WhirledView

Potemkin’s Village: Alive and Well in Sochi

By Patricia H Kushlis

I must admit I quite enjoyed the Russian propaganda show that opened the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics Friday night.  Russians have been extraordinarily adept at story-telling for seemingly forever and staging extravaganzas –first religious then secular - for centuries.  This recent three hour long display was no exception.  And it was heartening to see the Russian government pay special tribute to a number of its world famous artists, writers, cinematographers and musicians - dead and alive – several of whose works had been banned or hidden in warehouses, closets, drawers or transported abroad for safe keeping during the Soviet period: Chagall, Malevich, and Stravinsky’s “The Rite of Spring” and the Ballet Russe as a few for instances.  This is a step forward. (photos of Opening Ceremony are from media photo page from the official Sochi Olympics website)

But what happened to Mikhail Bulgakov – or was that cute little eleven year old girl guide who flew high above the crowd floating from era to era in record time really, perhaps, his Margarita in disguise? What about Alexander Solzhenitsyn? Better left off the program because his description of the Soviet Union penal system did not sugar-coat the image? Or other dissident writers, painters, cinematographers; the true Russian chroniclers and dreamers.  Yes, alright, the film-maker Sergei Eisenstein was honored – but face it, his works were some of the biggest propaganda displays the Soviet Union ever produced.

And one must never be allowed to forget the importance of Peter the Great’s 17^th century secret venture West to steal ship-building technology or to pay special tribute to his founding a city on a swamp (built by unmentioned Finnish conscript laborers who were the original inhabitants) complete with a photo of the oversized bronze horseman statue of Peter in a park near the Neva embankment. (photo of the bronze horseman by PH Kushlis, 1990) 

But the Potemkin Village notion was officially absent – except, of course, for the opening ceremony itself which it most closely resembled.

The Russian orthodox religion had a place in the Sochi Opening, too but was subtly done.  Kievan Rus was downplayed (likely to the relief of the Ukrainian team).  Communism? Or the “70 years to Nowhere” experiment, was only shown in cleaned up and polished constructivist terms and figures.  Yes, tribute - as usual - was paid to the over 20 million Soviet deaths in World War II but this time almost in a perfunctory fashion – or maybe that was just the impression from the television footage I saw on NBC.

But the young, spiffily dressed white suited young ladies with dark briefcases slung over their shoulders prancing off to work in the latest fashion supposedly there to represent the latter days of the Soviet period was, well, over the top. (Sorry, no photos of them appeared on the Sochi website).

Note to the Spy Guys: Why I’m (Mostly) Done with E-Readers

By Patricia Lee Sharpe

Sick of toting ten pounds of books whenever I traveled, I bought a Kindle a few years ago—the early model, with the keyboard and the e-ink that’s so easy to read in daylight. Unfortunately, that model’s text can’t be read in the dark, which led to some unhappy moments in flight. I’d be assuaging my sleeplessness by reading. Then my seatmate or someone occupying the row in front of me (or back of me) would complain about the overhead light: too bright.

Light or no light, someone was going to be unhappy.

Fortunately, a solution had appeared.  I could buy a new e-reader, the backlit type, and I was sorely tempted to buy one.  If I can't sleep away the wee hours while flying over the Atlantic or the Pacific, sanity requires that I be able to wallow in the printed word.

Except I wasn’t entirely happy with any Kindle by this time.

The problem was something I hadn’t anticipated. I’d noticed some faint lines under certain passages in e-books I’d acquired.  Soon I figured out why. These faint lines were ghosts clamoring to be re-embodied. There was a setting that would allow me to see other readers’ favorite passages from any book I’d just bought.

No, thank you, I said to myself. I can reach my own conclusions. So I didn’t activate that feature.

But an alarm had gone off and a question arose: if any kind of electronic note-storing and note-sharing was taking place, how would it affect my use of the “serious” books I’d installed on my Kindle, the ones I needed for research, the ones with passages that I'd turn into footnotes eventually? Would I be able to delete/erase/obliterate evidence of my selections once I’d laboriously transferred them to my computer? Would I thus be able to protect from uninvited snoopers the thinking (however contrarian, subversive, mainstream, vacuous or just innocuous, but nevertheless my own intellectual property) that had produced my selections?  Even if I'd activated some essentially pseudo delete function, might my notes not reside forever in some ambiguously-labled cloud eternally available to a secretive, over-eager spy agency?

My library and my book store have taken steps that make it impossible for anyone to learn from them what I’ve been buying and/or reading. Can Amazon make the same guarantee? I don’t think so, because Amazon doesn't want to let my data go.  The company intends to study my past purchases in order to entice me with new titles I won't be able to resist.  So far their efforts have been laughable, thanks to what appears to be a dull, unimaginative model of human behavior.  For the time being, anyway, I'm armored against the sales algorithm.   

But that's a human ego thing, and what concerns me here is privacy.  Any attempt to manipulate my purchasing habits requires data storage and data mining.  If Amazon has the data, that data will also be available for misuse by overreaching spy agencies.  Whether Amazon approves or not.  Whether Amazon knows or not.

And I will never know, unless there's an unexpected knock on the door, so to speak.

Not acceptable.

It looks as if I'll have to acquire my serious books in the more expensive, old-fashioned, privacy-protecting way if I can't borrow them from the library without joining a too long waiting list.

As for any e-reader I may own, I’ll fill it with  read-and-forget genre stuff, to provide for minimal distraction during endless sleepless nights in the air.  Packing a mere five pounds of reading material is better than carrying ten.

The Black Swan Effect and the Course of History

By Patricia H Kushlis

In the New York Times best seller The Black Swan:  the Impact of the Highly Improbable  (Random House 2010) its author Nassim Taleb argues that what we don’t know is likely to be far more relevant that what we do particularly with respect to significant – and unpredicted – “black swan” or rare but transformative events like the Arab Spring, 9/11 or even the collapse of the Soviet Union or the Russian and Ottoman Empires. (Two black swans on a lake at Myrtle Beach, May 2013 by PHKushlis)

A little further on in his book, Taleb cautions that the human brain too often focuses on the minutiae rather than the infrequent but life changing momentous events; therefore,  blinding us to the forest for the trees, catching us unawares, throwing us off balance and unprepared for a radically different future because we fail to realize that “Black Swans “can be caused and exacerbated by their” unexpectedness.

But why are so many unexpected?  

 If we’d only put the pieces together before the fact, perhaps we could have averted 9/11 – but we didn’t.  The signs were there. The few who had done so - or at least had reason to be suspicious - were stove-piped out of existence and their words of warning ignored by their supervisors. 

Or the US government at its highest levels may have known that the possibility that a black swan event was on the horizon – like the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 – but our leaders were so focused on trying to prop up a reasonably friendly but failing regime they failed to consider the range of alternative future directions.  The record shows, however, they had been warned.

An eclectic short reading list

A few days ago, a friend asked me for a few book recommendations.  I thought briefly and suggested Taleb’s The Black Swan (which I am still reading) and Dan Balz’s Collision 2012. 

Collision 2012 is a highly rated analysis of the US 2012 national elections by Dan Balz, a veteran political reporter and elections observer from the Washington Post. 

I should also have added Orlando Figes, Natasha’s Dance:  A Cultural History of Russia (Henry Holt, 2002) to this eclectic short list but didn’t.  I thought I knew a fair amount about Russian culture but Figes – whose book I discovered thanks to my son who had left an unread copy on a book shelf – demonstrated how little I did know.

What If?

In Natasha’s Dance, Figes argues that the momentous events of 1917 had been set into motion by Napoleon’s 1812 invasion of Russia because of its overwhelming effect on the Decembrists – a group of young elite Russian officers who revolted against the Czarist regime on December 14, 1825. These men had fought in the Imperial army.  They and the Russian winter successfully defended the crown and homeland against the French invaders.  The Russian war effort succeeded but the Decembrist's subsequent revolt failed, the leaders ended with long prison sentences in Siberia but their personal experiences in the war had forever altered their perceptions of Russia, Russian governance, Russia’s role in the world and the Russian people.

The Decembrists had brought winds of change to the sleeping Russian heartland – or at least to the intellectuals and members of the Russian aristocracy.  The rest of the next century was dominated by the Czarist government’s reactions to the new social ideas let in by the French invasion.

Yet, what if, Napoleon had let sleeping dogs lie and not attempted to conquer Russia?  Or what if the French Revolution of 1789 had not ended in the “Reign of Terror” which resulted in the ascendancy of Napoleon and the subsequent Napoleonic Wars?  If any one of these “black swan” events had been predicted and averted, how different would the face of Europe look today? 

Would nationalism have even come to Russia?  To Eastern Europe?  To the Ottoman Empire?  To Germany? Would World War I or II have ever happened?  Would there have been a Communist controlled Soviet Union to collapse in 1991?  Would Tchaikovsky have composed the 1812 Overture?  Or Mikael Bulgakov written the anti-Stalinist novel The Master and Margarita which was published in 1940?

Or might Mitt Romney have won the 2012 election for president if his campaign had understood and harnessed the power of the social media effectively or taken the pulse of American voters more accurately?  Romney was so sure he had won that he didn’t even write a concession speech – but why was he so blind to something the Obama campaign had harnessed so well?  Or would it have mattered?  

Were these events – and others like the great recession of 2007 – inevitable or could they – with better foresight - have been averted and the course of history changed? 

Meanwhile, history has not ended.  It is being played out every day.  Is it even possible to protect against black swan events or - given life's apparent randomness - should we even try?     

 

 

Raging Bully Gores Big Bird: Mitt Romney in Debate Mode

Picture him: shoulders hunched, body lurching forward, maniacal grin, eyes bugging out as if, Mormon elder or not, he was hyped on some powerful upper.  Add the voice, soft, sweet, calculated, the voice of a hit man sadistically caressing his opponent, who seemed to shrink in size as the bully attacked again and again, interrupting hapless moderator Jim Lehrer, interrupting the baffled and defensive Barack Obama.  Toward the middle of the encounter, realizing no doubt that he was well on the way to being declared the winner of the debate, Romney’s fixed smile turned into the more familiar smirk, the characteristic expression of the financial masters of the world (think Jamie Dimon) among whom the Bain takeover artist clearly believes he should be counted.

The Mismatch

Did anyone else notice a curious disjunction?  On the one hand, Romney’s aggressive body language and his determination to dominate the debate.  On the other, his claim of having been a model of amiable collegiality as governor of Massachusetts.  “I had the great experience—it didn't seem like it at the time—of being elected in a state where my legislature was 87 percent Democrat. And that meant I figured out from day one I had to get along and I had to work across the aisle to get anything done.”  So now, he says, he’s ready to play nicely with Democrats in Congress.  “We need to have leadership—leadership in Washington that will actually bring people together and get the job done....I've done it before. I'll do it again.”

Ahem.  Do what again? Unfortunately for ex-governor of Massachusetts Romney, history isn’t totally malleable. According an extensively documented piece in the New York Times,  “no one else seems to remember Romney as a teddybear in those days.”  He was “aloof" and “uncommunicative” and “bipartisanship was in short supply.”  He vetoed innumerable legislative initiatives, and “statehouse Democrats complained he variously ignored, insulted or opposed them, with intermittent charm offensives.”

Which To Trust?

My conclusion?  Romney’s aggressive body language during Wednesday’s debate on economic policy is a better predictor of future behavior than his most recent charm offensive, his honied words, his amazingly successful (for now) effort to overcome his likeability deficit, despite his boorish insistence on having the first word, the last word and as many words in between as possible.  Maybe Americans like bullies.  Goodness knows, there are enough of them terrorizing America’s playgrounds.

But, you rightly ask, what did Romney say?  What’s his policy?  That’s the important thing.  Yes, it is.  And once again the debate exposed a glaring disparity between the torrents of smooth talk, reiterated falsifications and vague generalities we’ve become familiar with and the few bald statements that he put his heart and soul into. 

In the Keep of Yorkshire

By John Charles Dyer, UK Correspondent   

In the silence of the keep

one forgets time,

even who one is.

Romance gallops as sunlit dust swirls

in search of glory 

among the clouds.

(Left, Castle Keep. Photo by John C. Dyer)

But this was a real castle with a real history, the Neville’s Raby Castle near Durham, County Durham. One of post Conquest Britain’s early seats of great power, Raby rises with surprising majesty above Yorkshire’s bucolic rolling green fields.

 

 

 

 

(Above, left to right, Raby Castle, Stable Entrance to Gardens, Raby Castle Gardens. Below, left to right, View from a Gun, Deer in Castle Park, Raby Castle 2. All photos by John C. Dyer)

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Left, Within the Keep, photo by John C. Dyer)

We came to Raby at the request of friends from the States.    

This trip was a reunion of sorts. I had missed my college reunion.  The couple we accompanied to Raby attended the same small college modeled on Oxford.

Whitby, Love at First Bite

By John Charles Dyer, UK Correspondent

Introduction

As a wee lad I had the opportunity to tour Disney Studios. A budding artist even at four, I enjoyed observing the then-studio cartoonists at work. On a later holiday- but still while in elementary school- my family and I were privileged to have Walt Disney’s flat at the top of the Fire Station in Disneyland all to ourselves for a long weekend.  As I am sure all readers understand, the enthralled little boy in me still cherishes these memories.    

I’ve had many enchanting experiences. I watched stars glint in a pristine dark night sky above Monte Toyon in the Santa Cruz mountains. I gazed down  on the magnificent Yosemite Valley from Half Dome. I wandered the forests of mottled light that surround Patrick’s Point, seeking the Ewoks of my imagination. I held my breath watching wales breach the Pacific from Patrick's Point's sacred central rock.  I soaked up the warm, jeweled nights of Nassau.  I stood on the site of Bunker Hill in Boston.  I walked Capitol Park in the Nation’s capitol. I toured the North and South East coasts of Cornwall.

I rode the route along the Fowey River to Lerryn which was one of the routes that inspired Wind in the Willows.  I gazed  on the Talland Bay from a bench within the soul refreshing graveyard of Talland Church. I photographed England’s breath taking cathedrals in Wells, Salisbury, Bristol, Exeter. I listened to Timothy Leary expound on LSD in the Raymond College Common Room. I’ve talked with Allen Ginsberg after enjoying the poetry of Jack Kerouac. I have experienced the force of nature who was Eric Hoffer.

I remember vividly lounging in the warm light that flooded the Common Room alcove, smiling at its fountain, my first morning at Raymond College, my Hogwarts. It reminded me of my great uncle’s cabin in the then undeveloped Santa Monica Hills, the tiny but truly "burbling" creek that wandered through the ferns that covered his hillside, the steep trail that led from the Cabin in which some of the 20th Century's great theologians had debated life. 

But few experiences have been as magical as Whitby. To think, we only went to Whitby to avoid the crowds during the week of the British Open (which took place 200 yards from our home flat). 

Whitby

Whitby nestles into the North Yorkshire seaside, straddling the mouth of the Esk River.   

(Left to Right Up: Whitby & Abbey from the Esk, Whitby along the Esk.)  

 

 

 

 

(Left to Right, Whitby & Whitby Bay. Photos by John C. Dyer)

 

We stayed in a “self-catering” cottage, rented through Whitby Holiday Cottages.  

(Left, Holiday Cottage,

Cottage BedRm

By John C. Dyer)

 

Whitby has fantastic historical associations.  The earliest documented English poet, Caedmon, lived and at worked at Whitby Abbey. The Abbey in its original form pre-dates the time of King Edwin of Northumbria. Edwin's daughter, St. Helena, became its Abbess.  

A Glimpse of What Could Be Lost in Timbuktu

By Patricia Lee Sharpe

Timbuktu, for most Westerners, is simply another word for the end of the world.  Today, in fact, it’s a somewhat decayed real city on the southern edge of the Sahara desert.

Once upon a time, however, Timbuktu was a vital commercial and cultural crossroads for innumerable African civilizations.  For this reason, non-Muslim historians as well as Muslims who treasure all aspects of their richly complex past are alarmed by the destruction that’s been taking place in Timbuktu and other ancient cities like Gao since Salafists wrested control of the rebellion in Northern Mali from Tuareg insurgents.

Most reportage from the area has emphasized the spoiling, wholly or in part, of shrines and mosques accused of encouraging idol-worship.  But the threat goes beyond the usual crude iconoclasm of al Qaeda-related sects.  According to photographer Alexandra Huddleston, “not only are thousands of ancient manuscripts and holy sites under threat, but also an ancient scholarly culture.”  She has documented this culture in the past, and now she has created a video that shows us what we are in danger of losing.

Go to this site for Alexandra's heart-rending introduction to Timbuktu and the culture it fostered over the centuries.  Go to this site and weep.  And protest.  If you want to know more,  follow the links that Alexandra has provided. 

And here are some pieces I've written on developments in Northern Mali:  Iconoclasts in Timbuktu and Malaise in Mali: Is a Sudan-like Solution Possible? 

Singing in a Drought's Abundant Rain in Exeter, Devon

Singing in a Drought's Abundant Rain in Exeter, Devon

By: John C. Dyer, UK Correspondent

 It was raining the morning I set out to visit Exeter.   

It has long been said Britain has weather not climate, a nod to the weather’s changeability. But a new British reality is unfeasible drought punctuated by untenable downpours, leading to floods that seem to defy all expectations that come with the word, "drought."  It is the second year of a British drought severe enough for water use restrictions in some parts of the country.  But the South West, my destination, was on flood watch due to record downpours.   (Photo left "Vintage Exeter Roof in Rain"  by John C. Dyer, May 2012)  

Incidentally, because of the weather’s changeability, traveling in the UK requires at least two essentials- an all weather coat and a sensible pair of shoes.  You can get by without an umbrella, but not the coat. The weather can change from sunshine to storm within a half hour.  Sensible shoes are critical. You may see women dressed in 5 inch heels. This custom is called “fashion.”  But for the traveller, high heels may be the truest symbol of British austerity- not austere, in fact ostentatious, but undoubtedly horribly uncomfortable, especially walking along all those hills.  Wear sensible, comfortable shoes with great arch support. Your knees will thank you in the morning. 

A Journey by Rail (with travel tips)  

I set out from St Annes. The rain formed beautiful droplets on Spring’s new blossoms, foreshadowing hope for a holiday more enjoyable than the rains might have suggested possible.  

St. Annes is a community within the community of Lytham St. Annes. While neighbours the two towns have a different feel to them.   (Photo left "Sated Tulip" by John C. Dyer, May 2012)  

This summer that feel will be busy.  Golf’s biggest professional tournament comes to the Royal Lytham Golf Course, which runs like a green belt through St. Annes.  I shop Marks and Spencer. Their St. Annes outlet is hardly larger than a US 7/11 convenience store. It is always busy, but they estimate during the tournament as many as 10,000 people will shop there each day. Whew. 

I traveled to Exeter by rail, with an overnight stop in Bristol, Somerset.     

Rail has the place in British life air travel has in California. I have often seen BBC  interview the Chancellor , the shadow Chancellor or the leader of the opposition during their routine rail commutes between their constituencies and London.  For a visitor rail presents the advantages of dependability, wide access through the country, good directions for a new user, and, in First Class, comfort.   

As an example of how user friendly it can be, when I arrived in Preston to make connections for Bristol I learned that my connection had been delayed due to a safety problem further up the track.  Even as anxiety set in, the cheerful crew at the highly visible information booth set the old codger’s mind at ease. They explained to me just how to deal with it. They permitted me to use their telephone gratis to call my wife to advise her of the expected 20 minute delay.  Although I missed the scheduled connection in Bristol as a result, I just caught the next train with the same ticket. It was all quickly sorted by the onboard ticket taker.  With trains departing every 30 minutes I didn’t really notice a difference.  

Rail’s main disadvantages are relative lack of luggage space, particularly for large items, and crowding during peak hours.  For visitors who prefer a low fat, low cholesterol diet I suggest you consider buying your own prior to the journey. You will not find your diet choice either on the train or in the stations.  If you want to avoid noisy crowds and cell phones try for the “quiet car.”  

If you travel by rail with a reserved seat you will receive two tickets, one for the trip and one for the seat.  You must hold on to both. Both will be checked, predictably just after you decide that they aren’t going to bother this time.  Expect your ticket to be checked when you first set off and as you attempt to leave the station platform area. In fact, your ticket is your exit pass from the station. Don’t lose it.    

Other than that, trust the system, sit back, and enjoy the many sights and sounds of the journey. A rail journey in the UK is in-of-itself an adventure in discovery.  

As the train departed St. Annes the loudspeaker announced destinations.  I drifted bemused and amused by the pronunciation of "Oswald Twistle," a stop further down the line.  In this reverie it finally occurred to me the British are entitled to pronounce "Oswald Twistle" as they do, without an American saying to himself “how cute” or “how quaint.”  I don’t know if this was a transformative insight or just the haze of waking at “O Dark Hundred” to begin my journey.  (Photo Above "Impulse Power, Scotty" by John C. Dyer, May 2012)  

I soon settled in, watching the beautiful green, rolling countryside with its fields dotted by free ranging cattle and sheep, listening to the symphony of dialects spoken around me.  I remember registering just before nodding off that the “ot” in “Not” in a Glasgow accent  is pronounced “oh” as in French. So Not is “No.”   

Bristol

Victoria met me in Bristol.  We stayed overnight in Bristol before leaving for Exeter. 

I described Bristol at length in a previous post. One of the UK’s most vibrant cities, it is a blend of old and new. The Queen Elizabeth Hospital Boy’s School dates back to the time of Elizabeth I. 

The new flats and shopping areas of the redeveloped docks all came after Victoria moved away 20 years ago.    

 

 (Photo Up left  "Queen Elizabeth Welcomes Thee"; Photo Left "Brisol Port Flats" By John C. Dyer, May 2012)  

 

John Cabot was one of Bristol’s heros.  Memorials to his contribution to Bristol’s glorious past dot the city, from Cabot Tower 

to a bronze statue overlooking the dockyards.   

(Photo far left "Cabot Tower Bristol"; Photo left "Cabot Bronze" by John C. Dyer, May 2012)   

This sculpture symbolizes the vibrant unity of Bristol’s past and present. Cabot’s character-filled face gazes across the new development.   

His character filled hands rest casually crossed before him. He seems to tie together Bristol’s glorious past, vibrant present, and promising future. 

(Photo far left "Cabot Surveys Bristol Channel"; Photo left "Cabot Bronze Detail" by John C. Dyer, May 2012)