Based on language and somewhat more than just sojourn, not to mention heritage I would claim to have an in depth cultural knowledge of three European countries namely Germany, the UK and Sweden. Small traces of an English accent and I hate to admit the odd grammar faux pas, prohibit me from passing off as a Swede but in the English and German speaking world I suppose I might be considered a native of either one much depending on which of the two factors, ”born and brought up,” you accept as the most pertinent. Or on the other hand if the prequisites for, ”a native of,” are an inflexible combination of these two then I suppose I will just have to consider myself, ”a native of Europe,” for want of anything more specific. Not that that particularly bothers me; as times change and as an emerging geopolitical European identity waxes it does so not under the dark shadows of nationalism but in the spotlight of cultural and linguistic diversity deeply routed in a shared history.
A European identity has morphed from the realms of geography and ethnicity to a political force embracing at present 27 countries in the EU. Each with its own language or dialect, each with its own customs and traditions. A European identity is more than the mutual benefits of a single market, it is the understanding that the people of Europe share common values concerning the rule of law, human rights and democracy. A European identity transcends traditional nationalism with the caveat being that its very existance rests on a foundation made up of nations.
European nationalism in contrast is an oxymoron, which in itself is a threat to flag waving populists with nothing better to offer than the politics of division, stigmatization and hatred, all to the bitter end as history repeatedly shows us.
At the beginning of June Europe goes to the polls and it might be worth recalling a fairytale from childhood. ”The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” reminds us that you reap what you sow.
Nate White is a British writer who penned the best description of Donald Trump I have ever read. Below is his answer to why some British people do not like Donald Trump. I am in no disagreement with the picture Nate paints and even taking into account a large number of for a politician irrelevant character traits, enough remain relevant to question the wisdom of ever letting a man like this near the White House. Many Republicans are of course prepared to turn a blind eye and reap the support of Trump´ s Maga base for political gains. Reprehensible maybe but in the world of politics not that uncommon. Trump´ s Maga base on the other hand seldom lends the impression of being politically astute, rendering the question what´ s in it for them? They obviously worship him and his puerile language and they possibly feel he is giving them not only a voice but a voice they can understand and relate to. If so that is pretty scary.
“Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?”
”A few things spring to mind. Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem. For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace – all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed. So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump ’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.
Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing – not once, ever. I don ’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility – for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman. But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.
Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers. And scarily, he doesn ’t just talk in crude, witless insults – he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.
There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface. Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront. Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul. And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist. Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that. He ’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat. He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.
And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully. That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead. There are unspoken rules to this stuff – the Queensberry rules of basic decency – and he breaks them all. He punches downwards – which a gentleman should, would, could never do – and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless – and he kicks them when they are down.
So the fact that a significant minority – perhaps a third – of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think ‘Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:
• Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.
• You don ’t need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.
This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss. After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum.
God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid. He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart. In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws – he would make a Trump.
And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish: ‘My God… what… have… I… created?’ If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set.”
Boiling the frog is a well known if somewhat unpleasant metaphor for achieving results by slower, more calculating means avoiding undesired counter-measures.
Ukraine and its fate both long and short term have constituted the most part of my media cum social platform (Ex Twitter) attention since the 24th February 2022.
Following two years of fighting their intruders and with considerable success at the outset, Ukraine` s struggle on the battlefield has lost its momentum with the exception of the Black Sea theatre and the extremely successful attacks on Russian oil infrastructure; in both cases due to the domestic development and production of drones. After initially humiliating Russia by inflicting unfathomable losses including both soldiers and material, on what was once considered the second best army in the world, Ukraine now finds itself short of what is needed to finish the job.
If you have never seen an episode of the classic cartoon series the Keystone Cops I suggest you Google it. In my opinion the reaction of western countries towards the threat from Russia couldn ´ t be visualized in a better way. Well meaning yet sadly lacking.
The shinanigans over the past two years have been toe-curlingly embarrassing. From first offering to send 5000 helmets at best, to then gradually upgrading to Leopard tanks, HIMARS, Storm Shadows, and F16s but definitely excluding Taurus missiles. At times like these politicians expose themselves as being as ordinary as the ordinary people they represent. The hang-ups, the indecisiveness, the tos and fros, the one step at the time, the fear of going too far. (think nuclear response)
Intentional or not, it all looks like a classic case of smoke and mirrors and that the West has chosen to boil the frog rather than risk the consequences of the alternative. It would make sense and taking into account the size of the hole Putin has dug for Russia and its people, the outcome is given. The continued bravery and resilience of Ukraine as well as support from the West are tantamount to success.
Slowly increasing the heat is a prerequisite for boiling a frog. Perhaps the time has now come for the next step and supply Ukraine with Taurus missiles.
”Never again,” became once again with hundreds of thousands of young men dead on the battlefield of Ukraine over the last two years. A tragedy for a Europe convinced that internationally agreed borders and prosperity through trade would see an end to warfare on its continent.
”Dead men tell no tales,” as the saying goes although in this horrendous drama far from the truth.
The tale being told here is that: * Ukrainian soldiers died in their own country. * Ukrainian soldiers died at the hands of Russian invaders. * Ukrainian soldiers died knowing they were fighting for the survival of their country and its people.
The tale being told here is that: * Russian soldiers died as invaders in someone elses country. * Russian soldiers died at the hands of Ukrainian soldiers defending Ukraine and its people. * Russian soldiers died believing Putin ’s propaganda. * Russian soldiers died for the imperial wet dreams of a deranged old man.
The tale being told here is that: * Fearing an escalation of events Western democracy has bent over backwards to avoid provoking Russia. * The list of the West looking the other way is a long one, from Chechnya through Syria to Crimea and nothing has helped. * Putin embraces the theory of war being a continuation of diplomacy by other means and international treaties never get in his way.
The tale being told here is that: * The West has the future of Ukraine in its hands. * Ukraine has the future of Europe in its hands. * The time has come to give Ukraine EVERYTHING it needs to drive the Russian intruders out.
The tale being told here is that if we don ’t, it will be our turn to tell tales.
At the beginning of December last year in a speech at a gala hosted by the National Association of Christian Lawmakers House of Representative speaker Mike Johnson is to have said,
”….And the Lord very specifically told me in my prayers to prepare but to wait.”
There were several other references to God in the speech with Mike outlining his personal relationship with his Maker. Not that this kind of reference to the Almighty is unique in any way; it´ s a good ruse for lending an aura of finality to any dialogue, political or otherwise. I mean who wants to have an attitude toward the Creator or perhaps more to the point seeming to have an attitude toward the Creator. A cynical awareness that being punished at the ballot box is far more likely than the wrath of God. The interesting but not surprising ban on the presence of the media at this event revealed that the message was intended for believers only. Who or what they actually believe in remains somewhat opaque considering the ”name in vain,” so to speak. Running on a platform that God is a Republican and that Trump is his messenger might be appealing to some, yet the cynicism not to mention the hypocrisy is awe inspiring not least reminiscent of Centuries of historical crowd control in the name of God.
My immediate response when hearing Mike Johnson´ s claim to have spoken to God was,
”Actually Mike, the Lord spoke to me the other day and he denies ever having spoken to you.”
After a wonderful week spent watching wildlife in South Africa we decided to stop off in Mauritius on our way home. Bumping around in a Toyota Landcruiser for a total of 40 hours takes its toll, believe me. Not only on the more obvious parts of one´ s anatomy but involves a complete bone shaking makeover.
So Paradise Island, as I saw it referred to on a billboard, became our chosen recuperative solution. Not having been there before made it all the more interesting, although that cannot be said of the hotel or should I say resort we stayed at. Not that there was anything wrong with it as such, it definitely lived up to any brochure depicting luxory accomodation nestled amongst palm trees overlooking a widespread sandy beach and an azure ocean with an almost indistinguishable boundary against the sky. From that point of view not unique as we might have been on an island in the Pacific, the Caribbean or even the South Atlantic instead of the Indian Ocean.
The accompanying tourists were what you might expect in a place like this, mostly white Europeans meandering between beach, bar, restaurant and chalet enjoying what each had to offer. French seemed to be the dominant language spoken, followed by English and the odd German. Not surprising as Creole is the predominant languge amongst the natives on the island and any Frenchman unsure of his or her abilities in English would likely understand this French based patois, if spoken slowly. Perhaps an indication that holidays in the sun are chosen in places where people feel most comfortable in their surroundings. This criteria is understandably not solely pertinent to language. Maybe underlined by the fact that there was a not inconsiderable number of tourists from India and/or the Middle East who as far as I know have little reason to seek a French speaking environment. The answer to this we possibly found on one of the following days when our driver for the day gifted us with a history lesson of the island. Like looking into a pot with stew where we had already identified many of the ingredients and he was now kind enough to give us the background on each.
At the airport we were requested to fill in an international arrival form and after queuing at the passport desk were requested to fill in another almost identical form. I asked why two of the same and received the reply, ”that one is for the health authorities.”
”Why not buy a copying machine?” was on the tip of my tongue but having met the occasional border official in my time I have understood the wisdom of keeping my mouth shut at crucial moments.
That little episode and the bureaucracy it reveals, together with English being an official administrative language, is undoubtedly a leftover from the colonial days of the Empire. The English were the last to leave, so to speak but others came and left before that. In the 16 Century the Dutch colonised and named the island after Maurice van Nassau (Prince of Orange) and according to our driver, not being able to find enough food ate the Dodo, endemic to the island, to extinction. The French on arriving renamed the island Isle de France and although Mauritius reverted to its original name after the Napoleonic wars, French remained the lingua franca surviving 158 years of British rule.
Even the capital city seemed to reach out to the world as we looked down on Port Louis from the fort overlooking the town nestled between the backdrop of hills in a manner reminiscent of Cape Town, whereas the atmosphere on the waterfront later that day had us thinking of Fisherman` s Wharf in San Francisco.
”There is no crime in Mauritius,” we were told by our driver. Not mincing words there I thought, remembering his recitation on Maurition demography. ”Most people are of Indian heritage, followers of Hinduism or Islam and Christians are black.” I think a handful of Chinese Buddhists together with a small number of European descent could be added to this. Travelling around Mauritius, the abundance of places of worship, temples, mosques and churches confirm the multicultural, multiethnic and multilingual nature of this small island with its ca. 1,5 million inhabitants.
To boot, I read that Mauritius is the most prosperous country in Africa. There is a lesson to be learnt here.
For several years now I have shared my thoughts on various things that have had an impact on my life. Apart from enjoying writing, I feel that somewhere in the future my words might in some small way serve my descendents as a source of information about me and the time I spent on this planet. Answering questions much like, ”What did you do in the war, grandad?”
Until less than two years ago the reaction to that precise question would have been, ”What war?” Since then I have shared the anxiety and frustration of many Europeans over Russia´ s despicable invasion of Ukraine and done my best to help as well as to broadcast my feelings as to what is recquired of the democratic world to contain this heinous international pariah.
Today I am at loss for words. The depravity the world witnessed on the 7th October is beyond belief, on a level with or even surpassing Russian, ghoulish behaviour in Ukraine. With no warning, the indiscriminate torture, rape, murder and mutilation of civilians, young and old, flickered across our screens. There was no military objective and it soon became clear that, together with the kidnapping of hostages, the acts of violence perpetrated on that day were the actual objectives.
For what reason? Nothing that would benefit people in Palestine, as the likely Israeli response would be to attack Hamas and the havoc this would wreak on the population of Gaza. Apart from ventilating blind hatred, in an orgy of violence on Israelis, I see no plausible motivations other than the unthinkable, that the objective was to provoke a war at the cost of civilian lives on both sides. The fact that Hamas and big brother Hizbollah are both dependant on weapons from Iran tells us that the 7th October was without a doubt sanctioned by the Mullahs and that any explanation to why these atrocities occurred should be sought in Teheran or maybe even in Moscow.
This is the bus that people in Västerås filled with items destined for Ukraine. Amongst other things these included medicines and medical equipment, army surplus and outdoor equipment as well as a variety of non-perishable foodstuffs including chocolate. A special request for adult nappies and the 4-wheel drive van in the background of the picture, to be painted in military green and used for evacuating the wounded, more than anything underlined the seriousness of the situation. Recently I received information that the bus in the company of a variety of other useful vehicles has arrived in Ukraine, thanks to the efforts of volunteers from “Skicka vidare till Ukraina” (Send on to Ukraine).
On this day the 24th August, Ukraine celebrates its declaration of independence from Soviet Russia in 1991. On this day thirty-two years later the people of Ukraine are now fighting the heir to that evil empire in an effort to keep that same independence.
It has come to the point where hiding behind political views and/or rhetoric pales in the presence of what the Russian Federation is doing in Ukraine. This is no longer a case of right or wrong, left wing or right wing, what about this or what about that. We are in the face of barbarity and there are no excuses, political, economic nor pacifist for not calling this out. Those who are not prepared to do that, wilfully expose themselves. The analysis of how and why, I leave to you in each individual case.
I was born amongst the ruins of Europe and never thought I would ever be revisiting the likes of something that belongs in history books.
I am not alone. I am just one of millions and millions of people across the globe who are aghast at what is happening. Countries and people who behave like Russia must be stopped. Make no mistake, negotiations and treaties did not prevent this war which should give us an understanding of how not to deal with Russia.
On Saturday I will be joining a gathering to celebrate Ukrainian independence as well as collect as many useful items as possible to be sent to Ukraine. Even if in all modesty, being part of millions doing the same thing makes a difference. The smallest item, sum of money or just buying the nearest Ukrainian refugee a coffee or a beer sends messages and hope. Slava Ukraini!
