MEDiA/MiSC: Thoughts on the Christchurch shootings.

An infamous image: Australian Brenton Tarrant turns his cam on himself, during his murderous live-streamed rampage.

Yesterday, whilst reading online about the recent Christchurch mosque shootings, I watched two clips from the shooter’s infamous livestream footage.

The first was an approximately 5-6 minute segment in which he – Australian Brenton Tarrant – drives to the location of the first of his two attacks, a Mosque in Christchurch, NZ. This first video clip contained no graphic violence. I saw it on a British online mainstream news website (I forget which network it was).

Like so much POV media one can see these days – and there’s a lot of it online, from extreme sports stuff to the body-cams of cops or soldiers in shoot outs or combat – the initial impression is one of everyday banality; man in car drives around, talking to himself/his assumed audience.

Interestingly, what this live-stream ‘selfie’ video culture does, is make real a narcissistic fantasy we all share, to differing degrees, re the interest (or lack thereof) others might take in our ‘private’ lives.

Here, however, beyond the immediate everyday banality, there are a number of worrying things to be seen and heard: the ‘first person’ view reveals the driver is wearing combat gear; the passenger seat is strewn with firearms (the weapons themselves covered in weird white writing); something in one of the footwells flashes continuously[1]; the driver’s talking in a manner calculated to alarm anyone who isn’t a racist lunatic feeding on a diet of conspiracy theory bullshit; and a weirdly eclectic playlist of music – including the pop song Fire, a British military march and a Serbian song popularly known as ‘Remove Kebab’ – accompanies the whole bizarre scenario.

Less than a week after these shocking events, which occurred on March 15th, 2019, I spent about an hour or so reading a number of versions of much the same content, splashed across multiple online mainstream media outlets.

Frustrated at their uniformity and lack of detail, I decided to try digging a bit deeper. The result was that I found a longer version of Tarrant’s footage, which appeared to contain the entirety of his first attack. Most of the images in this post are screen grabs from this longer video.

Behind the wheel, some of Tarrant’s sizeable arsenal can be seen on the passenger seat.

The homicidal zealot exits his car, intent on killing. Note combat gloves.

One of the most horrifically iconic images from the livestream; approaching the Al Noor mosque, Tarrant prepares to open fire.

A chilling view, Tarrant hunts for further victims, in the mosque car park.

The location where I found what I think is the full livestream video (about 15 or so minutes?) – bestgore.com, an infamous shock site [2] that has subsequently closed – also featured a large number of user comments, mostly of an appalling sort that I won’t dignify with further attention.

What I will do, is say a few things about having seen this video, a video that most corporate sources, from governments to the media itself, quickly sought to suppress. More on this latter issue later.

One of the strangest and potentially alarming things, to my mind, and this probably reflects the saturation of media violence one is so inured to in Western culture, is that – and I guess this will surprise and upset some people who know me – I wasn’t really very shocked by the violence in itself. Why? Well, apart from the already mentioned jaded/overexposed aspect, it all resembles those very popular POV video game shoot-’em-ups.

I knew, or at least believed, that what I was witnessing was real [3]; appallingly so. But it doesn’t look any more real than countless scenes from films, or the action in many popular first-person shoot-em-up video games. Popular entertainment has revelled for so long now in much more overstated and gory violence, and to such an intense degree, that the real thing sometimes looks, ironically, ‘less than real’.

When there’s so much deliberately pornographic violence out there – from Tarantino movies to the endless quest for shock-horror baseness that underpins entire careers (Rob Zombie), and spawns such things as the Human Centipede franchise (leaching into popular culture to the extent that the latter is referenced in The Simpsons!) – in the mainstream media, the real thing, rather like a trip to Niagara Falls (which, unlike US style mass-shootings, is something I’ve experienced), winds up having less impact, even when it’s ‘real life’.

Much of the media I read before seeing the unexpurgated footage talked of ‘deeply disturbing’ footage of ‘men, women and children’ being shot. The quality of the video I saw was not HD, but blurred and grainy. And the helmet or head-cam POV makes it harder to see things clearly. Pretty much all the individuals I could make out, on first viewing, appeared to be adult males. [4]

There is one notably unfortunate woman, who crosses Tarrant’s path outside of the mosque. How he dispatches her is, perhaps somewhat strangely – given she is just the one person, whereas the men he kills are many – one of the more disturbing parts of the video. He shoots but doesn’t kill her. Leaving her wounded in the gutter, audibly crying out for help. A little later he appears to drive over her prone body. Is she dead yet? We don’t know. Clearly the callously sadistic Tarrant doesn’t care.

Tarrant pleads guilty to all charges via video-link to the court.

Aside from this lone female victim, one of the only moments that seemed less ‘abstract’ and video-game like is when someone inside the mosque makes a desperate attempt to run past Tarrant. In doing do their head/face pass very close to the headcam. This gives a momentary semblance of individuality and humanity to what otherwise appear as random undifferentiated bodies. It’s hard to see what happens, but I don’t think this brave but terrified individual escaped alive.

Amongst the tsunami of sickening verbal effluence posted in the comments at bestgore.com, one or two people posed a counter-view. I mention these comments again because I concur with one or two points some of the more sober commenters made about Tarrant: one concerns the obvious hypocrisy of a white male of Australian nationality perpetrating such a ‘race-war’ style crimes in another similarly colonised land, New Zealand.

Tarrant published a ‘manifesto’ (a cut n paste hodge-podge of racist right wing memes and conspiracy theories which I’ve read about, but not actually read) in which he seeks to explain/justify his actions. According to summaries of its contents it’s a familiar toxic mix of far-right white-supremacist nonsense (Great Replacement Theory type stuff). In it Tarrant describes muslims and immigrants as The Invaders.

Not having read his ‘manifesto’ I don’t know if he addresses the fact that, if you follow his own logic to it’s natural and inevitable conclusion, the Maoris of NZ and the Aborigines of Australia ought to be out en-masse, rampaging through the churches and shopping malls of those nations blowing the very real white colonial Invaders off ‘their land’.

So the first critical point has to do with Tarrant’s appallingly limited , indeed, moronic lack of understanding of human genetic diversity and movement around the globe.

The second has to do with his m.o. In the footage after the first massacre, he drives off at some speed, through the streets of Christchurch, presumably en route to his second killing spree, and says a few things.

One of the things he mentions is leaving unused ammo lying around. Another is, I think, not being as methodical and thorough in his slayings as he’d like (I think he may also mention something about the victims being mostly adult males).

In this latter reflection he refers to his totally one-sided murder-spree as a ‘firefight’. Clearly, in his poisoned mind, he’s in a battle. But, obviously, a firefight requires that your enemy is also armed, and firing back. A firing squad is not a firefight! Nor was Tarrant’s brutally one-sided butchery.

Mid-massacre, Tarrant returns to his car, to re-equip; this is what’s in his boot. The red fuel canisters were intended for use as petrol bombs.

Click here to view a video synopsis these events.

And this brings me to the core of what some of the less demented commenters on bestgore.com were concluding: Tarrant is clearly a dumb and deluded coward. Many men turn their frustrations on themselves and commit suicide. But some, like Tarrant, turn their anger cans frustration on the world.

From serial-killers to warmongers, such folk seek to displace the sense of threatened inadequacy they feel in themselves, by manufacturing a conspiracy they can go to war against.

And for Tarrant, as with disturbingly large numbers of extreme right-wing racists, this is a war that he seemingly happily feels can be waged by the armed against the unarmed. A ‘war’ that includes as legitimate targets not only the apparently ‘fair game’ of adult males, but also women and children.

His manifesto is where he allegedly sets out why this is so: Islam seeks to displace Christianity – I don’t know where his ‘facts’/figures come from (if he has any?), nor if they have any relation to reality or not – and ‘they’, the ‘Invaders’, aka Muslim immigrants, are outbreeding whites.

According to those who have read his bilious outpourings, Tarrant specifically justifies the killing of children in terms of a strictly utilitarian argument: kill as many as you can now, including children, so your own kids have less to kill further down the road. The cold logic of such ideas is, to me, as shocking as the acts it prepares the ‘believer’ for.

Whilst on the subject of belief, I once read a rather difficult book (difficult more for its stodgy academic style than it’s disturbing content) called Believe And Destroy, which aimed to examine how and why intelligent people willingly murdered fellow humans in pursuit of Hitler’s Nazi racial policies.

The author, a Spaniard named Ingrao, reasoned that Nazism worked like a religion, cultivating a sense of belonging, and also a sense of ‘faith’. Together these would prepare believers for the transition from ordinary law-abiding citizens into mass-murderers.

I’ve also read books claiming that the category or concept of ‘race’, as commonly understood, is a false one, in terms of ‘true’ scientific categories. Whatever the reality of this latter point may be, certainly Churchill put it very well when he described the alleged reasoning behind Nazism as ‘a perverted science.’

And here we get to the rub: for Tarrant his killing-spree is justified as being an attempt to actively coerce evolution in the direction of favouring his own supposed in-group, which he identifies in terms of race and religion, i.e. white Christian.

But, of the trio of Abrahamic religions born of Jewish decent, it’s only the founding branch that, as far as I know, holds to a specifically ethnic tribal/clan/blood view of belonging (God’s chosen people, etc.). Christianity and Islam are, in theory/by contrast, open to any and all (even Judaism has evolved to the extent that non-Jews can ‘convert’); as long as the faithful meet certain criteria – wide and varying, depending on the particular sect/brand of any given religion – then racial origin/identity is irrelevant.

Temel Atacocugus survived being shot nine times by Tarrant!

Sam Harris, in his book The End of Faith, makes a cogent and I feel very reasonable argument as to why people might reach a point of saying ‘this far but no further’ (or, more bluntly, ‘at this point we go to war’), over how one is free or otherwise to live. Harris’ vision pits a basically rational humanist one against the devout religious believer. And I share his basic views.

It’s kind of facile and, much worse, potentially very misleading, to observe that Harris and Tarrant share some aspects of thought process: an enemy is perceived, and a stand against that enemy is taken. Crucially and very significantly it’s where they part company, massively, in how those boundaries are negotiated, how differences might be resolved, and how such social visions are manifested in personal action, that shows the gulf between their outlooks.

Harris hopes that a secular culture can grow robust enough to collectively deal with such threats, whereas Tarrant seeks the ‘lone wolf’ path of the individual terrorist, of whatever race or creed.

What all these ideas begin to reveal are complex multifaceted problems: to those who admire Tarrant’s actions – a frighteningly larger number than many would wish to believe – he’s fighting fire with fire, and taking on a personal role/responsibility, something they believe liberals like Harris comfortably abnegate, instead delegating such action to others (law enforcement, the army, etc.).

And they argue further, that liberals and intellectuals and suchlike – known disparagingly these days as ‘woke’ or ‘snowflakes’ – are like the appeasers of Hitler, failing to see in the rise of fundamentalist Islam it’s real degree of intent and threat.

If you hear some of the talking heads interviewed in Richard Dawkins far too short and overly simplistic TV series The Root Of All Evil, you might well think, as I did at the time, uh-oh, there really is a danger of Islam seeking to overthrow ‘The West’. Certainly Islam, the adolescent to Christianity’s father figure, and Judaism’s grandfather figure, can oft-times appear the most juvenile and belligerent of the three branches of Abrahamic religious descent.

Scrawled all over spare ammo clips, white-supremacist Christian vs Muslim graffiti. Tarrant’s weapons and body armour were covered in such texts.

When I hear someone like the American ex-New Yorker convert to radical Islam (I don’t recall his name), in the aforementioned Root Of All Evil, ranting about ‘your women’ being ‘dressed as whores’, it is worrying. It ought to be merely sad, suggestive of, in his case, unresolved developmental and relationship issues.

It’s much the same problem we encounter in Tarrant: personal inadequacies are cloaked under a mantle of perceived societal threats. Strange fantasies evolve, allowing the individual to act aggressively in seeking to make the world conform to their damaged perceptions. Or, failing that, exacting revenge on a world they feel is letting them down.

It’s stating the obvious, I know; but tragedies like the Christchurch massacres just go to prove that, even if categories such as race or religious creed are perhaps redundant or fallacious, they remain potentially fraught and divisive ideas.

I often read things, for example I recently read Against Hate (Emcke), or before that the far superior Better Angels of Our Nature (Pinker), which appeal to reason as the way to resolve these problems. I hope fervently that this is how we proceed. But the pessimistic part of me does worry about where we’re currently headed…


NOTES:

NB: These include some stuff added much later than my original drafting and posting of this stuff, most of which was first written in the week after the events of 15th March, 2019.

If you’re interested in how the NZ government reacted to and dealt with the livestream footage that Tarrant put out, and which was viewed a lot online at the time – some of which I saw – and for some time after the events, read this.

It’s also worth knowing that people seeking to distribute the video in NZ have been jailed for their actions, under the legal codes to which the above link relates.

This still from Tarrant’s livestream video shows him firing through the front windscreen (whilst driving!).

[1] This turns out to be a strobe light weapon-fitting, used to disorientate ‘targets’, making them easier to dispatch.

[2] Hosted by Mark Marek, an Eastern European guy living in Canada, bestgore.com achieved worldwide notoriety when Luka Magnotta posted his home-made snuff movie ‘One lunatic, one ice-pick’ to the website.

[3] The bestgore.com posting of Tarrant’s livestream footage was littered with comments suggesting the video is faked. Most of these comments were, it was clear from the context, not worthy of the slightest attention. One or two, however, did make mention of a section in the film where Tarrant fire one of his guns through his own front windscreen, with – they allege – no discernible effect on the glass. On first viewing it did look that way. I must admit I did find that surprising and weird. But close study of the still above suggests one can see window damage, in the form of cracks. Tarrant also fires through his left passenger side window at one point, and the glass shatters, as you’d expect it to. The whole firing through the front windscreen bit makes me think that if he is indeed doing what he appears to be doing, then he presumably knew that he could do so. Me being a firearms dunce, having almost no experience with them, I would’ve assumed that one ought not fire in an enclosed space (ricochets, flying debris/shrapnel, etc.). Perhaps the weapon has such a high-velocity it can be fired through glass or whatever without significant deflection? And perhaps it’s simply that the video resolution is sufficiently poor it’s hard to see the holes the bullets make in the front windscreen? Anyway, as far as I’m aware, the overwhelming consensus is that Tarrant’s footage is, tragically, all too genuine.

Misc: Revoke Article 50 petition.

Right, first off, a  link to the petition so you can find it and sign it quicker than I did. Every piece I read online about it appears to omit this.

Teresa and I signed it this evening. The number of signatures when we signed stood at about 3.6 million. I’m encouraging everyone I know to sign it. Ok, so Europe and her institutions are far from perfect. But better to work from within, than outside.

Misc: Sunny O’Rollivan’s Comeback Rollercoaster

OSullivanTrump_Final

I’ve liked snooker since I were a nipper. I think partly ’cause dad would watch it occasionally. We even had tiny kiddie’s table for a while! But as an adult I haven’t  watched or followed it much at all.

Just recently, however, during an extended period of complete mental and physical exhaustion (probably caused by my medical conditions), I’ve been getting really into it. For one thing, there seems to be more tournaments on, and very rapidly, one after another.

I’ve  even taken to exploring archival matches on YouTube. But yesterday/last night there was a live treat, in the shape of a Judd Trump vs. Ronnie O’Sullivan quarter final, in Llandudno, Wales.

The series is part of one of many sponsored by a betting company (see my recent rant about the rising tide of betting).  The players, in their dark and Conservative garb, and like the arena itself, act as advertising hoardings for the sponsoring companies. I try my best to block out this this tidal wave of in your face  mind-manipulation. But whereas I can mute the TV ads in the breaks, I can’t ‘mute’ auch visual material – eye-pollution – from within the game.

Still, onto the real meat of this post: I’ve discovered that I, like many others I would imagine, am a great fan of snooker in the ‘Hurricane’ Higgins/’Rocket’ Ronnie mode. And consequently the Trump/O’Sullivan match promised much, both players being renowned for flair and speed.

I didn’t see all of the afternoon session, but I saw enough to know Trump had gotten a 4-1 lead. And this conformed in many respects to the new kid on the block formula, of the younger Trump usurping the elder king of the game. The commentators, including Stephen Hendry, clearly favouring the young lion over the senior silverback.

When I picked up the game again properly, Trump’s lead had grown to 8-5. With Trump needing just two, and Ronnie needing five, on the form they’d been showing thus far, Trump remained the strong favourite.

And then came a pair of very long tactical frames. I suppose these are an essential part of the game. But, as the commentators themselves concede, they don’t really make great televisual viewing. Hendry made me laugh heartily at one point, clamming up for a while, before wryly asking his co-commentator, in a long-delayed riposte to the question ‘have you taken a vow of silence?’ asked what his favourite kind of food was. Yep, this may have been a gripping match of wills for the players, but endless safety shots leave viewers at risk of losing interest.

After Trump won the single longest such duel, of something over 45 minutes, to take the lead once again, it looked to be all but over. But what’s this? O’Sullivan found his vintage and celebrated form, storming to victory in the next two frames with consecutive century table clearances.

Any true snooker addict, I would assume, and certainly this one, prefers a decent fight to a whitewash. And at nine-all, that’s what we were enjoying, no mistake. But, like a well directed film or play, the greatest excitement still lay in store.

The final frame was a real peach: first Trump did what he’d been doing all through the match, playing superbly, and establishing a strong 50-0 lead, looking every bit the winner. But then he missed a fairly ordinary red, and Ronnie leaped in.

Then, after a decent but not long or strong enough visit, it was Ronnie’s turn to fluff it.

As Phil Yates observed, by this time they must’ve been running on adrenaline and instinct, which was no doubt a strong element of what made the final set so volatile and exciting.

Trump had had many chances to put the frame and match to bed and, on the yellow, looked like he couldn’t fail to do so. But playing like his younger less mature self, he tried to power it in. Rattling in the jaws, it stayed out.

Yates couldn’t believe he hadnt just rolled it in. Nor could I. Yates’ co-commentator, David Hendon said that wasn’t Trump’s way. I know what he means; Trump is known for his brash flash potting. But there had already been many times in this match where he’d shown exemplary delicacy of touch, rolling in slow wafer-thin acutely angled pots, many much tougher than this match-winning yellow.

Where Trump needed just the yellow, Ronnie needed all the remaining colours. And he proceeded to coolly pot them, taking his time, showing the maturity that’s given his extraordinary talent that added longevity. The match had truly been, as Jill Douglas excitedly and accurately described it, ‘epic’, even in the truly Tolstoyan sense, with the two 40-45 minute plus frames.

And in the end it came down to the final ball of the final frame.

When O’Sullivan potted the black, I was ecstatic, clapping at the TV like a truly demented loony fan, grinning ear-to-ear. The crowd loved it, the pundits loved it. Ronnie, punching the air and beating his chest, clearly loved it. What a match! Sports at its best.

I’ve only just learned of the existence of Judd Trump, which shows how long I’ve not been following the game (when I last ‘followed’ it, via my dad, ‘Hurricane’ Higgins, whilst past his best, still looked human). I really like Trump, and against most opponents would’ve been rooting for him.

But Ronnie really is a legend, with some sort of dark powerful charisma. I hope he goes on to win the series. He’s recently threatened to quit the game altogether. I hope he doesn’t. But if he won this, reaching world no. one again, and then quit. That’d be, like this match, high and nigh-on fairytale drama.

Oh, and this post wouldn’t be complete without mention of that pink.

MUSiC: Joni Mitchell Discography, 1968-1980

In the wake of my post post yesterday, on the March 2019 Mojo feature on her, I’ve decided to start posting my album by album critical review of her discography.

I’m only planning to cover up until Mingus. From Wild Things Run Fast onwards, if I’m honest, she never attains the same heights and depths, for me at least. Or perhaps what I really mean is that the music only rarely connects with or moves me from that point on.

From her 1968 debut, Song To A Seagull, through to Hejira, in 1976 – in other words her first eight albums, recorded and released over eight years – her music is totally sublime, as far as I’m concerned. Or, to misquote Johnny Mercer, she’s just too fabulous for words. Still, I won’t let that stop me!

But I’m going to include the two live albums, and her last couple of jazzier studio releases, Don Juan and Mingus as well, giving a total of twelve recordings from what I regard as the ‘golden age’ of Joni.

This post is intended to act as an index to these discographical posts, once they’re all in place.

Joni Clouds
Clouds, 1969
Joni Ladies
Ladies Of The Canyon, 1970
Joni Blue
Blue, 1971
Joni Roses
For The Roses, 1972
Joni Court
Court And Spark, 1973
Joni Aisles
Miles of Aisles, 1974
Joni Hissing
The Hissing Of Summer Lawns, 1975
Joni Hejira
Hejira, 1976
Joni Don
Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter, 1977
Joni Mingus
Mingus, 1979
Joni Shadows
Shadows & Light, 1980

This post has sat in the drafts folder for aeons (I’m typing this in late Sept’, 2021!). But I’m re-inserting it back into the chronology of posts where it was first intended to be.

Book Review: The Alps, Jon Mathieu

The Alps

I have to confess I’m quite surprised at the positive reviews this book has been getting on Amazon UK. Yes it covers a lot of ground. But boy is it boring! Jon Mathieu clearly knows a lot about his subject. But, as he says himself, this book evolved from lecture notes delivered to his students. And it reads that way.

Here’s a typical sample, from chapter five, ‘Paths To The Nation state’, under the subsection heading ‘Trajectories of Regional Development’: ‘Power relations as they existed before the consolidation of territorial state institutions in the 16th century were a starting point for the respective paths of constitutional development.’ Heavy going.

I’ve read a good number of books over the years that deal, as this does, with the interaction between landscapes and humanity, one of the best of which is Britain Begins, by Barry Cunliffe (or at another level, Earth, by Simon Fortey [1]). The best of this sort of writing manages to be both simple and accessible whilst conveying complex ideas about multifaceted interacting subjects. I found this to be rather leaden, and whilst mention is made of all sorts of exciting moments in history, from Hannibal to Napoleon, it never manages to be exciting.

There aren’t enough images in this book either. The two maps at the start are good. But more, and better detailed, would’ve been helpful. Indeed, I think decent geological maps, and more on the geology/geography, etc, not to mention occasional political maps, would’ve been good. Mention is also made of numerous objects d’art, but images of these, which might’ve imparted a bit of interest and excitement, are notable by their absence [2]. And the scant few images there are simply confirm that more would’ve been better.

Personally I found this hard going, and when I encountered, as I did numerous times, aspects in which I have a prior interest and relatively limited knowledge, such as the Napoleonic era, in which the Alps play a significant part, this book added little or nothing of interest. Whilst in other areas, such as Hannibal’s crossing of the Alps, or the part they played in WWI, where Italy fought the Austrian-Hungarian Hapsburg empire, about which is like to know more, the coverage is too minimal and dull to do what better books so often achieve, and inspire further reading/interest.

One of the few things I found interesting in the book is how in recent times a transnational European position on The Alps has been growing. One of the best things this has meant is that the Alps have ‘never been as peaceful … as they are today’. Mathieu attributes this to ‘the European unification movement’. And to my mind Brexit (never mind Trump and his wall) seems a retrograde development that threatens this trend toward internationalism, understanding and cooperation.

For me this was a missed opportunity. Overly academic in tone, and touching on many exciting and interesting subjects, and yet never really managing to scale the heights of exciting, or even climb the foothills of merely interesting. Disappointing.

I found the above video, on YouTube. Being short, succinct, and illustrated with imagery throughout, I enjoyed it much more than the book.


NOTES:

[1] Admittedly the scope of these other books is bigger, especially Fortey’s Earth, in which humanity is a tiny part. But the basic underlying point is that these books are accessible, enjoyable, exciting, even inspiring. Turgid academic prose they not.

[2] One might’ve expected to hear mention of Caspar David Friedrich, and preferably see at least one of his paintings reproduced. There is a painting very like his work, showing the Slovenian Alpine peak of Triglav, by Markus Perhard.

Book Review: Against Hate, Carolin Emcke

Against Hate

‘As a homosexual and an intellectual, I belong to two … social groups that are particularly hated’ says Carolin Emcke, in her book Against Hatred. Originally published in 2016 in her native Germany, this recent English translation reads like an academic presentation, or PhD paper. That’s a pity.

Quoting people like Hannah Arendt and Jacques Derrida might go down well in certain intellectual/academic circles – folk like that were bread and butter for the staff/syllabus at Goldsmiths when I was there – but almost certainly won’t reach beyond people who, like me, largely share Emcke’s ideals already. So she’s really preaching to the converted.

Even though his books tend to be enormous and time consuming, I prefer Stephen Pinker’s approach, which is closer to the Dawkins/Dennett axis of scientific methodology. As a result Pinker’s perhaps/probably more likely to reach a wider audience, his reference points being less left-wing-Euro-cultural, i.e. more Charles Darwin than Jean Paul Sartre.

Better Angels
Read this instead.

The back cover blurb mentions such things as passion, lucidity, brevity and precision. Well, I’m afraid it was only really the passion I could find. The text varies from occasionally straightforward to sometimes headache-inducingly convoluted (most especially so when quoting postmodernist thinkers), which does the very valid and timely underlying arguments no favours.

Emcke wants a pluralist, democratic, secular society. So do I. But not everybody else does, clearly! And it’s these people, and the ‘mechanisms’ that give rise to their feelings and actions that she’s ostensibly scrutinising and discussing. Brexit and Trump happened just after she first published the book, and are mentioned in the book’s Postscript as worrying symptoms of collective atavistic regression. Again, agreed.

Carolin Emcke
Carolin Emcke

But, and here there’s a strange irony, if any lessons from history both confirm and yet contradict Emcke’s hopes, beliefs and desires, it’s Nazi Germany. On the one hand Nazism (and similar irruptions around the world) proves that über-hatred carries within it the seeds of its own destruction. But on the other we had to fight fire with fire. It was the Hawks of the East and West who defeated Hitler, not the academic/intellectual Doves, who all too often wound up in jail, gulags or the gas chamber.

During WWII there came a point when lines were crossed by all parties, haters and the hated, even the bystanders, and – even though we can argue that the progressive powers of democracy (well, that holds to some degree for the Western powers, but certainly not Stalin’s Russia!) beat the retrogressive powers of fascism – pluralism failed to cope with or contain less tolerant ideologies.

It’s a tough subject, and whilst I agree with much of what Emcke says, the content, I was disappointed by the delivery, or form. I wouldn’t recommend this, to be honest. Instead set aside a bit more time and read Pinker’s Better Angels.

Book Review: The Escape Line, Megan Koreman

Escape Line

This lies just outside the scope of my mini-military hobby blog, I guess, so I thought I’d post a review here.

The Escape Line is an excellent book, telling the exciting story of ‘Dutch-Paris’, a clandestine group/line that ran from The Netherlands through Belgium and France to Switzerland and Spain, both sheltering and helping to escape Jews, downed Allied airmen, and others, such as young men fleeing conscription into German forced labour.

Johann or Jean Weidner (he chose to use the more French form of his name, being based in France) was a Seventh Day Adventist and textiles merchant who, along with his wife and an ever growing number of others, found himself drawn into a shady underworld, ostensibly at odds with his former standing as an upright law-abiding citizen, in order to help others and live in accordance with his own inner moral compass.

This well-written and researched book shines a light into this murky netherworld of underground but pacific resistance, which itself occurred during dark times. Finding funds, going on the lam, forging documents, crossing borders. There’s lot derring-do! Plenty of contemporary pictures and some useful maps help keep the whole thing both vivid and comprehensible. It’s very much a tale of ordinary people doing extraordinary things in extraordinary times.

A compelling page turner, set in Nazi-occupied Western Europe, the network and its stories spread their tentacles outwards from Weidner’s initial base in Lyons, France, to Switzerland and Spain, and up into Belgium and Holland. With characters such as couriers or hosts for fugitives ranging from young secretaries and mothers to elderly widows, and civilian passeurs, from French and Dutch clergy and businessmen to downed Allied airmen, Maquis resistance, Milice collaborators, the SS, SD, Gestapo and so on, it’s a very colourful cast.

It’s very interesting in respect of civil disobedience, and the potential conflict between individual conscience and the laws of the state. As Koreman says many times, most people during WWII in the occupied territories would rather look at the floor, so to speak, and try to just get through such troubled times without risking themselves.

In hindsight things at the tine of WWII can look simpler and more clear cut, in respect of an issue such as the persecution of Jews. But how can we apply such lessons as this story might impart for our own times? I have friends who are very active in helping refugees in the U.K. I have to confess I feel very conflicted about such issues as they are in the present.

I’ve got a huge stack of books to review, and was worried I’d find this a chore. But far from it. I was, rather appropriately, captivated, and felt compelled to continue. Indeed, it was hard to put down. I won’t go into any more detail here. Better that you read the book yourself.

HOME/DiY: Backdoor kitchen curtain rail

It’s been a while since I posted here. Having got back into making regular posts on my mini-military blog and not having done too much in the home or garden beyond bits of maintenance tidying.

Yesterday I finally installed the first of the four or so fire-alarms we’ve had for some time now, in the guest/airbnb room. One down, three to go!

I’ve also had to prop up a couple of sections of fence, which are busted and sagging under the weight of some ivy. Didn’t want Storm Freya knocking them down! We need to do lots of work on our fence, as it’s very old and dilapidated. About 8-12 panels have either fallen down or are just about to. Some of these have subsequently been burned or dumped, leaving gaps.

Back door curtain rail Pine brackets for the curtain rail.

But another job has left Teresa breathing down my neck! She made a green velvet curtain for our back/kitchen door, a little while back, and has been on to me ever since about getting it up (fnarrr, fnarrr!).

Back door curtain rail Screw holes drilled all the way through.
Back door curtain rail I didn’t have a long enough bit for the top holes…

Starting a few days ago, I began work on some DIY wooden curtain support brackets, to my own design. Cutting the wood for these gave me the chance to use my recently acquired Kity 613 bandsaw for the first time.

She’s a good gal! But I need some new/finer blades. I only got one with the machine – a wide low tooth count one, best suited for deep/straight cutting – which I bought via Gumtree. I travelled up to Lincoln to buy the Kity, paying £300 (I managed to haggle the seller down from £400!). I had to take out the passenger seat in my little MX5 to fit the bandsaw in. Didn’t know if it’d work (transportation, that is)till I got there. But it did. Phew!

Just typing this as I take a tea-break, before drilling holes in my brackets, so as to mount them ‘pon de wall. I was going to buy a couple more blades for the Kity today, from Bedford Saw & Tool Co. But they make the blades to order, and didn’t have any in stock. They’re ordered now, at any rate. Just a question if collecting them when they let me know they’re ready.

I was able to drill the lower holes all the way through on my bench-top drill press. But the upper ones required drilling from both sides. I managed to get the first one perfectly aligned. But the second was ever so slightly off, and had to be drilled twice. But they both worked out fine when it came to installation.

Back door curtain rail Drilling locating holes for rawl-plugs and screws.
Back door curtain rail And she’s up!
Back door curtain rail Another angle.

Not having a narrow high tooth count blade on my Kity as yet, suitable for cutting tight curves, I had to break out the little old 10″ (chortle) bandsaw. That does have such a blade currently installed, allowing me to cut the curves on that. It struggled. But I cut near to the pencil line, and then used rasps and sandpaper to get a nicer smoother finish. I’m happy with the result.

I was considering a little bit of router-work ornamentation on the brackets. That’d give me a chance to try out my new router, which I’ve not actually used yet. But for some reason I’m a bit wary of doing so. Hmm!?

Back door curtain rail With the curtain in place.
Back door curtain rail From the lounge.

After another break I finally got it all in place, and the curtain up. I have to confess I was a little bit disappointed. I think that’s partly ’cause it should be painted gloss white. I might also plug the screw holes. I’m not going to bother routing any ornamentation on them, however. I might do so at some future point, or next time I make something similar.

Another thing is that Teresa hadn’t quite got the hang of consistent curtain manufacture yet. Sometimes the curtains are wide enough, i.e. contain enough material to have the right amount of ‘gather’, and look right. This curtain’s not really got quite enough material, width-wise.

The other more noticeable issue, with Teresa’s coitans: floppy tops! She’s taken to adding a strips of reinforcing material along the top edge, which is meant to stop this happening. And she’s done so here. But it’s still as limp as a drunken monk. I think she may need to locate the strip that the curtain hooks go through a bit higher as well?

So, there’s more to be done. I need to paint the brackets and the pole. And Teresa needs to do something about her floppy top.

Oh, and then there’s the small matter of inheriting a kitchen not to our tastes. I don’t like the style of it at all. I’ve already repainted the walls and some of the woodwork. I intend to gut the room entirely and rebuild all the cabinets, install a butler sink (which we already have), and so on… when time, funds and materials allow.

But for now, small modest changes.

Sounding Off: The Rising Tide of Gambling

Does anybody else feel, as I do, that the steadily rising tide of gambling in the U.K. is a disturbing thing? I don’t know the facts on gambling itself, but the amount of ads in the media, most especially noticeably on TV, seem very obviously to be on the increase.

Like formation dancing, all-smiling multiracial couples/families*, and sickeningly smug car adverts, there’s an increasing ubiquity of a whole plethora of gambling: bingo, sports betting and, most worryingly of all to me, the ‘raising money for worthy causes’ lotteries.

When the National Lottery was introduced, many moons ago, someone called it, I think rather astutely, a ‘tax on hope’. Speaking of taxes, isn’t that the way we ought to be addressing worthy causes? But with the Conservative government slowly dismembering and privatising the welfare state, we’re blithely heading the opposite way.

Hmmm? Brexit is a worrying mess, and with gambling on the rise, it seems to signal to me that we are living in a reckless world of fantasy. Where are we headed!?

* What bugs me about this is the blithely unreal gloss on issues of racism this suggests. It irks me that I feel obliged to mention this, but I’m in a happy marriage with a lady differently coloured to myself. Whilst such ads are laudable for trying to normalise such things, and show them in a positive light, advertising is also insidious in how it contrasts the fake world of consumer bliss with our real flawed mundane realities. And there in lies the ‘rub’… But this is supposed to be a post about the sordid Vegas-ification of gambling!

Workshop: Kity 613 bandsaw

I finally bowed to the inevitable, realising that my little bandsaw simply isn’t man enough to do the kind of work I need a bandsaw for.

Kity bandsaw
The new bandsaw dwarfs the old ‘un!

So I started looking for something that’d better suit my needs. And afore long I lit upon the Kity 613 as a potential answer. They seem big enough – re height and depth of cut – very solidly built, and can be bought for about £250-300, which is as much (more, really!) as I could muster, max.

I followed one on eBay, which eventually sold for £260. But with the travel involved it’d have cost me in excess of £300. It also looked in very good condition. However, at the same time there was an even more pristine one listed on Preloved, complete with manual. Advertised at £400ovno, after some haggling I managed to persuade the seller to let me have it for £300.

Adding fuel costs to that – I had to drive to Lincoln and back (the eBay one was even further afield) – it probably set me back about £330 in all. Having only my MX5 with which to transport it, I decided I’d take the passenger seat out. That was relatively easy, thankfully. And it’s a good job I did. Even with the seat out it only just fit.

The seller and I removed the base, a sturdy two-part metal affair, which went into the boot (just!), along with the fence and manual, etc. The saw itself only just went in, leaned back at an angle and strapped in with bungees. Covered with a dust sheet it looked a bit like I had some sort of android under wraps in the passenger seat.

Clearing space for this full on bit of kit in the shed has meant moving a reclaimed table out. Not sure what’ll become of that? If it survives being outside for a while it might wind up in the art studio, if/when I get round to building that! Although I managed to transport the bandsaw from the lounge to the shed on my own, it’s both heavy and awkwardly shaped enough to mean I’m almost certainly going to need help getting it back up on to its base.

I now have two bits of ‘vintage’ Kity gear, this 613 bandsaw, and the as yet to be got functioning planer/thicknesser. As the weather starts to improve, I hope to get into the workshop more, and get these tools working for me. I have sooo many projects in mind!