Eastern Approaches...

This week I find myself in the cosy confines of the local Conservative club in Thetford town centre. Like most such places, it is not really political in any sense that most would understand as political, and certainly the clientèle are a very mixed bunch indeed, seemingly of all affiliations and persuasions. What is very pleasant is that the place is cosy and rather warm. Outside it is the last day of April and the temperature is 4C with a wind chill factor that makes it feel more like zero. Also, they do a decent cup of coffee for a very generous £1.05.
As it has been a few weeks since my last flaneurial blog I felt it was time that I actually sat in front of the oddly intimidating keyboard once more and created something of a counterbalance to my observations of life in the US. Many, many moons ago now, when I was a relatively young and carefree flaneur, I also had the good fortune to visit several countries behind what used to be known as the Iron Curtain. The first taste of life on the other side was Bulgaria; it proved pleasant enough but the realisation that although myself and my travelling companion readily acquired large amounts of the local currency, those Lev were incredible difficult to actually get rid of. Beyond a few random leather goods there was literally nothing of any value or interest to purchase. The best that could be said of the shops was that they were functional...just. In the city of Varna on the Black Sea there seemed to be little or nothing occurring whatsoever.
Before we left for Bulgaria we were assured by the Bulgarian tourist agency that we could enjoy a rate of exchange 1.5 times the norm. This we naturally took advantage of, only to find on arrival

in the country that locals were prepared to give 4 or even 6 times the rate on the street. Interestingly, the most active of those engaged in such unofficial bureau de change activities wore the blue of the local police force. That was an early lesson in the joys of Socialist societies.

A couple of years later I actually found myself on a tour of the Soviet Union itself. I believe Cernenko was in power at the time, one of a series of leaders so old that no sooner had they assumed the reigns of the Supreme Soviet than they promptly dropped dead. In some ways it was symbolic of the system itself; even to my inexperienced eye it was clear that it was dying on its feet.

The first city we visited was Moscow. By this stage of my life I already had a fair amount of travelling experience and had been to about 25 capital cities previously. Moscow was far and away the most boring, lifeless and oppressive place I had ever been to in my life. Dour, cowered people, shortages almost everywhere and a general feeling of alienation, a society ill at ease with itself.

I had been told to visit GUM, Moscow's equivalent to Harrods according to our guide. On arriving there I found a dingy three storey building just off of Red Square. The goods were incredibly shoddy, but when a shipment of shoes arrived at one of the departments people were almost fighting each other to get in first. Looking at said shoes I found them to be of poor quality and style, little more than utilitarian at best.

Red Square proved a little challenging in its own right. Down the centre there were lines marked on the road that indicated where the official cars could drive into the Kremlin. It had a small zebra crossing about 80 metres from the gate. As there were no cars in sight, just tourists milling around, I started to cross over the painted lines only to be greeted with the sound of a shrill whistle. I looked around and saw a policeman in a rather impressive fur hat blowing furiously in my direction. I gestured to him indicating that there was nothing to be concerned about, not a vehicle anywhere to be seen, but his response was to put his hand upon his gun holster and indicate that I was only to cross at the designated crossing. As the days went by in Russia, I was to discover this strict adherence to such petty rules was all part of the apparatus in the Soviet Union of the time.

A few days later we flew down to Tbilisi in Georgia in an ancient Tupolev tu-154. From a height of 35,000 feet we looked down on an endless expanse of wheat as far as the eye could see on both sides of the aircraft. Oddly though, very few roads were visible. I had read before heading out on the trip that yet again that year the USSR had been forced to buy huge amounts of wheat from the US because of a shortage at home. I could not help but wonder exactly what kind of economic system could so badly mismanage its obvious and plentiful resources.

After about an hour I felt the call of nature. Looking back down the aircraft I noticed that the toilets at the rear were already occupied so I headed towards the front of the plane. About three quarters of the way along the cabin was split by a red velvet curtain. Pulling this back I was quite surprised to see several rows of very large and cosy seats, a well-stuffed magazine rack, tinkling drinks trolley and four or five flunkies. Quickly, our courier jumped up and snatched the curtain from my hand. Surprised, I asked her the obvious question:

“I thought there was no first class on Russia planes?”

She responded:

“It's not first class, it's for party members!”

Kinda said it all really...

The city of Tbilisi in Georgia was, at the time, part of an early experiment that the Soviet government were running in allowing the local farmers and manufacturers to simply sell their produce and goods without government interference. The experiment had been going for about a year but the effect was like chalk and cheese in comparison to Moscow. Fresh and healthy produce in abundance everywhere and a wonderfully vibrant atmosphere to the city in complete contrast to the utter deadness of Moscow.

Up to that stage of my life I had been very much a man of the left. As a child I had admired the likes of Che Guevera and Fidel Castro, and loved all things to do with the old USSR. My father had been a strong union man and that attitude had very much affected me as a boy. Now though, seeing the reality of life in the Soviet Union, the cold hand of centralised control, the repressive regime, the general dowdiness of everything from the flats to the clothes, the poorly designed cars and austere metro sans advertising except for the glories of the Communist Party, it was slowly beginning to dawn on me just how awful applied Socialism actually was in practice.

I went from the joys of Tbilisi, with its limited market reforms, back into Russia at Sochi. The location was pleasant enough but it became very noticeable that those of us who dared to venture out on our own had company whether we liked it or not. Often that company was 50 yards or so away but you couldn't help but notice the same faces kept turning up again and again. My courier was almost pleading with me at one stage to stay with the group. At a guess, she herself was probably under some pressure for losing control of her Western charges.

The trip ended in Leningrad (renamed St Petersburg once again now). Although a much more beautiful city than Moscow, with some gorgeous architecture, it still suffered from the same paranoia. I had spent a few weeks learning some basic Russian before I left but found that people were very unwilling to be seen spending any time at all with any of the group. Eventually, in a café cum bar in central Leningrad, I did manage a short conversation with a somewhat drunk middle aged man. He confirmed what had been my suspicion. Just being seen with the likes of a Western tourist could mean trouble for you or your family, so the wise thing was to look the other way and pretend that you had heard and seen nothing.

Hmm, this piece seems to be running on a lot longer than intended, yet it feels as if I have left so much of these experiences out. Suffice it to say that within those few weeks in the old Soviet Union the first seeds of doubt were sown. I had started the trip really quite naive about the nature of such collective systems. When I set out it had seemed clear to a young and idealistic traveller where the political future should lie. In that sense it was something of a coming of age, of the realisation that all was not right in the Socialist garden. At the time I had no idea why; the answer to that was to take another two decades, but the first inklings of the underlying reality were beginning to be realised.

Back in the Conservative club life goes on much as it ever did, that comfortable continuity that seems so complacent yet is the very glue that holds a society together. We all imagine as youngsters, much as I did, that what is needed is the bold, the new, the iconoclastic, but the reality is that much of what makes a tolerable society is in the institutions, habits and attitudes of a people. Those deep cultural roots that make Europe and its culture such a beacon to the World. The historian Michael Woods put it beautifully when he spoke of 'The habit of civilisation'.

Reductio ad Absurdum...

“The truth is a terrible thing, but not compared to falsehood.”
Jordan Peterson

Back in my favourite C Store this morning and enjoying temperatures in the mid 20s C. I would normally say that I was also enjoying the coffee, but this particular cup tastes a tad sour for some strange reason, a fact pointed out by several other customers. The lass behind the counter seems a little perplexed, she has the lid off of the coffee machine and is looking into it....
It’s been an intersting week or so. I have, via a VPN, had access to several sites that would normally be difficult to get here in China. During various discussions of late a certain problem has arisen again and again. In these debates, I have found myself somewhat surprised at being accused of being ‘right wing’ by those who identify with the left, particular the UK’s Labour Party, but also called ‘left wing’ by those who identify with the right, again in the UK those who would consider themselves Convservatives Party voters.
The issues were, in turn: transgenderism, austerity, people attempting to ‘work the system’ on council estates and trickle down economics. Apparently, at least according to those who responded to me, I am either a left wing loony or a right wing pig, at one and the same time it seems (to myself, I seem like a relatively gentle soul with an interest in the social movements of his times).
Firtsly, let me deal with each of these issues, albeit rather simplisticly as none of them are the point that I actually intend to address. I hope my readers will forgive my bluntness here. Countless books and articles have been written on each and it is not my intention to actually debate them today.
Transgenderism - doesn’t actually exist. No male with XY chromozones has ever transitioned into a female and, indeed, can ever actually do so. The same can be said of XX females ‘identifying’ as men. This is simply because it is impossible for one sex to ‘transition’ into the other. Attempting to maintain anything else is, how can I put it, absurd given the biological evidence.

Austerity - has been a failure everywhere it has been tried. It constricts economies and ensures that money is not allowed to flow through the system. It is almost a guaranteed way to bring on a recession. The UK government’s version hasn’t worked in Britain. The EU’s version hasn’t worked in Spain, Portugal, Italy or Greece.

Council Estates - I lived on one for twenty years and my experience mirrors most other people’s. Whilst the vast majority of people were perfectly decent members of society, there was also a sizeable chunk who were anything but, doing anything and everything they could to ‘game’ the system. Denial doesn’t make such reprobates disappear.

Trickle Down Economics - this sacred cow of the right has been a failure everywhere it has been attempted. The notion is that of stacked champagne glasses; when you fill the top glass the overflow trickles down into the other glasses below it. That’s the theory anyway. In practice, as the Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby noted, all that tends to actually happen is that the top glass grows bigger until it crushes all the glasses below it.

These issues are just examples of an underlying problem. that problem being the identification of oneself with a political party or movement, or even with seeing oneself as left wing or right. When this happens it seems that many people seem to feel the need to align themselves with all the postions taken on that side of the debate no matter how absurd or obviously flawed they are. Within themselves, many Tories must know that trickle down economics has been a profound failure and is a deeply flawed model but feel the need to defend it because their particular ‘tribe’ hold that position.
It is hard to believe that any sane person who understands that cells have either XX or XY chromozones can serioiusly pretend that transgenderism actually exists...but they do. Or, perhaps to be more precise, they say that they do. It is hard to beleive that in their heart of hearts, as the saying goes, they do not recognise the simple reality that such a notion is physically impossible.

Perhaps what is needed is for sane and rational people, and even politicians, to move away from the identification with left and right, with Tory or Socialist, and start to look at what is sane, what is rational, what is responsible; in short, what actually works.
Here in China they suffered many years under the sad delusion that they were building a utopian communist society. It was a disaster from start to finish, with literally millions dying in these ill fated efforts. Fortunately, in the early eighties, they were lucky enough to have one Deng Xiao Ping at the helm. As he himself said: “It doesn’t matter if the cat is white or black, so long as it catches mice!” He moved the country away from flawed ideologies and towards pragmatism (although one doubts if the Communist Party of China would actually agree out loud). Now China essentially has no political philosophy, left or right, but simply does what it perceives to work. Once the ideological nonsense was dropped, the resultant miracle here over the last thirty odd years has been truly stunning to witness.

So, in summary, my point is that perhaps we all need to mature beyond aligned party politics to a place where people are able to express blatant realities rather than feel pressured to keep up positions that, in reality, are untenable or even absurd. If it is not oxymoronic to say so, politics needs to become apoltical. Perhaps even, as political entities, we all need to grow up a bit?
Back in C Store, the very charming lass behind the counter has thoughtfully refilled my coffee cup with a freshly brewed concoction. It tastes a lot better than the last. We exchange friendly greetings through translation apps and go on to exchange views on the chaos taking place outside. Parking is a problem in Dongguan, too may cars and too few places, and it can be quite fascinating to simply gaze out of the window here and witness the ongoing disputes that seem to flare up every ten minutes or so. As ever, it is all very entertaining, but as with the issues outlined above, one can’t help but think that sometimes this is a very, very....mad World!

Much Pride, but not too much Sense...

Since my early summer trip to Madrid, this particular nomadic flaneur has not been anything like as nomadic as he would like to be. This is about to be remedied with trips to Zuhai, Dongguan, Saana and Hangzhou planned in the next three months, plus perhaps a jaunt over to Phnom Penh in the new year. Norfolk, where I currently find myself, has proven to be a not unattractive place to spend the English summer though. Huge forests, varied coastlines and an English quaintness which, at times at least, can be quite charming.
The largest city in this area is Norwich, with a staggeringly tiny population of 213,000, a figure that would barely qualify it as a town in China. I have to admit though, that parts of the city are really rather lovely and hark back to previous times of economic influence and a long history as a prosperous, if somewhat diminutive, metropolis. I personally spent several pleasant and interesting days there in the summer and even sampled, as is so often my wont, a variety of the coffee serving hostelries on offer.
On one visit in late July I happened across an interesting phenomenon, quite jolly at one level, quite sinister at another. As I wandered through the market in the centre of the city I became aware of a disproportionate number of outlandishly attired folk of indeterminate gender, wandering around that particular part of town. Hair coloured lime green or purple seemed to be the order of the day, make-up de rigeur (at least if you were male, perhaps not so much on the females) and all manner of sartorial choices the only theme of which seemed to be to engender an ambiguity in relation to gender.

I also noticed that many folk were sporting badges along the lines of 'Gays against Orlando'. A few weeks prior to this mass demonstration there had been a very unpleasant incident in Orlando, Florida where a muslim man of troubled sexuality had burst into a gay night club in the city armed to the teeth with a variety of automatic weapons and proceeded to mow down all and sundry simply because they were likely to be gay in such an establishment. A truly awful incident that seemed, at first glance at least, to speak volumes about America's problems with gun control and more or less the whole planet's problem with radical Islam.
I wandered further up to hill to the street just in front of the town hall. There various speakers were regaling the jolly throng of demonstrators with words of encouragement and support, outrage at the act itself and bemoaning the disrespect of society for the human rights of gay individuals. Most of these words chimed with my own fairly liberal views on such things. As a general rule I believe in the notion of live and let live, as long as said process doesn't unduly impose on another against their will. 

At this point though, I did notice a rather strange phenomenon. Many of the protesters either wore badges or carried placards stating 'Refugees Welcome Here', many of these provided in the yellow and red of the Socialist Workers Party. Generally speaking, the country I currently find myself in (the UK) has a long and distinguished record in its attitude to refugees, something that speaks well for its general tolerance and ability to accommodate all manner of attitudes. The refugees in this particular case though were specifically the wave of Islamic migrants that, due to a very misguided policy, had been flooding into Europe over the course of the previous 18 months. 

 

The idea of supporting an influx of people who shared the very same belief system as the person who perpetuated the awful act in Orlando, and who used it as the justification for said act, seemed to this flaneur to be oddly inconsistent, if not downright contradictory. Here we had a group of people, gay to be precise, urging the mass importation of very significant amounts of people whose belief system very explicitly expresses the notion that all homosexuals should be put to death. There is no ambiguity in this view, no doubt, no room for maneuver, just a crystal clear tenet of the admittedly rather bizarre belief system that is Islam.
Perhaps it is me, but demonstrating to allow a group of people into the country who hate you, who despise everything you stand for and who want you dead seemed to your correspondent to be just a tad, how can I put it, illogical? It was bad enough that the banners mostly originated from the Socialist Workers Party which, when I last checked, was an avowedly atheist party, but the fact that they were being carried by people whose lifestyle is the very antithesis of everything that Islam stands for seemed to be stretching credulity just a bit too far.

I reflected back on the events of that awful night in Orlando. The shooter, one Omar Mateen, was a 29 year old Muslim who, in case their was the slightest doubt, rung 911 three times to inform them that he was carrying out the atrocity in the name of Islam and ISIL. As he carried out his terrible crime he was heard to shout out 'Alluha Akbar' numerous times. His father, as it turned out, had also been something of an apologist for the Taliban and had previously been under surveillance by the American security services, as had Omar Mateen himself.
There seems a strange form of denial occurring in what used to be called the 'liberal media', an almost magical form or reframing events in such a way as to avoid the all too obvious cause and instead pontificate endlessly on about anything else other than the blatantly obvious. The Washington Post indeed, in an article devoted to the Orlando shooting, somehow managed to construct a multi-column piece and not mention the words 'Islam' or 'Muslim' once. One must admire their creativity, if not necessarily their intellectual honesty.

As I watched this oddly deluded demonstration taking place, particularly as I listened to the various speakers on the steps of the town hall, the urge to point out these glaring inconsistencies rose up within me but....given I was but one voice in a crowd that seemed convinced of a contrary view, and given that almost any utterance in such a situation can so easily be defined as a 'hate crime' (the police seem very keen on that particular type of felony in these days of post-referendum Britain), I held my counsel and simply looked on with a somewhat bemused expression on my face.
There are, as some wag once put it, none so blind as those who will not see...