eae989ea78490bc8ecbe.json
|
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"The Spectator",
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"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:13:52 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
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| null |
I wanted somewhere to put a piano. I got a Big Yellow night of the soul
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
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‘How did I get here?’ I think dazedly. I am sitting in the Big Yellow Self Storage in Balham being interviewed, there is no other word for it. The person interviewing me is a relentlessly cheerful girl who wants to know everything, there is no other word for it, about me before she rents me a storeroom. But not only that, she wants to know everything about something she is ominously calling ‘my storage needs’.
As I deliberate on the prices and options, she announces: ‘This is about making sure it’s the right decision for yourself.’
I want to store a piano for a month. I’m not choosing a pension plan. But I don’t say this. I just sit there thinking the world has gone mad and I wish I could get out of it all somehow.
I wish I didn’t have to witness this girl’s enthusiasm for storage, or storage solutions as she calls it. Her thoroughness is so exhausting that, after ten minutes, I feel I am being crushed by the very idea of extra space. And what does self-storage mean? I’m not going to store myself. I start sweating.
The girl smiles with her head on one side, leaving me in no doubt that she knows I’m in a mess. No one comes through the doors of the Big Yellow in Balham without being driven to it by chaos and despair, but we change all that, her face says. Do you? Do you really?
I find myself explaining that I am trying to sell my house but it’s not shifting, and I want to buy this cottage in the country, so I’ve changed agents, and the new agent says de-clutter, move the piano — in fact, he called it the keyboard, which only underlines the reasons why it will have to go — and all the books. I take a breath. I cough. I blow my nose. I am run down, I tell her. Possibly, I will start explaining that I have trust issues and relationships are a struggle.
‘Yes,’ she says, leaning forward on the desk, giving me a wide, conspiratorial look. ‘We do get a lot of people in your situation. Some people are moving, some people just want more space. You know… they’ve run out of room…’. And she raises her eyebrows.
‘Yes, I can imagine,’ I say. ‘People must come here all the time wanting extra space. Wanting storage.’ If she feels my sarcasm she shows no sign of it, and continues by asking me to take a look at some of the sizing options they can offer for my storage choices. ‘Come this way,’ she says, with a wink, ‘to our sample storeroom!’
And she gets up with a flourish, comes around the desk, and conducts me with great fanfare to an area a few feet from her desk — ‘Here we are!’ — on which has been drawn various red squares showing what 30, 40 and 50 square feet look like.
They all look impossibly small — it only occurs to me later that they might have been made deliberately small-looking, with some optical illusion — so I take the 50, which is a lot bigger than the piano mover said I would need.
But then there are all the books, hundreds of them. The agent eyed them suspiciously then advised they be cleared from the shelves, as if they were out-of-date vegetables.
I wanted to say, ‘It irks me that people nowadays view books as litter and that you, sir, despite being smart and urbane-looking, don’t even know the word piano.’ But I didn’t. I agreed. I must de-clutter to sell or I will lose the cottage in the country and face another three-year search for something in Surrey I can afford.
The agent also wanted me to move the packets of tea on the shelf above the kettle. ‘Do you know what they say to me?’ he said, with a swagger, as if he was about to reveal the square root of pi. ‘That I like tea?’
‘No. They say… “There is no storage in this flat!”’ He said this so loud it made me cower and agree to put the mint tea and Earl Grey in a cupboard before viewings.
In conclusion, he assured me that buyers will not be able to work out that there is no storage, it’s just that I’ve hidden all my stuff in boxes in a storage unit. It’s all most dis-orientating.
‘When are you thinking of moving in?’ the smiley girl asks. ‘In here?’ I say. ‘Yes,’ she says, looking unfeasibly excited.
I’m not moving in. I rather thought I would just store the piano, I want to say, but I don’t. I must play the game. ‘Thursday,’ I say, adding, ‘if that would be OK with yourself?’
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/i-wanted-somewhere-to-put-a-piano-i-got-a-big-yellow-night-of-the-soul/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/db93438f0d961b3c045a89165d6a9d9868e605d44d02a2b6665aa113ed837f47.json
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[
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] | 2016-08-26T13:11:29 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/tony-letford_specaus-27-august_post.jpg
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en
| null |
Vagabondism and harlotry
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
That we are to have yet another Royal Commission into Aboriginal Affairs is good news for some. It is good news for Malcolm Turnbull who, in ordering the Royal Commission as soon as he saw the Four Corners programme on the Don Dale Correctional Centre, showed that, when the decisions are easy, he can be decisive.
It is good news for Silks and QCs who will be paid millions of your dollars to crucify the guards and managers of the Don Dale Centre. And of course it is good news for the Committee of Public Righteousness whose principle members host Q&A, the 7.30 report, and Lateline on ‘your’ ABC. Their primary task will be to assist with the crucifixion of all the staff connected with the Don Dale Centre and any politicians who are foolish enough to appear before the triumvirate of Messrs Jones, Alberici, and Sales.
Unfortunately it is not at all clear that the Royal Commission is going to be good news for the inmates of the Northern Territories Detention Centres.
I arrived at that somewhat dismal conclusion after reading the 1905 Royal Commission on the Condition of the Natives which was largely concerned with the detention of ‘blacks’ and ‘half castes’ in the Kimberly region. What is astonishing about the report is that the issues it addressed are exactly the same as the issues that are to be addressed by the forthcoming Royal Commission, and it is immediately apparent to anyone who reads the 1905 report that very little, other than the language used today, has changed in the 110 years since it was published.
The report is very much a product of its time and place. The Commissioner ‘…placed on record his appreciation of the humane… treatment exercised by the goalers over the aboriginal prisoners’ but did suggest that the attaching together of three natives at a time with neck chains, then chaining one of them to a wall overnight ‘might need reconsideration’.
The Commissioner hoped that the neck chains used when prisoners were sent out to work on the roads could be done away with but did recognise that some form of chains would still be necessary.
The Commission also noted that 90 per cent of the aboriginal prisoners were in jail for the offence of ‘cattle killing’ and that the main reason for this activity was that the traditional sources of food for the aboriginal had been removed by the white settlers to provide more vegetation for their cattle. While cattle killing may no longer be a major problem in Australia’s north, the other issues that the 1905 report dealt with are still very current today.
Then, as now, the coastal communities in the Kimberley region went through boom/bust cycles. Today it is minerals. A century ago it was mother of pearl shell which was highly valued around the world. In the days before plastic had been invented it was used to make decorative buttons for coats.
Then, as now, alcohol was a major problem in the aboriginal communities and attempts to restrict access were constantly undermined by white men and ‘Asiatics’ who, in the absence of their own women, wished to exploit the native females. The high incidence of sexually transmitted diseases in aboriginal communities, which exists to this day, became a problem at the beginning of the last century when the crews of the pearling luggers would moor in coastal inlets close to an aboriginal camp and, in exchange for flour and rice and alcohol, would be offered women who sometimes went willingly and sometimes were forced to go on board the ships.
Then, as now, the collapse of aboriginal social structure meant that the family unit was frequently incapable of looking after children.
And, then as now, there was considerable debate about who was responsible for looking after children in these circumstances. In the confronting language of the day, the 1905 report says ‘Of the many hundreds of half caste children – over 500 were enumerated in the last census – if these are left to their own devices… their future will be one of vagabondism and harlotry’.
And in Australia as a whole, then as now, there was a disconnect between a civilised south and a wild north perceived from the south as being populated by adventurers and governed by rednecks.
Is it too cynical to suggest that, instead of lining the pockets of QCs with millions of dollars and providing endless talking points for television news by once again going through the whole malarkey of a Royal Commission, we simply reprint the 1905 report? Obviously we might consider a more updated type font and perhaps a few photographs.
This would save a lot of money but it would have another advantage. By making available to the general public a 1905 report which addresses the very issues which we are shortly to consider, it would raise awareness of the complexity of those issues. We should be asking why problems which were accurately identified 110 years ago have still not been solved today?
There is of course no more chance of the Government adopting this suggestion than there is of the commentariat at the ABC showing any interest in looking into why this problem is so intractable. Instead, scapegoats will be identified and hung out to dry and the matter will be put aside until the next Royal Commission falls due in 2110 or thereabouts.
Thanks to the miracle of the internet, anyone who is interested is able to read to 1905 report today. Put into your favorite search engine, ‘Report of the Royal Commission on the Condition of the Natives. West Australian Government 1905’ and a fascinating historical document will emerge immediately.
It should be compulsory reading for every journalist and pundit who is shortly going to tell us what the Northern Territory Government should do about the Don Dale Youth Detention Centre.
Tony Letford is a freelance writer and winner of the 2015 Spectator Thawley Essay prize for ‘Warri and Yatungka’ (Spectator Australia 27 February 2016)
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/vagabondism-and-harlotry/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/bd90712c67422df9214a7ba668105c271a86df8f3153fc919912ffaa687451ac.json
|
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"Aidan Hartley",
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"Dominic Stockford"
] | 2016-08-26T20:49:34 | null | 2016-02-04T04:00:00 | null |
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en
| null |
Beware the baby-snatchers: how social services can ruin your family
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Baby George was born into a happy family. His mother and father love him dearly. He lives in a cottage in a pretty village, with a six-year-old sister who adores him, and his grandmother lives nearby. His parents both have good jobs and his nursery is filled with toys. By most measures, George has had a good start in life.
It was only when his mother was diagnosed with post-natal depression that George’s prospects looked bleaker. Not because his caring mother was feeling blue, but because in this, paranoid, post-Baby P era, the authorities take no chances. The slightest whiff of a mother unable to cope, and they swoop down, ready to whisk the baby away.
When Rosie first realised she was depressed, she assumed the doctor would be able to offer her advice about how to cope. She knew one in ten mothers develops the ‘baby blues’, so she had every expectation of sympathy.
Instead, her condition was code red to the authorities. Before long, Rosie found her diary filled with visits from all kinds of ominous figures: social services, child protection officers, mental health workers, who offered little practical support but made her feel hounded. Soon, the suggestion was made that George — then six months old — might be taken away from her. Unsurprisingly, this made her feel worse, and so she was put on a cocktail of strong drugs. There was no option of not taking the drugs, according to the authorities. They could test her blood, they said, and if she had missed her medication, George could be removed.
These sorts of covert threats increased to the point where Rosie began to feel that she was, indeed, incapable of caring for George, even though her baby was actually fine. George was well-fed, wearing clean clothes, sleeping well and cared for when he woke up in the night. He was a happy baby, blissfully unaware that the state was eyeing him up.
Unfortunately, Rosie’s worries that her baby could be taken from her at any moment were far from paranoid. In December, data was released which showed that there has been a ‘huge rise’ in the number of newborns taken into care: 2,018 babies in 2013, up from 802 in 2008. The report confirmed that there is now a ‘general trend towards taking more timely action’. The angle the papers focused on was that about half of the babies were from mothers with other children in care. But what about the others? What if there are a thousand mothers like Rosie who just needed encouragement?
It’s hard to find out who these poor mothers are because family courts, where these types of decisions are made, are so secretive. There is no jury involved, so the fate of the child — and the family — is usually sealed by a judge or a handful of magistrates who decide the result on a balance of probabilities, rather than the criminal-law standard of ‘beyond reasonable doubt’. Reporting restrictions are often in place and it is normally illegal to reveal court proceedings, or even the judgment. Appeals are also notoriously difficult. Families are being broken up behind closed doors, and while the culture of secrecy protects the children involved, it also protects the authorities.
Such secrecy means that we all assume babies taken into care are the offspring of junkies or teenage mothers with abusive boyfriends. But Rosie doesn’t fit this picture, and nor do many other mothers who have had to forfeit their children, if the internet is to be believed. In online chatrooms where anonymity allows mothers to speak freely, there is plenty of discussion about the fear that social services — or the SS — will remove your child if you ask for any help. Rumours about adoption targets also swirl around, with members of the ‘SS’ occasionally popping up to deny them. While it’s true targets are no longer officially in place, they were being used until 2008, with cash rewards offered to councils for arranging ‘forced adoptions’. It’s hardly surprising that some mothers still feel concerned about them.
Interestingly, Rosie says that throughout all the meetings, there was never any suggestion that her daughter should be put into care. The authorities only seemed interested in George. Rosie was convinced that this was because chubby, rosy-cheeked babies are easier to find homes for.
But even if targets are no longer being used, the world of adoption and fostering can be lucrative. As a Policy Exchange report in 2012 showed, fostering has become a profitable industry. The average cost of keeping each of the 65,000 children then in care in England was £37,000, an annual bill of £2.4 billion. According to results filed at Companies House, Foster Care Associates, the largest independent foster agency in the UK, made more than £5 million profit in 2014. As for foster parents, on average they can earn around £400 per child per week. Then there are the fees for other employees of the ‘childcare’ system — the sort of experts Rosie had so many appointments with. Does the money act as an incentive to turn minor and fixable family problems into situations from which a child needs rescuing?
Perhaps one of the most alarming elements of the new fashion for removing babies from their natural families is the lack of care provided to desperate mothers once they’ve lost their child. According to Professor Karen Broadhurst, who led the research into newborns taken into care, ‘The key issue is that England doesn’t have any statutory requirements for post-removal support.’ Until the child is removed, the system runs at full throttle, as Rosie discovered. But once the baby is gone, very little help is offered. Imagine having your child wrenched away from you, only to discover that the apparatchiks no longer gave a fig about your wellbeing. Keep taking the pills or don’t — it no longer matters to them.
There will always be children who are genuinely at risk, and social services have an undeniably hard job. But what families like Rosie’s need is support, not separation. Rosie is a good mother. Her post-natal depression has now subsided and, because she fought hard to prove her worth, George is still with her. For other families, there may be more tragic endings.
Names have been changed.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/02/why-many-mothers-with-post-natal-depression-now-fear-social-services/
|
en
| 2016-02-04T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/7cc5e2dbf58f9317fdbb91a8416b1aac77e7412f5e4e4ebaec5f3032a67f3bf7.json
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en
| null |
HS2 is a triumph of male vanity. Theresa May should kill it
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Jeremy Corbyn may not be right about many things, but when he sat on the floor of a train, hoping to raise awareness about overcrowding, he was at least on to something. Of course, in classic Corbyn style, he proved to have ignored reality to make his point: there were plenty of seats on that particular train. It was nonetheless a point worth making. Millions of passengers jostle for standing space every day; Britain’s rail system is in urgent need of help. And there is apparently money to be spent. It just won’t be going on the most overcrowded lines.
Instead, the cash is destined for High Speed 2 — one of those mysterious vanity projects that refuses to go away even though common sense begs it to. Polls show the vast majority of us are against it. I have yet to meet a single person who minds one bit that the travel time between London and Birmingham is 82 minutes rather than 55, as it would be with a new line. The original estimated cost was £30 billion. It has since risen to an astonishing £56 billion, far more expensive than any other high-speed rail line in the world, ever.
But the more the cost rises, the more prime ministers and their secretaries of state for transport seem to love it. It’s a cross-party darling: everyone’s favourite ego-trip. First the New Labour transport minister Andrew Adonis pushed the idea, captivated by the notion of European-style high-speed rail; then George Osborne coveted it after taking a trip on a super-fast maglev train in Japan in 2006 and feeling embarrassed that Britain was being left behind. Philip Hammond supported HS2, allocating £1 billion to be spent on preparations for it; Justine Greening and Patrick McLoughlin nurtured it; and now Chris Grayling has said he has ‘no plans to back away from the HS2 project’. But what about Theresa May?
‘Phallic’ is a term you hear used to describe HS2: and when you look at the map, the proposed line, so beloved of powerful men, does seem to go upwards at a phallic angle, with a slight bend at the bottom, between Euston and Old Oak Common. It then proceeds in a virile north-westerly straight line all the way to the Birmingham interchange, where it spurts into a Y shape for the second phase. But now we have a female Prime Minister. Will she put a stop to this macho nonsense?
People living under the blight of HS2 have been holding out hope all summer that she might. Entire communities are waiting to find out if they will be wrecked to make way for the track. In the village of Wendover, Buckinghamshire, houses have been earmarked for demolition. The last season of cricket is being played on the village pitch: if HS2 is granted royal assent in December, it will be a mudheap by next summer.
There’s good reason to think May might be having second thoughts about this absurd project. She has already been bold in her about-turns. Guided by a common-sense approach to economics, she is known to disapprove of plans that aren’t tidy and meticulous. She applied the brakes to Hinkley Point C on the day before the contracts were due to be signed. If she can do that to a nuclear power station, why not a railway line?
Yet during a recent hustings, HS2 was about the only thing Theresa May spoke of with any passion. So while the villagers of Wendover — and the nation as a whole — might wish she would put an end to this much-loathed white elephant, it’s highly likely to go ahead. Prepare for years of chaos, and for the loss of 63 areas of ancient woodland. Prepare for the last few patches of green oasis near Euston to be bulldozed. And be very annoyed when messages from HS2 ask you to ‘consider the environment before printing this email’.
Of course, we need to be hard-hearted as well as hard-hatted when it comes to projects in the national interest. What are a few hundred demolished homes compared to that? But it has become more and more clear that HS2 is not in the national interest, and that, far from helping to create a ‘northern powerhouse’ — an Osbornian phrase May seems reluctant to utter — it will suck hundreds of thousands of people southwards towards London. The ‘new city’ to be built between Birmingham and Coventry will be a dormitory town for the London commuter. Even Lord O’Neill, the former Goldman Sachs economist who was hired as a commercial secretary to the Treasury by George Osborne, sees this truth clearly. He now believes it would give far more power to the north if the government made its priority HS3, a project that would connect Liverpool, Manchester, Leeds and Hull. This interconnection of northern cities really could produce a northern powerhouse to rival the southern one.
Chris Grayling now claims that HS2 is ‘a capacity project’ rather than one to promote speed. And it’s true that the number of rail-users is rising each year. But if you look at statistics about overcrowding on trains, the Euston-to-Birmingham line never gets a mention. It’s only at 60 to 70 per cent capacity. Meanwhile, all over Britain on small, unglamorous railway lines, the degradations and humiliations of the daily commute continue.
Southern Rail, with its summer of strikes, reduced services and closed stations, is just one example. Crowding on to packed trains, nose to armpit, commuters start their working day in helpless, exhausted misery. They don’t even bother to look for a seat: no chance. They can’t use the travel time usefully because they have to hang on tight — all they can move is a thumb to play a game on their smartphone. Imagine if some of the £56 billion to be spent on HS2 could instead be used to make small improvements to hundreds of different lines, lengthening platforms and trains, re-opening closed stations, and installing reliable onboard Wi-Fi. It might not be a high-profile project but it would relieve the national stress level far more effectively than it would helping a few business travellers on expenses shave 25 minutes off their journey.
As HS1 in Kent showed, lavish high-speed train projects are intended for the well-off, because these are the only people who can regularly afford to travel on them. Normal mortals chug along on slower, cheaper trains. Railways are far from an egalitarian form of travel, and HS2 would make them even less egalitarian than they already are.
We’re a train-loving nation, and so we should be. We fall in love with our country when we see it from a train, much more than we do from a car. The raspberry bushes in the deep backs of long gardens, the delicious leafiness of it all, the rhythmic sound as the train rattles through a cutting — these are wonderful things, on a human scale. However much modern rail companies try to de-romanticise train travel — by installing horrible lavatories with panic-inducing slow-closing circular doors and press-button locks, and ‘airline’ seats not aligned with the windows — we still cling to the romance of train travel and would far rather be stuck on a slow train than in a traffic jam. Has there ever been an ‘Adlestrop’ of motorway driving? I don’t think so.
The thing about HS2 is that it spits on communities. It doesn’t love this country. It whooshes past it on a concrete viaduct, leaving nothing but noise. Residents of Wend-over, hearing the constant roaring of the train in 2026, will be reminded that it does nothing to help their lives. The nearest station would be 35 miles away, in London. If this line is built, it will be a triumph of globalised marketing-speak over reality. I went to a meeting of residents about to lose their homes or local parks near Euston and saw what they were up against: six HS2 employees in smart clothes, slithering out of any tricky questions or agonised concerns with ‘Can I take that away and think about it?’ and ‘That’s not necessarily something I can come back on quickly.’
Theresa May has spoken about wanting to heal this country in the post-Brexit era. But while the nation may be divided on many issues, on the matter of HS2, it is broadly united. We hate it. I’d love to see the look on the faces of those who commissioned this testosterone-fuelled boondoggle if Theresa May turned round and said of it, ‘Let’s have a rethink, shall we?’
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/hs2-is-a-triumph-of-male-vanity-theresa-may-should-kill-it/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/077c75763b68f6d66485aabccf9f0e2934444b6f01ccdead3e0e32e1dcf4d4c6.json
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] | 2016-08-26T13:16:54 | null | 2016-08-04T03:00:00 | null |
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en
| null |
Brexit means that Britain will be boss again
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
We know what people voted against,’ say half-clever pundits, ‘but it’s far from clear what they voted for.’ Actually, it’s very clear: the British voted to leave the EU and take back control of their own laws. They didn’t dictate precisely what kind of deal we should have with our neighbours after leaving: that is for ministers to negotiate. But when Leave campaigners invited people to ‘take back control’, voters understood what that meant: legal supremacy should return from Brussels to Westminster.
Remainers spent the campaign trying to suggest that the EU was just one among several international associations in which Britain participated. It was, they wanted us to believe, a club, like Nato or the G20, in which we agreed to abide by common rules in order to secure common objectives. All such associations, they argued, involved some loss of sovereignty. If we wanted ‘undiluted sovereignty’, averred Sir John Major, we should ‘go to North Korea’.
Not for the first time, Sir John underestimated the electorate. People could see that the EU differed from every other international body in that it presumed to legislate for its member states. Membership of Nato or the G20 may mean ceding power in certain areas; but it emphatically doesn’t mean ceding sovereignty — that is, the ultimate right to determine laws.
If Nato or the G20 aspired to unitary statehood, they, too, might become subjects of referendums. So far, though, no other body in the world has awarded itself supreme legal authority. I write ‘awarded itself’ deliberately. The primacy of EU law was not in the Treaty of Rome. Rather, as even committed federalists admit, it was invented by the European Court of Justice in a series of expansive judgments in 1963 and 1964.
So the EU’s treaties are unlike any other international accords. Instead of binding their signatories as states, they sustain a separate legal order, superior to national laws and directly binding upon businesses and individuals within states. In any conflict between a parliamentary statute and a ruling by the European Court of Justice, our courts automatically uphold the latter. You don’t have to be a lawyer to know in your bones the EU has a unique power to boss us around. Brussels has progressively extended its remit into most non-economic areas: criminal justice, environmental protection, social policy, immigration, public health, employment law, defence.
Most recently, it has engaged in a massive power-grab by adopting the Charter of Fundamental Rights and Freedoms, allowing the European Court of Justice to rule on almost every aspect of national life. When the Blair government signed up to the charter, ministers dismissed it as no more justiciable than the Beano. Yet it is now being used by Abu Hamza’s daughter-in-law to challenge her deportation from the UK on grounds that her son is an EU citizen. When people read of such cases, they know that it is idiotic to describe the EU as a club. In the 1970s, Lord Denning likened European law to an incoming tide, pushing against the flow of our rivers, causing them to burst their banks. In 1990, towards the end of his rich life, he revised his metaphor: ‘No longer is European law an incoming tide flowing up the estuaries of England. It is now like a tidal wave bringing down our sea walls and flowing inland over our fields and houses — to the dismay of all.’
On 23 June, people voted to restore Britain’s political independence. This point is worth stressing because, since the poll, various Remain supporters have become overnight experts on what the other side ‘really’ wanted. Leavers, we keep being told, were voting against immigration, or political elites, or inequality — anything, in fact, except the EU membership specified on the ballot paper.
Against the various theories offered by pundits, we have one massive data set. On polling day, Lord Ashcroft’s field workers asked 12,369 people why they had just voted as they had. The answer was unequivocal. By far the biggest motivation for Leave voters was ‘the principle that decisions about the UK should be taken in the UK’, with 49 per cent support. Control of immigration was a distant second on 33 per cent.
Addressing the concern of that 49 per cent is, on one level, very straightforward. Parliament simply has to repeal Sections 2 and 3 of the 1972 European Communities Act — the clauses that provide for EU law to take precedence over UK law.
The sensitivities around repeal are not legal but diplomatic. How can we carry out that abrogation while retaining the goodwill of our allies? Might we, for example, replicate some of our existing EU obligations through bilateral treaties, either open-endedly or for a guaranteed period? Should we aim at a hard exit, opting out of most EU regulations and becoming Singapore to its Malaysia? Or a soft exit, keeping the bulk of the existing arrangements and continuing to adopt many of the same standards as our neighbours for reasons of economy of scale? These are important questions — but less important than the thing that everyone agrees will now happen, namely a recovery of parliamentary supremacy. We might end up with a Switzerland-type association with the EU, or a buccaneering blue-water policy, or something in between — but all those options would be vast improvements on where we are now.
Once the EU loses its legal power to enforce decisions on us — and extract money from us — the balance is tilted. We may well choose to continue to participate in some European schemes; but we will be doing so as an independent nation in voluntary association with others. Think of the relationship between Canada and the United States. When it comes to civic, military, commercial and security links, you won’t find two closer partners. Yet Canada has sturdily refused to be drawn into the political union that knits together the 50 states across her border. She controls her own foreign policy, commercial relationships, embassies, frontiers, citizenship rights and courts. Unlike those of, say, Idaho, her judges and legislators are not answerable to a superior power.
Britain’s relationship with an increasingly united EU should follow a similar template. We should aim to maintain the closest alliance commensurate with political independence. Repealing the 1972 Act will make the United Kingdom fully sovereign — in a way that Japan or Switzerland or New Zealand take as read. Grant that, and the rest will follow.
Daniel Hannan is a Conservative MEP and was a founder of Vote Leave.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/brexit-means-that-britain-will-be-boss-again/
|
en
| 2016-08-04T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/dc837bcd65cb1020a394aab7e064b21af1293ab72251361f6b4fde3b8aba3755.json
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[
"Matthew Adams",
"Mark Lawson"
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en
| null |
Mark Lawson hits back at the wild accusers
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Mark Lawson’s latest novel, set in Britain in the recent past, presents us with a nation in the grip of ‘moral fever’. Here, the ‘giving offence to anyone at all over anything’ is considered ‘a capital crime’; the ‘post-Savile sexual witch hunt’ has trained people to ‘reinterpret heartbreak as violation’; and retribution comes not just in the form of established legal proceedings, but also of the ‘modern madness of amateur arraignment’.
Lawson wants to show how pernicious this culture can be. To do so, he presents us with two characters, both academics, who are out of step with it. Ned Marriot, a media don, is the darling of his university’s history department, vain, adolescent about sex, and a legendary pessimist (‘he adopted a strategy of insuring against ruin by expecting it’). Tom Pimm, also a historian, lacks the professional recognition of Ned (his closest friend), but he is a brilliant and committed lecturer, possessed of the rare distinction of never having slept with any of his students. Both men are dismayed by what they regard as the decline of the British university, where disputation and free inquiry have been sacrificed to considerations of offensiveness, students have been replaced by customers, and faculty live in fear of the ‘dark jargon’ of management.
Tom, who makes a lot of amusing noise about this, ends up facing allegations of bullying and harassment following an investigation by the university’s committee for Workplace Harmony. Ned, whose departmental conduct is more judicious than Tom’s, appears to be safe. But on the morning of his 60th birthday it transpires that he faces allegations of a different kind: two women from his past have approached the police with reports of ‘historic’ (a word whose misuse Ned and Tom spend a lot of time mocking) sex offences. Once these are in place, Lawson chronicles the attempts of the two friends to disprove the accusations that have been made against them. As he does so, he also shows us the unravelling of their lives and minds.
Lawson (who has faced allegations similar to those directed at Tom) devotes insufficient space to the possibility that his characters might deserve the charges they are facing (this can make the book feel like a rant), and he brings their stories to a close in a manner that is hurried and perfunctory. But the strengths of the novel outweigh its limitations. Lawson has a great gift for articulating the fury induced by contemporary cultural pieties; Ned and Tom (especially Tom) are vividly and memorably imagined; and the book as a whole is vigorous, intelligent, funny and provocative — hence certain to provoke an array of allegations.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/mark-lawson-hits-back-at-the-wild-accusers/
|
en
| 2016-08-18T00:00:00 |
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"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T12:55:27 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-591893942.jpg
|
en
| null |
Will Labour split? Don’t hold your breath
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
All political parties are a mess: coalitions of people with different beliefs, stitched together — like Frankenstein’s monster — into a body that can grunt coherently, and perhaps even achieve something. Most of the time, these bodies lumber about reasonably effectively, if a little clumsily. But every so often, as now, when the political system is in turmoil, the suturing starts to bulge and everything seems at risk of coming apart.
Such is the case with the Labour party which may soon be torn asunder — or give way to a new grouping called the Co-operative party. There’s a certain degree of logic to this. If Jeremy Corbyn has captured Labour, and looks certain to beat Owen Smith in the current leadership contest, what do the moderates in the parliamentary party do? Some 172 of them have declared no confidence in a leader who appears impossible to dislodge. Some belong to both the Labour party and the Co-operative party — so the moderates could use their Co-op membership to form the new official opposition.
Those involved in organising the mass resignations that triggered Labour’s current leadership contest insist that this is no more than ‘pub chat’. Of course it is: very little discussed by Labour moderates amounts to more than that, which partly explains the party’s predicament. Some moderate Labour MPs have been running a shadow whipping and frontbench operation for months, so they see merit in the idea that a number of them could form a new group to work day-to-day as the official opposition.
There are 25 MPs who belong to both the Labour and Co-operative parties. But while they are moderate souls, Co-op members are Jeremy Corbyn’s target audience, and would not take kindly to their movement being used to undermine him. So this is a non-starter. Many Labour MPs will be wondering how they can serve under a leader who prefers to attend rallies where not a single Labour banner is visible among the Socialist Worker placards. Corbyn’s old-school revolutionaries have sat like hermit crabs in the Labour shell for years, but have little in common with the majority of its MPs.
The Liberal Democrats should, in theory, be ideally placed to pick up potential Labour party defectors. Many Labour moderates share with Lib Dems a faith in the state — whether it be in providing services to people, or telling them how best to live. The same can be said for the Lib Dem leader Tim Farron, and many of his members. Many differ from Labourites only in their love of using party democracy to set policy on important issues like goldfish care. There is no great point of principle that separates most Labour moderates from Lib Dem lefties.
Then there are the middle-of-the-road meddlers — the Labour right, the Tory left and what remains of the liberals in the Liberal Democrats. They believe in the individual rather than the state, and believe that the state’s role is to support individual liberty and the markets. When Cameron said he was the ‘heir to Blair’, this is what he meant: indeed, many of his reforms looked like bad imitations of Blairism. The Blairites wanted more opportunities for the markets to work, and the Cameroons wanted more opportunities to stop markets from working against people, sometimes with hilarious results involving chocolate oranges. They all see the European Union as a force for good, which means that currently the best way to identify members of this political faction is to look for the sad forlorn tail between their legs.
Then come the bastards. Or, rather, the Eurosceptics who have bedevilled Tory leaders for a generation: the ones who did for John Major; the ones who forced David Cameron to hold a referendum. They are on the eurosceptic, sometimes libertarian, right wing of the Conservative party (and the Douglas Carswell party, formerly known as Ukip). They’re not very numerous, but are commonly seen as poisonous. When Cameron went into coalition with the Liberal Democrats, it was mainly done to get away from them. They ought to be delighted with the way things have gone recently: with the Brexit vote and the promotion of Liam Fox and David Davis to the cabinet. But they might end up destabilising their party anyway, because this is just what they tend to do.
The Eurosceptics have some common cause with the hard left when it comes to Europe. They might have completely different attitudes to governing at home, but both believe the best way to achieve their aims is in smaller units, unconnected by grand political projects spanning many countries. Tony Benn was, after all, one of the most eloquent original proponents of Brexit.
So given the mismatch between all these groupings of MPs, and the party lines that are supposed to divide them, isn’t now the perfect time for political realignment?
There is a clear political appetite for a pro-European party. The SDP’s roots were in the 1975 referendum campaign: the same could happen again. But Labourites, in particular, are wary of the SDP’s experience — as ultimately it only shook, rather than recast, the foundations of the political party it split away from. And there are more personal barriers to a pro-European grouping. Whenever I have tried to cheer up a disconsolate Labour MP by suggesting they could defect to the Lib Dems, they laugh bitterly and make rude jokes about Tim Farron. And anyway, turncoats are treated terribly i n politics, never properly trusted by the team to which they defect.
Talk of political realignment in Britain usually comes to nothing. Time after time, the snow globe of Westminster has seemed so shaken up that nothing could be the same again, only for its contents to settle without any discernible difference. But if our political parties fail to reform now, they will look more and more unhealthy and unappealing to the public. And it will scare voters as effectively, and unintentionally, as Dr Frankenstein’s monster.
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|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/b900aa37a2270ab948e661e40fe618a0c782c1d3e831b48d320d76ccedbfed69.json
|
[
"The Spectator",
"Nick Cohen",
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"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T12:49:10 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
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http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/GettyImages-591310196.jpg
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en
| null |
The proof that Scotland is better off in the UK
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
This time two years ago, the United Kingdom stood on the brink of dissolution. The referendum on Scottish independence hung in the balance and momentum was with the nationalists. The optimism and energy of Alex Salmond’s campaign stood in admirable contrast to the shrill hysteria of Project Fear, the name given to a unionist campaign that churned out ever-less-credible warnings about what would happen after separation. The union was saved, but 45 per cent of Scots had voted to leave it. So the referendum had not closed the question, but left it wide open.
At the time, the North Sea oil sector was still in fairly good health. In the SNP’s economic manifesto for independence, it gave estimates of up to £7.9 billion a year for oil revenues. Then the oil price crashed — and oil revenues are now 99 per cent lower, at £60 million. This is no freak: America has mastered fracking and doesn’t need to import so much oil now, pushing the price of a barrel down from $110 to $45. This hasn’t hurt the UK economy because the stimulus from cheaper fuel generally balances out lower North Sea receipts. A country of 65 million can absorb such shocks. A separate Scotland simply could not.
Had the SNP achieved its stated ambition of ‘independence day’ in the spring of 2016, what would it be doing now? We don’t have to imagine. This week, the Scottish government published figures for its national finances. They show that the Scottish government spends £127 for every £100 it raises in tax — a ratio unequalled anywhere else in the developed world. It can do this because so much extra money is sent up from England. For every £100 spent per English head, £120 is spent on a Scottish one.
Greece, Italy, Albania — no country, no matter how economically distressed, has such a mismatch between state spending and tax collected. Scotland’s deficit — at 10.1 per cent of GDP — is now twice as big as the next-worst country (Japan). No independent country could afford to run a deficit of Scottish magnitude: to borrow on world markets, you need a semblance of fiscal respectability. Even to join the European Union, Scotland’s deficit would need to be below 3 per cent. So an independent Scotland would right now be facing a choice: state spending down by 15 per cent, taxes up by 19 per cent, or a combination of the two.
The cuts are certainly doable. The Scottish government machine is vast, and at times the whole enterprise looks like an attempt to recreate East Germany. Nicola Sturgeon could certainly propose a rapid slimming-down of government, and say that this is a price worth paying for secession. But as her own government figures now make clear, she could not pretend that an independent Scotland could sustain current levels of largesse. She can forget about free university tuition and free personal care for the elderly.
The SNP’s case for separation has always rested on three pillars: that the black gold in the North Sea would transform the economy, that Scotland’s priorities are irreconcilably different from those of England, and that Scottish government always means better government. Each of these three pillars has now collapsed. The North Sea dream has ended: jobs and expertise have already shifted to the Caspian Sea and the Gulf of Mexico. As to the second pillar, the British Social Attitudes survey, the largest of its kind, shows Scots growing ever closer to the English in their outlook to politics, culture and society.
And better government? The SNP has now had nine years to prove its theory that decisions taken by officials in Edinburgh are better when it comes to schools, hospitals, transport and the environment. But even Nicola Sturgeon cannot claim that the NHS is better in Scotland than in England. Or that Scotland’s state education system is more progressive than England’s. On the contrary, a poor Scottish teenager is now half as likely to get into university as a poor English one. The merging of regional police services into Police Scotland has been a disaster.
Now and again it is argued that the EU referendum has made Scotland more likely to vote for independence. While it’s true that only two in five Scots supported Brexit, this has hardly transformed the desire for independence. The basic economic reality is stark, and undeniable: an independent Scotland would be a Scotland embarking on the most ambitious austerity programme attempted by any western country in peacetime. There may well be a case for this. But as of this week, the SNP can no longer pretend that separation and sado-austerity would not come hand in hand.
And the case for the Union? North Sea oil revenue has all but vanished — but there has been no national hammerblow as a result. Instead, more Scots are in work than ever before. Scottish pensioner poverty is lower than ever before. Scottish household wealth is higher than ever before.
By being plugged into the larger economic network of the United Kingdom, Scots have not just been shielded from the oil slump, but have been able to achieve more than ever. The pooling of resources works. Scotland and England are now, more than ever,better together.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/the-proof-that-scotland-is-better-off-in-the-uk/
|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/6f7099a2f3306bd3326ffd3620f880bd2d046368f7f55d3aeaeacdab13f9302f.json
|
[
"The Spectator",
"Nick Cohen",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:17:59 | null | 2016-08-04T03:00:00 | null |
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|
en
| null |
The Spectator, 1916: The trouble with trenches
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
From ‘Armour of offence’, The Spectator, 5 August 1916: The soldier must never forget that it is his business to stand upon the offensive, not upon the defensive, and that for the offensive the power of rapid movement is essential. That is why, as the Germans are finding, and as the Austrians certainly found in Poland, you may make your trenches too defensible, too deep, too narrow, and generally too good. Deeply dug and laboriously protected trenches are splendid if judged only by their power to save people’s lives, so long as there is no in-fighting, but they may become veritable death-traps. In order to drive your enemy back you have got to get out of your trenches very quickly and counter-attack him, or, if need be, fall back a little for that purpose. If you are thirty feet underground you may be very safe from artillery fire, but unable to repel quickly a hand-to-hand assailant. As an Irishman might say: ‘Even your trenches must be mobile.’
Subscribe to The Spectator today for a quality of argument not found in any other publication. Get more Spectator for less – just £12 for 12 issues.
|
http://www.spectator.co.uk/2016/08/the-spectator-1916-the-trouble-with-trenches/
|
en
| 2016-08-04T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/32dd99e08bd7a5bbc2307c84b8a3f5d240e5372b826378d80ca58c76f42d70ca.json
|
[
"Chris Smith",
"Nick Cohen",
"The Spectator",
"Gavin Mortimer",
"Douglas Murray",
"Alex Massie",
"Aidan Hartley",
"Ariane Sherine",
"James Delingpole"
] | 2016-08-26T13:11:20 | null | 2016-08-25T03:00:00 | null |
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.spectator.co.uk%2F2016%2F08%2Fmedia-notes%2F.json
|
http://cdn.spectator.co.uk/content/uploads/2016/08/chris-smith_specaus-27-august_post.jpg
|
en
| null |
The Spectator
| null | null |
www.spectator.co.uk
|
Tackling the elephant
Let’s cut to the chase; Australian political leadership must find the stomach to deal with the core issue facing this country. No more excuses.Since the world’s longest election, we’ve been obsessed with secondary and peripheral topics of gender equality, free speech, juvenile detention and banking scrutiny. Of course our politicians are far more adept and comfortable handling the peripheral, because the repercussions are not as severe… and the subject only rankles with a minority.
But the time has come to get serious. The ugly issue we need to tackle, the one no cross-bencher is asked to address, the elephant-sized problem impacting on our capability to deal with almost every other peripheral policy, is debt and deficit. Last week’s continuance of our Triple A credit rating, is in effect, a shocking furphy. Our bottom line stinks and those with real economic knowledge know it. ‘A full blown economic crisis or strong leadership are the only solutions,’ writes Judith Sloane this week. The Australian newspaper’s economic columnist echoes those endless warnings which have been coming from the Chairman of Tony Abbott’s National Commission of Audit, Tony Shepherd. His ‘cradle to grave cuts’ solution has fallen on deaf ears. Only former Treasurer Joe Hockey heeded the advice, ratcheting up a call for the ‘age of entitlement’ to end. It was an accurate slogan, but not matched by any effective marketing or salesmanship. Even the wily ‘ol accountant, Nationals Leader and Deputy Prime Minister Barnaby Joyce, has used a simple but telling measurement to make the penny drop. ‘We are paying a billion dollars a month in interest on our debt,’ he’s warned us in recent years.
Yes, the Rudd-Gillard-Rudd years took us down the slippery path to debt and disaster and, yes, the Government can make hay reminding Australians about that fact. But it’s become so common-knowledge, the point is now largely meaningless and the country is waiting to hear from leaders who have practical solutions. Maybe if the pollies themselves showed real leadership by hacking into their own entitlements and superannuation arrangements, the public would buy-in with a little more enthusiasm.
That’s where the Prime Minister could show a point of difference, a real sincerity in showing us the way to spending maturity and sacrifice. Of course the fact that the major parties called a speaking truce on this issue last year, doesn’t suggest he has the ticker for this either.The truth is, if we continue to ignore the parlous state of our balance sheet, massive Government spending and a lack of new revenue options, including the frequent alerts from the shrewd economic analysts, Australia could become a terrible basket-case. Ignorance could become our greatest modern-day mistake.
With all that in mind, it’s now time for the creative and hard-nosed Treasurer to step up to the plate. Scott Morrison needs to walk into the Prime Minister’s office and convince his boss that this Government needs to cut to the chase. They need to launch a full onslaught for budget restraint, not just against the Opposition, but to those feral cross-benchers, ready to deflate the Government’s spending cut balloon. They too need to take personal responsibility for our grave national predicament.
Morrison should call an immediate National Summit on Solving Our National Debt, forcing every politician with their hands out for more, and every economic stakeholder who thinks they know better, to get some skin in the game. Yes it has overtures of the egomaniac Prime Minister Kevin Rudd when he first came to power, but not all dumb ideas, are entirely dumb, if you dissect them cleverly.
Summits deliver instant national focus while putting pressure on those involved to state their case. Instead of coming to power on the hot wind of another Royal Commission, another round of life-saving medical funding or the promise of even more generous welfare provision, let’s force them all to stand and place on record, what their solutions are, to finding the money, to pay for their smart ideas.
Imagine how mortal they’d all become. But it would focus the nation’s attention, once and for all on the importance and necessity of finding new revenue streams, and the courage to accept cuts in spending. We might also be able to change the culture of ‘take’, and insert a more measured culture, which equates ‘giving’ to ‘taking’ instead.
Quite simply, our Prime Minister does not have the intestinal fortitude for such a political wedge. But Scott Morrison does. And I throw out the challenge to him today, to cut to the chase, and make all our political leaders who have been elected or re-elected this year, to tackle the core issue of debt and deficit together.
In doing so, we might stand a chance of dodging the bullet. Treasurer, tell me why this would not work?
Chris Smith presents The Chris Smith Show Monday to Friday 12:00pm to 3:00pm on 2GB, 4BC & 2CC Radio
|
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|
en
| 2016-08-25T00:00:00 |
www.spectator.co.uk/1a43917e614358f3ce55a01fc4e45d72d61ad23f7719db5035f16e73348a9ab3.json
|
[
"Derek Johnson"
] | 2016-08-26T12:56:18 | null | 2016-08-22T09:40:00 |
Woodinville Weekly News
|
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nwnews.com%2Findex.php%2Fsports%2F13494-warren-moon-on-the-golden-era-of-seahawk-football.json
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Warren Moon on the golden era of Seahawk Football
| null | null |
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Warren Moon on the golden era of Seahawk Football 22 Aug 2016 09:40
Written by Derek Johnson
Seattle fans watch eras come and go. The Sonics of the 1990s had Gary Payton and Shawn Kemp, before team unity fell apart and potential was lost.
The Mariners also had their time in the sun with Griffey, Randy Johnson and Alex Rodriguez all playing together. But one-by-one, those guys wanted out and the clubhouse mood grew sour. The M’s never reached the World Series, and soon faded into oblivion.
NFL Hall-of-Famer and Duvall resident Warren Moon (left) talks with Seahawks quarterback Russell Wilson. (Photo by Elaine Thompson, Associated Press)
But the Seahawks of today seem different. After winning the Super Bowl in 2013, times were ripe for regression. First came the devastating loss at the one-yard line in the Super Bowl versus the Patriots. Then came the Kam Chancellor holdout last year that helped sap the team of its mojo.
With fall camp now underway, this team seems primed for another championship run. Warren Moon certainly likes what he sees. The NFL Hall-of-Famer and Seahawk broadcaster doesn’t see any weakness.
“The defense was ranked #1 in many categories last season and that core group is back,” Moon said. “Russell Wilson continues to improve at quarterback, and they are talented at every position on offense. The kicker and punter are both outstanding. This team is strong across the board.”
Fans continue to fret over the offensive line, and with some reason. With so much youth and inexperience, Russell Wilson often ran for his life in the first half of last season.
“They solidified their offensive line,” Moon said. “They went through 3-4 centers last year. Russell Okung got hurt and then got back into the lineup. Once they got that figured out that’s when that unit started to gel. It was a combination of the line playing better, and going to the quick passing game that helped. But it wasn’t just from the quick passing game, the offensive line deserves some credit. There were times Russell had to hold the ball to throw down the field and he was still getting that protection.
“I like what I’ve seen so far,” Moon added. “The offensive line is better than what people are giving it credit for. If they keep getting better and stay healthy they’re going to be pretty good up front.”
Moon seems eager to see the further development of Russell Wilson.
“Once the offensive line settled down at the halfway point last season, that’s when he took off,” Moon said. “He finished by throwing 24 touchdown passes and only one interception. He has a good feel and command for the offense. I think [offensive coordinator] Darrel Bevel really understands what Russell does best. Russell has been in the same system his entire time in the NFL. He’ll continue to recognize the various nuances and the game will continue to slow down on the other side of the ball for him.”
Meanwhile, a talented class of rookies have impressed Moon. He believes that Jarran Reed, a defensive tackle out of Alabama, will eventually take Brandon Mebane’s place in the starting lineup.
“He comes out of Alabama and has played some big-time football in the SEC,” Moon said. “He has played in national championship games. So I don’t think he’s wide-eyed and overwhelmed by anything he’s seeing. He plays with a great motor and he’s a big strong guy. So I’m very impressed with him so far.”
C.J. Prosise, a big, bruising running back out of Notre Dame, has sat out much of fall camp.
“We haven’t seen very much of him so far because of a hamstring problem,” Moon said. But they see a lot of promise in him because he used to be a wide receiver and has very good hands. He was moved to running back while at Notre Dame. He’s a really good running back but can catch the football. So they will use him a lot throwing the football on third down, and splitting him out and doing different things for him. If he shows some consistency and stays healthy he could be a real big surprise.”
Moon hastened to include offensive tackle Germain Ifedi in the discussion.
“He has already shown he is a man and is not going to back down from anything,” he said. “He has gained a lot of respect from veterans on the team from some scuffles they have had in one-on-one drills. He hasn’t backed down. He has gained a lot of respect in the locker room as a tough, tough player.”
The 2016 schedule smiles favorably on the Seahawks. The season opens with games against the Miami Dolphins, Los Angeles Rams, San Francisco 49ers and New York Jets. The odds look good for a fast start.
Last season, the Kam Chancellor holdout cast a pall over the month of September. But this year, harmony prevails throughout the organization. The contract extensions given to coach Pete Carroll and General Manager John Schneider maintain the unity. Unlike the what-might-have-been lore of the Sonics and Mariners, these Seahawks are maximizing their chances in this golden era.
“I think that is one of the reason why this organization can be good not just for this season but for the long haul because of the continuity they have in the front office,” Moon said. “The continuity they have on the field with their core players with long-term deals. Russell Wilson, Richard Sherman, Earl Thomas, all those guys signed to long-term deals. And I’m sure they’re working on something for Michael Bennett, who has outplayed his contract. It wouldn’t surprise me if they got something done for him during the season. When you take care of your best players and keep those guys together and keep your front office people together it creates a family atmosphere. And it keeps great continuity where everyone knows what to expect from everyone else.
“You’ve got to give Paul Allen a lot of credit for it getting done, as he’s the guy at the top,” Moon said. “And he’s had enough foresight to keep this group together for as long as he can.”
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http://www.nwnews.com/index.php/sports/13494-warren-moon-on-the-golden-era-of-seahawk-football
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en
| 2016-08-22T00:00:00 |
www.nwnews.com/caa89e11d93dc60bb073026b377f8126758f021cf1599660b058725cee38d72c.json
|
[
"Woodinville Weekly Staff"
] | 2016-08-29T16:49:35 | null | 2016-08-29T15:04:00 |
Woodinville Weekly News
|
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| null |
Celebrate Woodinville 2016: Photos, Parade and Basset Bash Results
| null | null |
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Celebrate Woodinville 2016: Photos, Parade and Basset Bash Results 29 Aug 2016 03:04
Written by Woodinville Weekly Staff
All photos courtesy of Photography by Carol Hook
Celebrate Woodinville Festival • August 20, 2016
Congratulations to the following parade category winners:
Best Overall: Woodinville Rotary/Town of Grace
Best Float: McLendon Hardware
Best Business: Target
Best Individual: Rebecca Clark
Best Music: Jam Academy
Most Original: New Life Christian Fellowship
Best Animal Entry: Centerline Riding Academy/Charlottewood Equestrian Center
Best Children’s Group: Northshore Gymnastics
Best Drill/Dance Team: Woodinville Dance Academy
Best Vehicle: Soil Science Products
The Basset Bash apologizes for the Basset Brigade not marching in the parade. They felt it was too hot for the dogs, especially because of the temperature of the asphalt.
Sponsors: Denny’s Pet World and Fairwinds Brittany Park
Special Support: City of Woodinville, Woodinville Chamber of Commerce and Basset Rescue of Puget Sound
Donations: Sushi Connection, Woodinville; Teddy’s Bigger Burgers, Woodinville/Bothell; MOD Pizza, Woodinville; Alexa Paul, Basset Rescue of Puget Sound
Congratulations to the 2016 Basset Bash winners:
Best Waddle male: “Moose,” (Tricia Turton), Seattle
Best Waddle female: “Rosey,” (Kyra Olson), Federal Way
Oldest: “Lowla” 16 years old (Patti Jean Hooper), Kenmore
Howl: “Flash,” (Alex Ashley), Poulsbo
Longest Ears male: 11 inches, (N/A)
Longest Ears female: 11-1/8 inches, “Frida,” (Tricia Turton), Seattle
Best Trick, First: “Gracie,” (Jan Parker), Duvall
Best Trick, Second: “Dixie Bell,” (Andrea Stocco), Seattle
Best Trick, Third: “Arlow Pancake,” (Amy Franz), Algona
Longest Distance Traveled: 8 bassets from (Jenny Neuburger), Pullman
Foolish Master: Lady with crazy basset hat (with ears)
Funniest Name: “Herbalicious,” (Jeannett Voiland), Woodinville
Weenie Race: Puppy: “Royal,” (Kary and Erik Walm), Seattle
Weenie Race: Adult: “Thumper,” (Kareem Shuman), Seattle
Weenie Race: Senior: “Lowla,” (Patti Jean Hooper), Kenmore
King: “Arlow,” (Amy Franz), Algona
Queen: “Rosie,” (Michelle Cornelius), Monroe
|
http://www.nwnews.com/index.php/local/celebrate-woodinville/13531-celebrate-woodinville-2016-photos-parade-and-basset-bash-results
|
en
| 2016-08-29T00:00:00 |
www.nwnews.com/22906acb5bd96894ed0d2cc07edf36f9149534aafa5a064dbe77931cb6520c89.json
|
[
"Tom James",
"News Writer"
] | 2016-08-29T16:49:31 | null | 2016-08-29T08:24:00 |
Woodinville Weekly News
|
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| null |
‘Attacked’ teacher admits to fabricating story
| null | null |
www.nwnews.com
|
‘Attacked’ teacher admits to fabricating story 29 Aug 2016 08:24
Written by Tom James, News Writer
After drawing attention from newspapers across the state last spring with a story of a violent attack in his own classroom, Bothell High School teacher Cal Pygott admitted to police last week that he had fabricated the whole story.
Police were called to Bothell High School May 19 after Pygott, a longtime shop teacher who had won awards for his teaching, including his work with a carpentry instruction pilot program, stumbled out of his classroom with a ziptie around his neck.
Another staffmember at the school found him and cut off the ziptie, and Pygott related how he had been bludgeoned from behind by someone who choked him with the ziptie before fleeing.
But Bothell Police Sergeant Ken Seuberlich said Thursday that investigators were immediately suspicious of Pygott’s story because it didn’t match the crime scene. Investigators followed up on Pygott’s claims, Seuberlich said, including sending samples for DNA and fingerprint testing, but as the weeks went by it became clear that something wasn’t right.
Evidence at the scene, Seuberlich said, included blood, a hammer and a piece of butcher paper on which a cryptic note had been scrawled: “This man is not God.”
“His statements on how the crime occurred didn’t match the evidence,” Seuberlich said.
As the evidence mounted against Pygott’s version of events, investigators interviewed him a second time. When Pygott didn’t change his story, they asked him to take a polygraph test. When he was presented with the results, which indicated he was not telling the truth about the story, Pygott broke down, Seuberlich said, admitting to clubbing himself over the head, then placing the ziptie around his own neck before leaving the classroom to be discovered by a colleague.
“It was a staged crime scene and the story was fabricated,” Seuberlich said.
As a result, Seuberlich said Police would be recommending prosecutors file at least two charges against Pygott: filing a false statement and obstructing an investigation, both gross misdemeanors.
Northshore School District released a statement Thursday saying Pygott had been placed on immediate paid leave, but a representative couldn’t say if or when disciplinary or termination processes against Pygott would begin. Administrators are still talking with police
“We are grateful this situation has been resolved and the truth has been acknowledged,” said Northshore Superintendent Michelle Reid. “I am confident that we will continue to maintain safe and secure schools.”
Teachers and other salaried employees often work under contracts which restrict their arbitrary termination, and Northshore teachers’ union president Tim Brittell confirmed Friday that policies call for immediately placing a teacher accused of a crime on paid leave.
A teacher who had accumulated paid sick or vacation days might be entitled to a certain amount of paid leave before being fired, Brittell said, and administrators often want to let the legal process play out. But, Brittell added, the district has significant discretion in terms of when to start the process of actually letting a teacher go.
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| 2016-08-29T00:00:00 |
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"Derek Johnson"
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Woodinville Weekly News
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NORTHSHORE YOUTH SOCCER ASSOCIATION: A day in the life of coaching boys soccer
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NORTHSHORE YOUTH SOCCER ASSOCIATION: A day in the life of coaching boys soccer 22 Aug 2016 09:37
Written by Derek Johnson
As practice concluded, the boys gathered near their coach. 50-year-old Angie Zappone, now in her ninth year of coaching youth soccer, was to unveil the team’s new name.
“What about ‘Scorpions’?” she asked with a high voltage smile. “What do you guys think about THAT?”
The boys cheered and some gave a thumbs-up.
Lincoln Gentry, age 9, paused from devouring a grape popsicle. “Scorpions are cool,” he said. “And what‘s cool is they’re like insects except they have a stinger.”
Lincoln Gentry (left) dribbles down field with Isaac Zappone in pursuit. (Photo by Derek Johnson)
The sun was setting at Woodinville Fields on this warm summer evening. The newly-christened Scorpions were preparing for a slate of games this fall. They’ll play in the Under-10 League in the Northshore Youth Soccer Association.
Zappone knows all about boys, having raised three of her own. Her youngest, Isaac, was one of the kids on this Scorpions club.
Zappone coached a girls team nearly a decade ago. But in recent years she has exclusively coached boys. She seems dialed in to their psyche.
Angie Zappone (right) gives instructions to a youngster on the Scorpions. (Photo by Derek Johnson)
“Boys are a different can of worms,” she explained. “I played soccer and I’m female. I loved coaching girls, but they’re kinder to each other in a group sense. Just a little different philosophy. But boys are energetic, they’re rambunctious and they want to poke at each other a little bit. The philosophy with the boys is to keep them moving, keep them engaged. Make it funny. I think they need it to be funny sometimes. A little bit of humor is good.”
The boys finished their popsicles and began heading with their parents to the parking lot. Zappone was asked to expand on her philosophy of coaching boys.
“You don’t want them standing in lines, or all chaos breaks out,” she said with a laugh. “But I love that about boys. They’ll get right down and dirty as soon as you tell them to do something. They’re a little easier to coach to be aggressive than girls, you know? Girls will step back and apologize. Don’t get me wrong, girls can play aggressively. But boys will want to get right in there with their shoulders. The energy and aggression are a bit more natural. So I let them be boys on the field, but keep some control. Because if one goes, they all go.”
It was clear that Zappone enjoyed coaching. From shouting encouragement, cracking jokes and issuing high-fives.
“I love it,” she said. “There’s nothing better than taking a group like this that had never played together, and seeing them develop. Seeing them get a bit more confidence in themselves. Seeing them joke around and start to form friendships. It takes a little energy, but taking a team from the beginning to the end of the season and watching them grow and have fun, is a big deal.
“It’s cool,” she added. “It’s like raising kids. It’s hard at times, but in the end it’s all worth it.”
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| 2016-08-22T00:00:00 |
www.nwnews.com/aed339667e72920dc665095385ab5e20ac9bb6e6f75ab65ea45f6d07322a3376.json
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"Derek Johnson"
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Woodinville Weekly News
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WHS Track and Field: Falcons shine bright on sunny day
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WHS Track and Field: Falcons shine bright on sunny day 29 Mar 2015 11:08
Written by Derek Johnson
The Falcon track team basked in glorious sunshine and warm temperatures last Thursday in their meet against Issaquah at Woodinville High School.
Jordan Markezich stood out with a strong performance in the 3200m, dropping 38 seconds off his previous personal best. “We’ve been working on training faster rather than longer and it paid off,” Woodinville distance coach Sandy Laurence said. “Dropping that much time for an experienced athlete is unheard of. Wow!”
Woodinville’s Keagan Bolibol (right) battles for position with Issaquah’s Larissa Kolasinski and teammate Nikki Lenart. (Photo by Derek Johnson)
Samy Habib came in first in both the shot put and discus. He explained why the shot put is his favorite sport. “There is just something I like about it,” he said. “I’m not a big guy and there are guys that are 6’5” and 6’8” and all that. To be competing and throwing the distances they throw, they walk around like they’re hot shots. But it’s kind of nice to show that size isn’t everything [by performing well].”
The comeback of the day belonged to Keagan Bolibol, who roared from behind in the 1600m to eclipse Issaquah’s Larissa Kolasinski.
“First lap I was feeling pretty good,” Bolibol said. “And then I noticed this girl from Issaquah, I don’t know her name but she’s very good. I could tell she was good by the watch she was wearing. For some reason, the good runners always wear fancy little watches.
“By the second lap I was afraid that I wasn’t going to make it, that I wasn’t going to win this one. I was just focusing on my time and pacing. Then on the final lap, I was praying in my head, ‘Oh Lord, please get me through this last lap.’ And then by the last 200m, I was like, ‘Alright here we go!’ And I saw my mom and she was yelling, ‘Push it! Pump your arms!’
“When I sprinted past [Kolasinski], I was like, ‘Alright!’ And I went for it. In my mind, what I think is that if I push myself really hard, I’m not going to die, it’s not going to kill me. So I might as well just do it!”
Other event winners for the Falcons included Karmiel Weste (200m), Caleb Hawkins (400m), Taylor Woodworth (110m hurdles), Hunter Kozol (300m hurdles), Brad Roland (javelin), Andrei Calugarur (pole vault), Alec Dietz (triple jump), Gabi Glessner (100m hurdles), Addison Farner (shot put, discus and javelin) and Kelly Wucherer (pole vault).
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| 2015-03-29T00:00:00 |
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[
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Woodinville Weekly News
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WHS baseball: Skyline gets offensive, beats Woodinville in KingCo opener
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WHS baseball: Skyline gets offensive, beats Woodinville in KingCo opener 29 Mar 2015 11:26
Written by Derek Johnson
The Skyline Spartans pounded out 9 runs on 13 hits, scoring runs in four consecutive innings, to defeat the Woodinville Falcons 9-3 last Friday night at Woodinville High School. It was the KingCo conference opener for both teams.
Woodinville pitcher Connor White started out strong with two shutout innings, before running into trouble in the top of the third.
Woodinville pitcher Connor White attempts to pick off Skyline’s Jackson Bandow. The first baseman is Davis Baillie. (Photo by Derek Johnson)
“I think that [Skyline] had seen enough pitches and they got into a bit of a groove and a little bit of a rhythm,” Woodinville coach Alan Dillman said. “Connor kept throwing strikes and they were hitting them. It happens.”
In this early part of the season, the Falcons (2-3, 0-1) have demonstrated that whether they’re ahead or behind, they’re committed to playing small ball.
“This team is built a lot different from last year,” Dillman said. “I think we’re a little bit faster than last year, and we’re not quite as big. So it’s going to be a big part of our game to get guys on [base] and put guys in motion and keep pressure on the defenses.”
Indeed, Woodinville’s roster bears little resemblance to last year’s club that finished fourth in State.
“I think that we have a lot of new guys in key spots,” Dillman said. “We graduated pretty much the entire outfield last year, as well as our shortstop and catcher. We’ve got a lot of different guys in different places. But those guys are getting better, so I’m happy with that. And we’re starting to gel a little more as a team. The one thing we did in non-league games was that we fought back late in games. It was good to see that. They’re going to keep fighting in games, so I like that about them. We just need to keep at it and keep getting better.”
One big plus will be the imminent return of ace pitcher Alex Worthington, who suffered a concussion recently in practice.
“He should hopefully be back late [this] week,” Dillman said. “Davis [Baillie] will have to step up and throw. He pitched some his sophomore year, and he’ll help us this year. And Liam [Herlihy] has thrown the back end of games, and we’re going to throw him some more. We’ve just got to get out there and compete, and keep playing with that lineup until we find the right one.”
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| 2015-03-29T00:00:00 |
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Woodinville Weekly News
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Falcons ready to open the season vs. Kentwood
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Falcons ready to open the season vs. Kentwood 29 Aug 2016 08:26
Written by Derek Johnson
It’s that point in fall camp, where players are tired of beating on each other, and yearn to attack someone in a different colored jersey.
Quarterback Jaden Sheffey drops back to pass during a drill. (Photo by Derek Johnson)
That chance comes this Friday night at Pop Keeney Stadium, when the Kentwood Conquerors come to town.
“I’m excited for the season,” Woodinville coach Wayne Maxwell said. “We’ve been going game prep. Getting to that point where you’re practicing and reppin’, and with that competition right around the corner, you get excited as a football coach to start the season.”
Mack Minnehan seems poised for individual honors this fall. The senior strong safety says he can’t wait to start playing games that count.
“Everybody on the team knows we have a lot of talent this year,” Minnehan said. “I don’t think we’re as respected as we should be. We’re keeping everybody really intense and focused. The defense is experienced, ready and hungry. We’re all ball hawks and playmakers. We’ve got lots of great players returning, we’re ready to go.”
Quarterback Jaden Sheffey will be making his first career start at quarterback Friday night. During an interview after practice, the newcomer conducted himself in a calm and composed manner.
“Just coming to a new program, as a offense as a whole we’ve been able to get chemistry with the line and receivers,” Sheffey said. “To get that trust down. For me it’s been more about my reads and recognizing defenses down to a science. To let our athletes make plays.”
Left tackle Cade Beresford is 6'6" and progressing nicely in camp. (Photo by Derek Johnson)
When asked about team goals, Sheffey said: “We’re an experienced group. We’re excited to get after it. KingCo and State is high on our list of goals. But we’re going to take it one game at a time.”
At the tail end of practice, assistant coach Mike Monan addressed the team with a statement that can not only be applied to football, but to life. Monan referenced how a certain player had missed practice, and then a second stringer had been injured. So this meant that suddenly the third string player was in the mix this day getting lots of quality reps. Monan’s point was that everyone should always prepare and be ready, for no one knows when their time might come.
“That message goes back to our core,” Maxwell explained. “We were just at Warm Beach [for camp] and we were working on personal growth. We have principles that we call the Falcon Core Principles. Striving to be a better player, student, brother, etc. It’s the Above the Line philosophy that [Ohio State coach] Urban Meyer talks about. It’s your goals and motivation. Will you go through the motions and maybe be below that line? Or are your goals strong enough where you will do the little things every day to be above the line? Will you be ready when you get that chance to play?
“That’s part of what makes being a football coach so much fun,” Maxwell said. “To take football situations like that and show these kids how they can be applied to real life.”
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| 2016-08-29T00:00:00 |
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Woodinville Weekly News
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WHS boys soccer: Tensions flare as Falcons and Vikings play to a draw
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WHS boys soccer: Tensions flare as Falcons and Vikings play to a draw 29 Mar 2015 11:15
Written by Derek Johnson
If one thing’s clear after watching Woodinville and Inglemoor play soccer last Tuesday, it’s that these two teams dislike each other.
Woodinville’s Trevor Dickie scored a first half goal, Inglemoor’s Jacob Kavanagh countered in the second half with one of his own, and this pre-season game concluded in a 1-1 tie. Woodinville left with an overall record of 3-0-2, while Inglemoor was at 2-1-2.
A referee looks on as Woodinville’s Michael Carlson pleads his case after being knocked to the turf. (Photo by Derek Johnson)
But what stood out was the rough nature of the game. Players were flagrantly colliding, tripping and knocking each other over. The air was thick with the sense of impending brawl.
“They play a bit crazy and we just didn’t show enough composure,” Falcon forward Mesfin Symons said. “But other than that, we played physical.... We come out and work as one, that’s our thing.”
“It’s preseason, so for me the whole point is to get out of here safe and with no injuries,” Woodinville coach Nathan Davis said. “And the first half was fine. But the second half the energy picked up and it got chippy by both teams. There were a lot of little fouls here and there.... As a ref you have to take control and say enough is enough. If you card my guys, fine. But card somebody. Tell the guys to calm down. And then guys calm down. But tonight their guys got chippy and our guys got chippy. And all it takes is for one guy to do something stupid, and high school boys will be high school boys and it could have easily been a brawl.”
As for the game itself, Woodinville was periodically on its heels for the first time all season.
“[Inglemoor] plays a very direct game,” Davis explained. “They play a 4-3-3 formation so they only have three guys in the middle of the field. And what that does with three guys there, they can’t play through them. We outnumber them. So all their game was to get the ball quick, hit it over the top to their forwards and run after it.... But in the second half we started to play like them. We started playing like chickens running around with our heads cut off. We just need to calm down and play a possession style game. It’s a good lesson to learn in the pre-season and be ready for them again in two weeks.”
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| 2015-03-29T00:00:00 |
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Woodinville Weekly News
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Three Woodinville companies recognized for commitment to waste prevention
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Three Woodinville companies recognized for commitment to waste prevention 22 Aug 2016 09:44
Written by Kirsten Abel, Features Writer
In the past year, Redhook Brewery has saved over five tons of plastic, over 24 tons of cardboard and nearly 60 tons of glass.
The brewery is one of three Woodinville companies to be named to King County’s tenth annual list of Best Workplaces for Waste Prevention and Recycling.
“We’ve gotten better and better every year, improving as we go along,” said Sherri Sutton, production analyst for Craft Brew Alliance, the parent company of Redhook Brewery, and the organizer behind the brewery’s recycling and waste management program.
“From last year to this year, we’ve increased our recycling rate by 12 percent,” said Sutton.
Redhook now diverts 98.5 percent of its waste away from landfills, cutting its garbage bill by almost half.
Redhook’s Recycling Guide makes recycling different materials as simple and as easy as possible. (Photo courtesy of Craft Brew Alliance)
Aside from its recycling program, Redhook works to save electricity and water by implementing LED lights, timers and sensors, low-flow water nozzles and a dry conveyor belt that doesn’t use any water to transport beer bottles.
The brewery also generates about 62 tons of compost each year and 4,080 tons of spent grain and yeast that is reprocessed into cattle feed.
If not reprocessed into food for livestock, the grain and yeast would be sent into the sewer system, which Sutton said is “expensive and not a good practice.”
Less solid waste in the sewer means less to treat. “That was our biggest polluter,” said Sutton.
The King County list recognizes what, at Redhook Brewery, is now an everyday part of the workplace culture. “Our employees are just into it now. Everybody is looking out for recycling opportunities,” Sutton said. “We’ve tried to make it as easy as possible for people.”
Additionally, Redhook recently formalized its suggestion board system so that employees can offer new ideas about recycling.
“When people have suggestions of what to recycle, we’ve responded,” she said. “We actually do it.”
This year, Chateau Ste. Michelle was also selected to King County’s list of Best Workplaces for Waste Prevention and Recycling.
One of the biggest changes the winery made in the past year was to synchronize its recycling pickups with a neighboring business. This ensures that the recycling truck leaves the area with a full load and doesn’t have to make multiple trips.
“As a founding winery of the Washington wine industry, we understand that the environmental impacts of our business extend beyond our winery,” said Jessica Myer, the environmental specialist at Ste. Michelle Wine Estates. “We are proud to share the award with other businesses in Woodinville and hope others in our community will be encouraged to apply.”
Although this is Chateau Ste. Michelle’s first year on the King County list, the winery has been implementing waste prevention measures for years.
“The most challenging step is changing the culture of the operation,” said Myer. “Once the culture change is in place, and the employees have bought into the program, additional changes become smoother each year.”
Chateau Ste. Michelle recycles its glass, paper, plastic and cardboard and also reduces its waste from things like food and paper towels.
The winery will continue to research recycling vendors in order to recycle even more of their waste products in the future.
The third Woodinville business to be chosen for the King County list is Division 9 Flooring, which made the list for the second year in a row. Division 9 Flooring has diverted over 900,000 tons of carpet and carpet pad from landfills since 2008.
According to the King County website, every one of the 112 businesses selected “has shown exceptional commitment to recycling and reducing the amount of waste their company sends to the landfill.”
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| 2016-08-22T00:00:00 |
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Woodinville Weekly News
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17th annual Backpacks for Kids produces over 1,500 backpacks for students in need
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17th annual Backpacks for Kids produces over 1,500 backpacks for students in need 22 Aug 2016 09:47
Written by Kirsten Abel, Features Writer
The scene at the Secondary Academy of Success gym in Bothell on August 15 was suggestive of the holiday season.
The 17th annual Backpacks for Kids campaign was just wrapping up. Volunteers had filled 1,522 backpacks with school supplies to be delivered to the 33 schools and educational programs in the Northshore area. That’s 300 more backpacks than last year.
Volunteers helped fill 1,522 backpacks with school supplies during the Backpacks for Kids campaign. (Photo by Joyce Sandness)
The backpacks were then bagged and organized by school to await transport. A few student helpers manned a platform hand truck and loaded volunteers’ cars with bags.
Carmin Dalziel, the executive director of the Northshore Schools Foundation, addressed the volunteers present, saying, “Thank you so much. This is such a big deal.”
Each backpack contains a variety of supplies catered to the needs of different grade levels. The items include 3-ring binders, notebooks, pens, colored pencils, markers, glue sticks and pencils.
Backpacks for Kids received both monetary donations and donations of backpacks and school supplies from businesses and residents throughout the community.
The campaign raised over $6,000 in the past month and over $10,000 since last October.
“We’ve had several companies step up and make significant gifts,” said Dalziel.
Many local teachers also support the program on a yearly basis. “I can’t tell you how generous the Northshore staff are,” she said.
Northshore Schools Foundation and the Northshore School District joined forces with Real Living Northwest Realtors to collect school supplies at over 60 local sites.
“They are a major partner in this whole process,” Dalziel said of Real Living Northwest. “They do a ton of work.”
The donated products made up about a quarter of the final amount. The rest of the backpacks and supplies were purchased using donated funds.
“I cleaned out all of the broad and fine-tipped markers on the Eastside,” said Susan Jackson, a retired Northshore teacher and a member of the Northshore Schools Foundation. Jackson did the school supplies shopping for the campaign.
Backpacks for Kids aims to reach as many students in need as possible. That may mean students who qualify for free or reduced-priced meals or it may mean students who have a sick parent or whose family recently experienced a financial setback.
The nurses at each Northshore school estimated the number of students who might be in need of a backpack and supplies. The campaign then allocated that number, plus a few extra, to each school.
“At Northshore we have nurses at every building who know the trends of the families,” Jackson said.
The system provides as much privacy as possible for students who may need help.
Students or their family members can pick up backpacks at the school nurse’s office. “We want people to know these are available,” said Dalziel.
What happens if all the backpacks are taken and more are needed?
“We’ll figure it out,” Dalziel said. “We’ll do the best we can to continue to create them as long as there is a need.”
For any student starting out a new school year, new school supplies are part of what makes the first day so exciting. Backpacks for Kids helps make sure every student can share in that excitement.
“It’s a new year. It’s a new start,” said Jackson.
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| 2016-08-22T00:00:00 |
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Woodinville Weekly News
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WHS Football: Two former Falcons played in same CFL game
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WHS Football: Two former Falcons played in same CFL game 29 Aug 2016 08:33
Written by Derek Johnson
The opening kickoff sailed through the air at le Stade Percival-Molson. The Montreal Alouettes were hosting the B.C. Lions on August 4th. But a special nuance existed in this matchup between CFL teams. Two boys from Woodinville were squaring off.
Maxx Forde is a 24-year-old defensive lineman for the Lions, while Aaron Lavarius is a 28-year-old defensive end for the Alouettes.
“I ended up blocking Aaron on the opening kickoff,” Forde said with a chuckle. “I’m on the wedge on kickoff returns. I was blocking someone else, we had a double team going. He slid off on someone else, so I worked up a bit. I ended up on a double team with Aaron. I tried to put a hit on him but I don’t think I got much of one.”
“I just remember running down and suddenly a big guy put his hands on me,” Lavarius said. “And then he said ‘Hey what’s up?’ I realized who it was. It was his first game on the active roster, so we didn’t know he was going to play. It was a surprise to see old Maxx trying to knock my head off.”
After the play, the two had a quick reunion, before retreating to their respective teams.
“It wasn’t a time for hugs and warm reunions,” Lavarius said. “But it was a good feeling to know that another Woodinville kid had made it into professional sports.”
Aaron Lavarius (#97) and Maxx Forde (#48) got to reunite on August 4th in Montreal. Included in the photo is Rolly Lumbala (#46). All three men played at the University of Idaho. (Courtesy photo)
______
The path Lavarius took to the CFL included a stint in the NFL. After playing for Wayne Maxwell at Woodinville (2003-2005), he played collegiately at Idaho.
Lavarius was on the practice roster with the 2012 New England Patriots. That was the year Tom Brady and company lost to the NY Giants in Super Bowl XLVI.
Aaron Lavarius (#97) jogging off the field with Montreal teammates. (Photo courtesy of the Montreal Alouettes – Dominick Gravel)
Playing for the Patriots taught Lavarius many lessons.
“That was about as hard an environment to be in for football as any team,” he said. “It really showed me how a top-tiered organization does things. The way they approach things is super, super professional. I’ve carried some of those lessons with me.”
But these days, Lavarius plays in Montreal, a bilingual city thriving with culture and variety.
“It’s a great city and I’m fortunate to be a part of the organization here,” Lavarius said. “There are so many things to experience here that maybe you don’t get to experience in Woodinville. I enjoyed my time in Woodinville, but here you’ve got a small island with millions of people from all walks of life. I have my wife and son here and we’re experiencing things and cultures from all over the world. It’s a lot of fun.”
At le stade Percival-Molson, the PA announcer narrates the game in both English and French. It can be a bizarre experience for Americans there for the first time.
“When I came up here I was worried [the coaches] would be coaching guys up in French,” Lavarius said with a laugh. “I tried to learn some French but I haven’t been too successful. I know what ‘open’ and ‘closed’ means on the doors of restaurants, but that’s about it.”
Meanwhile, the path that Maxx Forde took to the CFL has been equally interesting.
Former Falcon Maxx Forde, now with the BC Lions. (Photo courtesy of the BC Lions)
After his senior season at Woodinville in 2010, Forde had an scholarship offer to play for the Washington State Cougars. His dad had played for the Cougs in the 1980s, and it seemed like young Maxx might go there too. But the Cougs were in turmoil at the time. So he chose Idaho, where he was teammates for one year with senior Aaron Lavarius.
“I felt better about the circumstances at Idaho, so that’s where I chose to play,” Forde said.
Forde has spent the first two years of his pro career with the BC Lions. With three downs instead of four, a bigger field and different rules, the CFL is somewhat a foreign world.
“There are some quirky rules that are different from American football,” Forde said. “There was a little bit of an adjustment when I first got up here.”
When his Lions flew across the country for their August 4th game in Montreal, it was Forde’s first game on the active roster. A big moment in his young life.
“That game in Montreal, it’s primarily a French-speaking city, so that’s one thing,” Forde said. “For whatever reason they have both teams on the same sideline, so that was kind of weird.”
Forde played on the kickoff return and punt return teams. He also got in on 10-15 snaps, he said.
“It was a blur and I was kind of amped up,” he said. “I tried to calm down but I’m not sure I did.”
As for the game itself, the BC Lions rallied in the fourth quarter to pull out a 38-18 win over the Alouettes. Quarterback Jonathon Jennings completed 27-of-32 passes for 331 yards. Loucheiz Purifoy had a scoop-and-score that broke things open.
After the game, Lavarius and Forde reunited on the field, along with fellow Idaho alum Rolly Lumbala.
The Woodinville duo looked back fondly at the old days with the Falcons.
“That time of my life was pretty awesome,” Forde said. “Playing with a bunch of kids that had grown up together, and then playing for coach Maxwell. It was my first exposure to playing real football. I learned a lot from coach Maxwell and coach Manu Tuiasosopo, who was the d-line coach at that time.”
Forde’s favorite memory was a Halloween game where the Falcons blanked Issaquah 21-0. “It was a dominating performance and it was pretty fun,” Forde said.
“I remember being so intimidated by coach Maxwell back in the day,” Lavarius said. “He was so imposing, so intense. He approaches the game with so much competitive spirit. But when I came back [to visit], he was real nice to me and stuff. It’s funny how things change when you’re young. I was just a punk kid, 16-17 years old. But now you’re older and get to see a softer side to him. Maybe he’s changed a little over the years, I don’t know. I think his intensity has helped me in my professional career. I’m very thankful for coach Maxwell.”
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http://www.nwnews.com/index.php/sports/13540-whs-football-two-former-falcons-played-in-same-cfl-game
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en
| 2016-08-29T00:00:00 |
www.nwnews.com/c3f1761bdcde347552f5aa07987dfea40d769f5c7dc7f887ceb7b64fc82c0215.json
|
[
"Tom James",
"News Writer"
] | 2016-08-29T16:49:38 | null | 2016-08-29T08:22:00 |
Woodinville Weekly News
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http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nwnews.com%2Findex.php%2Flocal%2Fnews%2F13537-strike-averted-union-schools-settle-on-draft-contract.json
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| null |
Strike averted? Union, schools settle on draft contract
| null | null |
www.nwnews.com
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Strike averted? Union, schools settle on draft contract 29 Aug 2016 08:22
Written by Tom James, News Writer
Union leaders and the Northshore School District confirmed late last week that a tentative agreement had been reached on a contract for teachers and para-educators in the district.
The announcement, sent out over email late Thursday, is a significant step toward resolutions in negotiations that had grown tense in previous months. In early June the teachers’ union in the district voted overwhelmingly to prepare for a strike, and in interviews after the vote union officials, while pledging to work toward a solution, were loudly critical of district administrators.
Friday, however, Tim Brittell, head of the Northshore union that represents both teachers and para-educators confirmed that union leadership would be recommending that members accept the contract.
The recommendation, Brittell said, would be put forward by union leadership at the next general meeting this Wednesday in place of the strike vote which teachers voted to authorize in June.
Citing agreements by both the union and the district not to discuss the contract until it was formally accepted, Brittell said he couldn’t comment further.
The agreement also marks the first time for Northshore School District that contracts for teachers and para-educators – the teaching assistants who work with the most challenging students – were negotiated together. Although the two groups still have separate contracts, and will still vote separately to accept or reject their contracts, union officials said earlier in the summer that the ability to negotiate jointly was considered a significant gain by both groups.
“On behalf of our elected board of directors, I want to thank all of the hardworking professionals involved in this process,” said Northshore Superintendent Michelle Reid. “I look forward to serving and supporting this amazing district and community in the coming years.”
Despite a low-key arrival in a week with the district also making other headlines (teacher Cal Pygott snatched the media spotlight for a second time the same day as the contract announcement when news broke that he had fabricated the story of his May assault at Bothell High School) the agreement is another sign of the apparent success of recent-arrival Reid.
Reid, who replaced Larry Francois in the post over the summer holiday, came from the South Kitsap School District, where she gained a reputation as a bridge-builder who helped broker an agreement with that district’s own restive teachers’ union. In interviews at the time, Northshore School Board President Amy Cast said the fact that Reid had successfully navigated union conflicts before was an important factor for the board in choosing Reid for the $265,000-a-year post. On the brink of a second accord, the choice seems to have been a wise one.
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http://www.nwnews.com/index.php/local/news/13537-strike-averted-union-schools-settle-on-draft-contract
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en
| 2016-08-29T00:00:00 |
www.nwnews.com/545b7f6819a4fde15489cd3164e11319b000c7b893b0e6f32111c9cf719cdb71.json
|
[
"Woodinville Weekly Staff"
] | 2016-08-26T12:51:24 | null | 2016-08-22T10:34:00 |
Woodinville Weekly News
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http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nwnews.com%2Findex.php%2Flocal%2Fnews%2F13511-duvall-s-main-street-south-project-about-to-begin.json
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Duvall’s Main Street South project about to begin
| null | null |
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Duvall’s Main Street South project about to begin 22 Aug 2016 10:34
Written by Woodinville Weekly Staff
DUVALL – Big improvements are coming to Duvall’s Main Street between Ring Street and Big Rock Road.
After years of design, permitting and preparation work, the Main Street South project is about to begin. Though officially titled the “SR 203 Safety Improvements and Road Reconstruction” project –Main Street South will make significant improvements to approximately 4,200 linear feet of SR 203.
Conceptual drawing of completed work at “Rosenbach Corner” located at NE 143rd. (Courtesy of city of Duvall)
The $8 million construction project will connect to existing improvements and build on the success of the 2009 downtown improvements, 2013 centennial project, and last year’s culvert and “bridge” construction at Coe Clemons Creek.
With the addition of sidewalks, bike lanes, lighting, and the placement of utilities underground Main Street will receive a dramatic new appearance. A focal point at NE 143rd called “Rosenbach Corner” will provide a pedestrian refuge and observation points for a restored Thayer Creek.
After receiving eight bids for the project in late July, Interwest Construction of Burlington, Wash. was awarded the contract.
Conceptual drawing of finished work at Main Street and NE 143rd. (Courtesy of city of Duvall)
Construction is expected to begin in early September 2016, and with 300 working days allotted work is expected to be completed in early 2018. People traveling along Main Street should expect typical construction related traffic delays with single lane closures controlled by flaggers. Use of alternate routes is encouraged. A full road closure near NE 143rd Place will occur in the summer of 2017 for the installation of a culvert crossing for Thayer Creek.
Regular updates regarding the progress of this project, including road closures, will be posted to the city of Duvall’s Facebook page and official website. All project related questions or inquiries can be directed to the city’s project manager, Shaun Tozer, either by phone at 425-788-3434 or email at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .">This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .
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http://www.nwnews.com/index.php/local/news/13511-duvall-s-main-street-south-project-about-to-begin
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en
| 2016-08-22T00:00:00 |
www.nwnews.com/f87e76aba41e0f732998ea1a8e106d4cbf8c115708efec2a1b2d233976e39a89.json
|
[
"Tom Berg"
] | 2016-08-29T16:49:33 | null | 2016-08-29T07:55:00 |
Woodinville Weekly News
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http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nwnews.com%2Findex.php%2Ffeature%2Fauto%2F13529-classic-car-corner-stranded.json
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http://www.nwnews.com/templates/gk_gamenews/images/favicon.ico
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| null |
Classic Car Corner: Stranded
| null | null |
www.nwnews.com
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Classic Car Corner: Stranded 29 Aug 2016 07:55
Written by Tom Berg, Windermere
Alas, if you own classic cars, you’re going to need to be towed now and then. Thank goodness for AAA. In the last year I’ve been towed FOUR times. This time they told me was my last free tow and they were going to charge me a modest fee for any tows I may need the rest of the year. They aren’t making any money on me but I’m sure lots of people with new cars go years without needing AAA services so it must average out because they are still in business.
Recently, just after I got my 1948 Studebaker Commander convertible out of the shop I came to town to see how it ran. It did fine coming to town but it was a very hot day and I had a fuel problem heading back home. I have lots of fuel problems with modern gas in my old cars. I was heading up the hill east of town when the Studie decided to quit on me. I could see that it was done for the day and managed to pull over in a nice wide shady spot and call AAA for a tow. They are usually pretty quick but this time it took two hours to get to me. I am very patient when I need to be but it turned out to be a very entertaining wait as well.
I was just relaxing in the driver’s seat when I heard someone talking behind me. My Studie had the top down of course so I was quite exposed. This is not a pedestrian area so I turned around and a lady and her teenage son had stopped to check out my car and see if I needed help. We chatted awhile about cars and mine specifically and they were off. I then got back into my relaxing mode and soon saw a cop car in my rear view mirror pull up in back of me. I didn’t think much of that and didn’t even turn around but I was surprised when I heard a voice in back of me say “Mr. Berg.” I wondered how did he know me?? Well it was a local guy that I knew from Windermere that is a cop once a week so we chatted for awhile also. When he offered me water I replied that I thought my radiator was just fine but he meant did I need water for myself! It was nice of him to stop by.
Next a couple of local B&B owners stopped by to chat. They were driving a nice Mercedes convertible sports car with the top down of course. We talked about cars, B&Bs and local stuff. A few more minutes went by and just as I was about to become bored a guy pulls up in a late 70’s Camaro convertible (as best as I can recall). We talked about cars including the 65 Chrysler Imperial convertible he just got. When he told me he has an 18 car garage and about where he lived I knew right away where his house was because I get around the area a lot in my business and I’m not about to miss that many garages. He invited me to stop by one day and I will certainly take him up on that. Oddly enough the next guy to pull over owns a late 50’s Chrysler Imperial convertible that he’s working on so we talked cars for awhile also. During all this several people just stopped beside me in the street to see if I needed help. Interestingly, one even had a flatbed truck with a car on it! The last to pull over was a 1940 Ford that was beautifully done with modern running gear. The driver was young (at least by my standards) and said his grandfather had done the work. His grandfather was obviously very talented and I don’t think he’ll be breaking down anytime soon.
I’m a glass half-full kind of guy and so I felt that waiting two hours in a safe, wide shady spot just watching traffic go by and talking to some interesting people was not so bad. AAA showed up eventually and we loaded up the old Studie, hauled it off to Mike’s (my dedicated mechanic who works on all my old cars) and I was dropped off at home. There’s a lot of nice people here in Woodinville and if you’re ever in a spot perhaps you’ll get to meet them as well. My apologies for any mistakes on the year and models of cars I’ve mentioned and to anyone else I may have forgotten.
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http://www.nwnews.com/index.php/feature/auto/13529-classic-car-corner-stranded
|
en
| 2016-08-29T00:00:00 |
www.nwnews.com/a092a1a5c8b15fc0481679a03d9ba52d4c755a0ba40fcc86dfaff4f97631733c.json
|
[
"Derek Johnson"
] | 2016-08-26T12:50:52 | null | 2014-05-05T10:52:00 |
Woodinville Weekly News
|
http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nwnews.com%2Findex.php%2Fsports%2F9572-ebay-bidding-on-supercross-helmet-approaches-5-000-to-benefit-woodinville-lacrosse.json
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EBay bidding on Supercross helmet approaches $5,000 - to benefit Woodinville Lacrosse
| null | null |
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EBay bidding on Supercross helmet approaches $5,000 — to benefit Woodinville Lacrosse 05 May 2014 10:52
Written by Derek Johnson
As the English proverb goes, necessity is the mother of invention. And when it comes to thinking outside the box, it's hard to beat what the Woodinville Lacrosse Club is doing right now on eBay. In an effort to supercharge fundraising, the WLC is auctioning an authentic race helmet from Supercross champion Ryan Villopoto. With three days remaining until the auction expires, the bidding has reached $4,950.
"Whatever the helmet raises, 100% of the proceeds will be given to Woodinville Lacrosse in support of our club’s future goals," Fundraising Director Brian Orton said.
The popularity of lacrosse has exploded in recent years, and the Woodinville Lacrosse Club was founded in 2010 in order to develop premiere youth programs in our city.
"Our club has grown so much, and been so successful, that we need to raise more funds in order to give our kids what we want to give them," Orton said. "Which is a program that delivers excellence. An excellent playing experience, excellent coaching, an excellent administration that supports the players, parents and teams."
After reviewing the budget, the club saw the need for a new source of funding — outside of traditional soliciting from members. That's when Orton challenged board members to think outside the box.
Suddenly, an idea struck him.
"I have the blessing of being an investment advisor to a sizeable affluent clientele, a host of whom are famous athletes," Orton said. "One of which is four-time Supercross champion Ryan Villlopoto. I took a leap of faith and asked Ryan if he’d not only contribute a helmet for our fundraising needs, but sign it, let us take pictures, and help me promote it too through his social networks. Without a pause, he said he’d be happy to. So we got one of his race helmets signed by him. We took pictures of it with Ryan at the race, and after the helmet was listed on Ebay, Ryan tweeted the auction to his 220,0000 followers. We timed the auction listing with Ryan’s clinching of his fourth Supercross championship. Immediately after Ryan tweeted the listing, the helmet started seeing bids, a bidding war took place, and today – halfway through the auction – we’re already at $4,950. The helmet has already raised more than I thought it would."
As of the evening of May 6, 50 bids have already been placed on the helmet. As is often the case, bidding on eBay can become feverish in the final hours before auctions expire. Here is the link to the listing: http://www.ebay.com/itm/Authentic-Race-Helmet-of-Supercross-Champ-RYAN-VILLOPOTO-He-Raced-in-this-/261467303331
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http://www.nwnews.com/index.php/sports/9572-ebay-bidding-on-supercross-helmet-approaches-5-000-to-benefit-woodinville-lacrosse
|
en
| 2014-05-05T00:00:00 |
www.nwnews.com/28ee994d3659989955dde7947760526b70f7db1b6e896e1d2a3ecde483607057.json
|
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en
| null |
Canada's Trudeau: "justice, however long it takes"
| null | null |
www.mindanews.com
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ZAMBOANGA CITY (MindaNews / 14 June) – Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau is holding the Abu Sayyaf “fully responsible for this cold-blooded and senseless murder” of kidnap victim Robert Hall, whose severed head was found in Jolo Monday night, and vowed to work “with the Philippine government and international partners” to pursue the perpetrators and “bring them to justice, however long it takes.”
“The vicious and brutal actions of the hostage-takers have led to a needless death,” Trudeau said.
Photos of the three foreigners abducted from a resort in Samal, Davao del Norte on Sept. 21. Courtesy of EastMinCom
Hall was executed by the Abu Sayyaf after the 3 p.m. Monday deadline for payment of ransom lapsed. His severed head was recovered near the Cathedral of the Lady of Mount Carmel in Jolo, Sulu Monday evening and was brought to the headquarters of the 2nd Marine Brigade.
Col. Custodio Parcon, 2nd Marine Brigade Commander, could not be reached but sources in the brigade told MindaNews that Hall’s head, wrapped in a bloody rice sack, was delivered to the camp by residents. A bystander at the vicinity where it was found said the sack was thrown from a motorcycle with riders in tandem, at past 8 in the evening.
Hall was reported to have been beheaded at the vicinity of Mount Bunga in Talipao town, a 45-minute drive from Jolo.
Hall was the second Canadian beheaded by the Abu Sayyaf in two months. On April 25, mining executive John Ridsdel, was executed, his severed head also thrown that evening by motorcycle-riding men towards a group of basketball players near the municipal hall.
Hall and Ridsdel were abducted along with Norwegian national Kjartan Sekkingstad, and Hall’s Filipina partner Maritess Flor, from a resort in the Island Garden City of Samal on September 21, 2015.
Justice, however long it takes
“We are more committed than ever to working with the Government of the Philippines and international partners to pursue those responsible for these heinous acts and bring them to justice, however long it takes,” Trudeau said.
On Monday morning, Abu Sayyaf spokesperson Muammar Askali, a.k.a. Abu Rami, sent a warning through local residents that if their 3 p.m. deadline for payment of P600 million peso ransom will not be met, they would behead the remaining three victims from Samal.
There have been no reports of execution of the two other victims.
Last week, on June 8, four Malaysian kidnap victims were released reportedly following the payment by the families of ransom money demanded at 150 million pesos. The negotiator led the victims to Lagasan, in Parang, Sulu, where a watercraft powered by a two-engine Volvo awaited, and sped off to the direction of Sabah. They arrived Sandakan at about 7 in the morning of June 9.
Pointless violence and terrorism
In a statement, ARMM Governor Mujiv Hataman expressed his “deepest condemnation against this act of pointless violence and terrorism.”
“This is not what Islam stands for, and we refuse to let this turn us against our fellow Filipinos – not at a time when Ramadan teaches us sympathy, compassion, and love,” he said.
“Those who tread the path of violence and claim to do it in the name of Islam are, without question, merely men of sin who distort a faith that stands for peace. They are not our people,” Hataman added.
Hataman explained that their “response to these attacks against our faith can be found in Islam itself: as Muslims we are taught that to kill one man means to kill all of humanity, and to save one man means to save all of humanity. It is then imperative for us work to together as Muslims in making sure that the criminals behind these acts of violence are made accountable to our people in the courts of law, and to save those who might fall into the hands of these men who do nothing but evil.” (Frencie Carreon / MindaNews)
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http://www.mindanews.com/top-stories/2016/06/canadas-trudeau-justice-however-long-it-takes/
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en
| 2015-09-22T00:00:00 |
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| null |
Pacquiao's new role
| null | null |
www.mindanews.com
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Pacquiao’s new role
Aug 26
Senator Emmanuel Pacquiao sits between Chief Insp. Arnold Ongachen (L) and PO1 Michael Grande (R) who were turned over by the New People’s Army Friday (August 2
Senator Emmanuel Pacquiao sits between Chief Insp. Arnold Ongachen (L) and PO1 Michael Grande (R) who were turned over by the New People’s Army Friday (August 2
0
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en
| 2016-08-27T00:00:00 |
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] | 2016-08-26T13:01:30 | null | 2016-06-24T16:09:32 | null |
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CDO Press Club asks Duterte to give justice to Ampatuan Massacre victims
| null | null |
www.mindanews.com
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CAGAYAN DE ORO CITY (MindaNews/24 June) — Members of the Cagayan de Oro Press Club on Thursday signed a manifesto urging incoming President Rodrigo Duterte and his Justice Secretary Vitaliano Aguirre to ensure justice for the victims of the Ampatuan Massacre.
COPC President Fr. Elmer Abacahin reminded Duterte that he was elected because he promised “a new beginning and a new change.”
“We remind Duterte to remain true to his campaign promise,” Abacahin said, noting that his predecessor, President Benigno Aquino III, did not fulfill the same promise.
He, however, said that relations between Duterte and the media have not been good in recent days.
He said the new President should understand the role of the press as the fourth estate.
“Duterte is mistaken to think he will win if he boycotts the media because we still will be there to bring the news stories to our readers, listeners and viewers. Journalists can never be cowed,” he said.
The manifesto signed by COPC members reads in part:
“We, the members and officers of the Cagayan de Oro Press Club, Inc., will not stand idly as our colleagues in the industry continue to be targeted for doing their jobs to promote transparency and accountability in the government.
“We expressed concerned of the recent pronouncements of Duterte regarding the extrajudicial killing. The accused deserved to be given due process while justice should be dispensed speedily.”
In a meeting with the local chapter of the Kapisanan ng Brodkasters ng Pilipinas a week ago, COPC officers discussed prospects for the media under Duterte.
They invited former COPC president Reuben Canoy to give some insights.
Canoy urged local journalist to give Duterte a chance to work on his campaign promise but at the same time remain vigilant against any excesses.
“Power is always a temptation. The late President Ferdinand Marcos had that power and he abused it. I hope Duterte will not follow in his steps,” he said.
Like Duterte, Canoy, a former city mayor of Cagayan de Oro and member of the Marcos-era parliament, is an advocate of federalism.
On Nov. 23, 2009, fifty-eight people, 32 of them media workers, were killed in Ampatuan town in Maguindanao in what is considered the worst political violence in the country’s recent history.
Prominent members of the powerful Ampatuan family are the alleged masterminds of the bloodbath. (Froilan Gallardo/MindaNews)
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| 2016-06-24T00:00:00 |
www.mindanews.com/2ee07978651eb8f77c56dfc82d6535df976c483828f490d77a55f99adfef1ecd.json
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[
"Antonio L. Colina Iv",
"Eric S.B. Libre",
"Luis G. Jalandoni",
"Silvestre H. Bello Iii",
"Jose Maria Sison",
"Karl M. Gaspar Cssr"
] | 2016-08-26T13:07:31 | null | 2016-05-11T15:55:23 | null |
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Duterte to propose constitutional convention in next 2 years to pave way for federalism
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DAVAO CITY (MindaNews / 11 May) – Incoming president Rodrigo R. Duterte is proposing to Congress amend the 1987 Philippine constitution by starting within the next two years the process that will pave the way for a parliamentary federal form of government from a unitary type.
Peter T. Laviña, in a press conference at the Royal Mandaya Hotel here Tuesday, said that this is part of the three-point agenda which the presumptive president would push under his administration.
The other two – battling drugs and criminality and forging of peace agreements with rebel groups.
He said that they will ask Congress to call for a constitutional convention to start with the drafting of a new constitution.
Laviña said that they expect members will be convened by early next year so they can start with the draft and hold national consultation with stakeholders, including Filipinos abroad.
“That will require a wide national consensus beginning with the asking of Congress to call for a constitutional conventional electing our delegates in a democratic way. We will undergo a national study of these proposals,” he said.
Once prepared and approved, Laviña said they will present the proposal to the Filipino people to be voted upon through plebiscite, which is being initially planned either earlier than or simultaneous with the 2019 midterm elections.
He said if things get going in the first few months of the Duterte administration, then plebiscite could be held simultaneously with the Sangguniang Kabataan elections in October 2016. “But of course we have to deal with the new Congress,” he added.
Laviña said that Duterte made it a point that his immediate acts as incoming president would be to ask Congress to pass a law calling for a constitutional convention to start the process by electing the new framers of the constitution.
If push comes to shove, he said only then that new regional states will be set up and ready from 2019 to 2022, the last three years of the Duterte administration.
“The first elections for the federal officials will be 2022. It is a wrong notion that the president will become the president of a new federal government. He will only preside towards that transition, the federal state as well as the regional states by 2022,” he said.
During the constitutional convention deliberations, Laviña added they expect that review on the country’s economic provisions and its foreign relations will also be taken up.
He said the Duterte administration will give “primacy” in crafting new policies for overseas Filipino workers, which he said will create a major shift in the country’s foreign policy.
Although pushing for a federal system, Duterte said that he will respect the Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro (CAB) and the Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro (FAB) signed between the government of the Philippines and the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF).
National unity
Duterte has offered his “hands of friendship” and called for a national unity with rivals, Laviña said, to counter the most pressing problems like drugs, criminality, and corruption.
He mentioned about fighting against external threats that have been rumored to be massing in the Southern Philippines who are advocating for violent extremism.
“We are being threatened by China over West Philippine sea – islet grabbing – there are existing global problems like global warming, human trafficking, properties, and monopolies of big countries over trade relation,” he said.
Duterte’s third agenda, Laviña said, will be forging of peace agreements and establish political settlements with the rebel forces in the country.
He said armed conflicts have to be stopped in order to build peace in the country.
“We need to end the internal conflict that has been attempted to be solved by the past administrations,” he said.
He added that this is Duterte’s “golden opportunity” since the presumptive president is close to the communist rebels but he was quick to clarify that the incoming president is not a member of any communist group.
“The mayor is not close [to the communist group] in a sense that he is a member of the communist party or bring them all to the government or convert the country into a communist state,” Laviña stressed.
The 71-year-old Davao City patriarch will take his oath as 16th president of the Philippines at noon of June 30.
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en
| 2016-05-11T00:00:00 |
www.mindanews.com/774e896b73f51084490992db05f31005985a1f7cf2c7680bd09b79fae047500d.json
|
[
"Carolyn O. Arguillas",
"Eric S.B. Libre",
"Luis G. Jalandoni",
"Silvestre H. Bello Iii",
"Jose Maria Sison",
"Karl M. Gaspar Cssr",
"Aram Mara"
] | 2016-08-26T12:58:32 | null | 2016-08-02T06:20:17 | null |
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President to spend 10 days in Mindanao
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DAVAO CITY (MindaNews / 01 August) – The country’s 16th President and first Mindanawon to lead the nation will spend 10 days in Mindanao when he returns this week from Malacanang
“I’ll be spending about 10 days after tomorrow. I’m gonna fix the, firm (up) the structure sa Mindanao issue,” President Rodrigo Duterte said at the mass oath-taking of undersecretaries Monday afternoon in Malacanang, aired live on national television.
Since he took his oath as President on June 30, Duterte has been coming home for the weekends in this city where he served as mayor for 22 years.
“We will be going for the framework regarding the two factions,” he said, referring to the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) and the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) with whom government signed separate peace agreements.
Duterte was apparently referring to the convergence of the 2014 Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro (CAB) with the MILF and the 1996 Final Peace Agreement (FPA) with the MNLF, for the drafting of a more inclusive Bangsamoro law.
Under the Duterte peace roadmap, the 15-member all-Moro Bangsamoro Transition Commission (BTC) will be reconstituted to make the seven government nominees in the Commission “more inclusive.”
The BTC will be tasked to draft a “more inclusive” enabling law that will be filed with Congress” in lieu of the Bangsamoro Basic Law (BBL) that was not passed by the previous Congress, Presidential Adviser on the Peace Process Jesus Dureza said.
At the press conference that followed the oath-taking, Duterte he will stay for ten days here because “I have to fix the … Mindanao issue. Tingnan ko ‘yung framework. I have to travel to Cotabato to talk again to (the MILF) to hurry up. And I travel to Jolo to talk to Nur (MNLF founding chair Nur Misuari).”
In the latter part of his press conference, he said he is going to Mindanao “maybe day after tomorrow and start to look into the firming up of the framework and if I have the time, I’ll just fly to Jolo (to meet Misuari) and to Murad again to talk and I’ll just give them the firm commitments.”
Murad is MILF chair Al Haj Murad Ebrahim who is based in Camp Darapanan in Sultan Kudarat, Maguindanao, near Cotabato City.
Dureza met with Murad in Camp Darapanan last July 21 and both agreed that the formal resumption of the peace process will be during the meeting of GPH-MILF Implementing Team in Kuala Lumpur in early August.
The joint implementing team, composed of five representatives from the GPH and five from the MILF, is expected to discuss the peace roadmap in accordance with the CAB and in convergence with the MNLF’s FPA, and other sectors for what would be a broader, more inclusive Bangsamoro Peace roadmap, Dureza said.
As of August 1, no date has been set yet for the Kuala Lumpur meeting.
Dureza’s visit to the MILF camp came three days after Duterte approved the peace roadmap which provides that work on the new proposed Bangsamoro enabling law “will be done simultaneous with the moves to shift to a federal set-up, the latter expected to come later under the planned timeline.”
At the press conference in Malacanang last Monday, Misuari’s status as a fugitive was apparently mentioned by a reporter. Duterte replied “I’m talking to Sison, he’s a fugitive.” Sison is Jose Ma. Sison, founding chair of the Communist Party of the Philippines and chief political consultant of the National Democratic Front (NDF).
He said Misuari and Sison “are waging rebellions…. ideology-driven” and that their “redeeming factor” is “you rebel because you want a better set-up or a better life for the people.”
“But all of these guys will have my… I’ll consider an amnesty kung magkausap tayo at (if we talk and) we can agree to a peaceful co-existence. I will accommodate them,” Duterte said.
He said he asked the military and the police “you might want to consider just for a day makalabas lang sila” (that they be given a pass).
He plans to tell Misuari, “Nur, once the talk starts, I’ll give everybody a safe conduct pass.”
Duterte said he told the military and police: “you will just have to navigate the way as it (has) been done, in a process of negotiation everywhere. When you talk to the rebels, you have to give them a safe conduct pass or at least a sense of security to face you and talk about what’s bugging the country.”
But Duterte’s peace adviser, Dureza told Malacanang reporters on July 19, a day after the peace roadmap was approved, that the Duterte administration will officially deal with Misuari only when the effects of the warrants of arrest he is facing are suspended.
Dureza, however, emphasized that their communication lines with Misuari are open, and that in fact, Duterte phoned his friend Misuari the night before.
Warrants of arrest had been issued against Misuari and 59 others for rebellion and violation of Republic Act 9851 or the Philippine Act on Crimes Against International Humanitarian Law, Genocide and other Crimes against Humanity following the September 2013 stand-off in Zamboanga City between his followers and government troops that left 104 persons dead, 192 injured and 110,000 of its 807,000 population displaced. (Carolyn O. Arguillas / MindaNews)
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en
| 2016-08-02T00:00:00 |
www.mindanews.com/a3e8eae54a07f7c94666b774a000628a20109315866dcb87562048c60c3af828.json
|
[
"Carolyn O. Arguillas",
"Eric S.B. Libre",
"Luis G. Jalandoni",
"Silvestre H. Bello Iii",
"Jose Maria Sison",
"Karl M. Gaspar Cssr"
] | 2016-08-26T12:52:46 | null | 2016-07-22T00:00:00 | null |
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GPH-MILF Implementing Team to meet in KL in early August
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CAMP DARAPANAN, Sultan Kudarat, Maguindanao (MindaNews /21 July) — The government (GPH) and Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) will formally resume the Bangsamoro peace process with a meeting of the 10-member GPH-MILF Implementing Team in Kuala Lumpur in early August, Presidential Adviser on the Peace Process Jesus Dureza and MILF chair Al Haj Murad Ebrahim said.
The joint implementing team, composed of five representatives from the GPH and five from the MILF, is expected to discuss their joint peace roadmap in accordance with the 2014 Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro (CAB) and in convergence with the 1996 Final Peace Agreement (FPA) between government and the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), and other sectors for what would be a broader, more inclusive Bangsamoro Peace roadmap.
Dureza’s visit to the MILF camp came three days after President Rodrigo Duterte approved the peace roadmap he presented in a meeting in Malacanang which provides that work on the new proposed Bangsamoro enabling law “will be done simultaneous with the moves to shift to a federal set-up, the latter expected to come later under the planned timeline.”
The 15-member MILF-led Bangsamoro Transition Commission (BTC), composed of eight members nominated by the MILF and seven nominated by the government, will be reconstituted and will be tasked to draft a “more inclusive” enabling law that will be filed with Congress” in lieu of the Bangsamoro Basic Law (BBL) that was not passed by the previous Congress.
The new draft envisions the “consolidation and/or convergence” of the various peace agreements already entered into – the CAB, the FPA, “including relevant provisions” of RA 9054 or the law governing the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) and the Indigenous People’s Rights Acts (IPRA).”
Going KL?
Responding to a query on attendance in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, Dureza told MindaNews Thursday afternoon that he would invite Senator Aquilino Pimentel III and House Speaker Pantaleon Alvarez Jr., to also grace the formal resumption in Kuala Lumpur.
Dureza, Pimentel and Alvarez are attending the opening of the first round of formal peace talks with the National Democratic Front (NDF) on August 20 in Oslo, Norway.
Malaysia has been facilitating the talks since 2001 while Norway is facilitating the GPH-NDF peace process.
Dureza flew to this town early Thursday morning for a breakfast meeting with Murad and the MILF Central Committee at the conference room of the MILF Central Committee Convention Hall but the two later moved to the office of Murad across the hall, with Undersecretary Diosita Andot of the Office of the Presidential Adviser on the Peace Process (OPAPP) and lawyer Abdul Dataya of the MILF’s Ad Hoc Joint Action Group (AHJAG).
After their private conversations, Dureza and Murad returned to the conference room where they sat again across the table with members of the MILF Central Committee and Dureza’s delegation, and responded to reporters’ queries.
GPH-MILF Implementing Team
Dureza said the government will constitute its team “to counterpart the MILF team and we will schedule a formal big event for the so-called resumption (of the peace process).”
The government side in the Implementing Team will be led by Undersecretary Andot, Dureza told MindaNews Thursday afternoon.
Dureza suggested to Murad that they resume ahead of the GPH-NDF talks. He proposed “first or second week” of August. Murad agreed.
He said the formal resumption will be in Kuala Lumpur because “we would like to give credit to Malaysia. Mag-schedule tayo ceremonial mag resume doon, that’s already our expression of appreciation.”
Asked how many will compose the implementing team, Dureza said Murad has five so the government will also have five.
Murad said he hopes they have five each “kasi ayaw naming ma displace yung iba na nandoon na” (we do not want to displace those who are already there.”
The two parties negotiated for 17 years, from 1997 until the signing of the CAB on March 27, 2014. The implementation phase started shortly thereafter but was bogged down by the non-passage of the BBL.
As agreed upon by the two parties, the BBL’s passage was supposed to have paved the way for the creation of a new autonomous political entity that would replace the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM).
BTC expansion
Dureza also said he planned to raise the membership of the BTC from 15 to 21 but he and Murad agreed to leave this decision to the implementing team. Whatever the number will be, the MILF will still be the majority, they said.
Asked when the Executive Order on the reconstituted BTC will come out, Dureza said “wala pa” (none yet) but added, “we have to compose as soon as possible already.”
The government and MILF will submit to President Duterte a list of their respective nominees to the BTC.
Dureza said the seven nominees of government will include representatives from MNLF, ARMM, “maybe the Sultanates, maybe the IPs there.”
He explained that the peace roadmap “really talks convergence of all groups already and … after they converge they will be the one to determine what is the road to take by the Bangsamoro, not for other people but the Bangsamoro itself. That’s the concept of self-determination. Sila na ang mag-decide”
Federalism
Dureza also explained the Bangsamoro and federalism tracks.
“I have already stated very clearly. Yung Bangsamoro federal set-up is uniquely Bangsamoro eh. It cannot be the same with the other federal states,” hes aid.
He explained that this is the reason why they hope the pending issues on constitutionality be resolved so that the parties can proceed accordingtly.
He cited the cases filed against the CAB and the 2012 Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro (FAB) also between government and the MILF.
He said he hopes the issues of constitutionality would be resolved by the Supreme Court. “If we can clear it (as) early as possible, the road is cleared already for us,’ Dureza said.
If there is no ruling yet and there are constitutional issues raised while working on the enabling law, Dureza proposed that these provisions be “parked” first “para i-install natin yang uniquely Bangsamoro concept where we amend the Constitution para it will be compliant.”
“Dapat nga sabi ko i-adjust natin ang federal concept na Bangsamoro-compliant so mauna talaga na i-approve muna ang (enabling law),” Dureza said.
He explained they are not using “BBL” anymore because what would be drafted would be a new Bangsamoro enabling law.
He said once this is passed, the governance unit — the Bangsamoro – “will serve as a test bed for the federal set up later on.”
The Bangsamoro “can be a pilot” for federalism “and we would like to see this really succeed” so other groups can say “pwede pala” (it can be done), Dureza said. (Carolyn O. Arguillas / MindaNews)
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| 2016-07-22T00:00:00 |
www.mindanews.com/91c4367bfa878a2fb984f60b9b9a1ad45daeebbd71564f0ec4a738ba58014a5b.json
|
[
"Silvestre H. Bello Iii",
"Eric S.B. Libre",
"Walter I. Balane",
"William R. Adan",
"Karl M. Gaspar Cssr"
] | 2016-08-29T08:51:51 | null | 2016-08-29T15:52:52 | null |
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COMMENTARY: Déjà vu: A Solution to the Philippines’ Looming Power Supply Crisis
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By Robert Bagatsing
The Philippines has achieved impressive economic growth numbers in recent years, and has further reinforced its status as one of the major economies of Asia. Now, the country finds itself amidst a power crisis that may portend a pronounced economic slowdown.
In spite of the slow global economic growth, the Philippines remained a strong economic performer in Southeast Asia. A recent World Bank communiqué substantiates this when it reported that the Philippines’ near-term economic growth was likely to remain strong, and was projected to accelerate to 6.4 per cent in 2016, before slightly tempering to 6.2 per cent in 2017.
Despite the positive economic outlook, there is a persistent power shortage being experienced in key industrial and commercial areas in the Philippines threatening to fade the lights on this promising growth story. The power supply shortage is most pronounced during peak summer months, when hydropower is reduced from the seasonal dry spell, and when a random shutdown of a power plant on the grid can initiate a disastrous widespread power outage. Yes, the Philippines is still grappling with rolling power outages similar to what bedeviled the country in the 1990s.
The Philippines has an enormous energy potential to free itself from the shackles of the power supply conundrum, given its notable geothermal energy capacity, if not for a slew of transmission and distribution limitations, inadequacy in domestic energy production and a challenging geography. Other aggravating factors include the country’s observed dependence on imported fuel, non-subsidy of fuel on the part of the government, high electricity tariffs, and ageing existing power infrastructure.
While the Philippines has managed to continually achieve impressive economic growth rates in the face of its power supply challenges, the need for a resolution is growing ever more urgent. The country’s economic expansion, among other factors, has prompted a spike in its requirement for electricity, and now the Philippines’ electric power systems are struggling to keep up. The onus is now on its leadership and on key power industry stakeholders to prevent a power crisis that can negate the economic successes that the country has achieved in recent years.
A turning point
Industry and economic experts opine that the power supply shortage in the Philippines is part of a decades-old chronic insufficiency in the country’s power sector. They point to the country’s mothballing of its sole nuclear plant in 1986 as a vital reason why the Philippines is still struggling to satiate its national electricity demand. Because no new capacity was introduced to the country’s power network, what ensued were sustained day-long power outages that fended off foreign investment, suppressed the growth of various heavy industries and stalled the country’s economy. The incoming government of President Ramos (1992-1998) resolved the power challenge through emergency powers granted by the 1991 Energy Crisis Act to conclude contracts for new power generation. The country was, then, afforded some breathing room.
Now, 18 years on, the Philippines has come full circle and is again confronting a potentially debilitating power crisis.
What is being done?
One of the country’s foremost, albeit stop-gap, response to the power supply shortage is the “Interruptible Load Program”, which entails large establishments, such as shopping malls, office buildings and factories, to voluntarily switch their power source from the main grid to their proprietary generators when a shortage is impending. It is a program established by the Department of Energy and the Energy Regulatory Commission to help ease the energy supply deficiency in the country until new capacities are introduced to the grid. As of press time, even as details of compensation are yet to be finalized, a number of large firms have already pledged their participation.
There has also been an interest on the part of the government to review, revise and reinforce the Electric Power Industry Reform Act (EPIRA) of 2001, which mandated the privatization of state-owned power enterprises in the hope of encouraging the availability of affordable electricity and fair market competition. The government intends to amend the EPIRA to allow it to intervene in the power sector as need be. For instance, the government proposes to have its own power generation facilities so that it is able to instantly fill in the power shortfalls. Nevertheless, the project still remains to be cost-prohibitive.
The country’s energy department estimates that, with the current economic trajectory, the Philippines’ power demand will balloon to approximately 29,500 MW in 2030. The country’s power generation capacity in the same year, however, is only predicted to be at 26,500 MW – 3,500 MW short of the requirement. Here’s the caveat: In order to bridge the power supply gap, the Philippines reportedly needs USD 46 billion to set up modern power generation facilities in the country. The government is thus taking a proactive stance to woo power investors to invest in the country and help increase its generation capacity.
Not helping this effort, however, is the country’s observed excessive bureaucracy and adherence to official rules and formalities. The energy department itself estimates that it takes approximately 165 signatures and a minimum of three years only to secure the necessary permits for a permanent power plant project. Further delays may ensue in case of an eventual judicial dispute. Other processes like finalizing financial concerns, signing off project designs, sourcing equipment and materials, securing allied service providers, let alone constructing the permanent power plant also take a considerable amount of time. Thus, many foreign power companies have expressed dismay over the situation, saying that the requirements have been a deterrent to enter a market demanding a sizeable initial outlay and a commitment of at least 20 years.
There is no better time
There is no better time for the Philippines to resolve its power challenges than now. The country cannot afford to invalidate its economic achievements of recent years by risking going through a similar power crisis that reined in its economic and industrial growth. If the country wishes to go on living its Cinderella story, the Philippines should do what it can to erase serious concerns about its economic and social sustainability.
While permanent power solutions require a substantial capital outlay, temporary power technologies do not involve capital expenditure. In fact, the government, power utility providers and other interested industry holders can pay for the rented electricity from their operating incomes. Temporary power solutions may represent a short-term restorative measure, but when employed in crucial times like this, they can be the difference between a calamitous economic collapse and a momentous economic feat.
While the government is revisiting the EPIRA, and while concerned agencies are working to streamline their regulatory processes, the Philippines can readily benefit from the temporary power solutions, which can be swiftly delivered to the Philippines and installed and powered on in as little as days. Contrary to permanent power plants that require long lead times to be completed, rental power plants can immediately supply electricity as soon as the equipment arrive at site owing to its inherent ease of installation and grid connection.
Though recent governments have made great strides in the resolution of the power crisis, there are more to be done to ensure that the Philippines’ power-generation facilities are adequate to cope with the country’s increasing demand for electricity. Until the government and the relevant industry stakeholders encounter an appropriate solution to the persistent power supply challenges, the Filipino will continue to struggle with what has notoriously become a staple of life in the Philippines.
(MindaViews is the opinion section of MindaNews. Robert Bagatsing is the founder of Lincoln Martin Strategic Marketing and GineersNow, a social enterprise based in Dubai. A graduate of San Beda with further study at Harvard Business School, he currently heads the marketing at Altaaqa Global – Caterpillar, and a consultant to Zahid Group.)
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| 2016-08-29T00:00:00 |
www.mindanews.com/472a22088ef33f5670450b69f3139325aa32906b9af14174f179d34c5976da17.json
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