DANTEMag - N.2

Issue - December/January 2012

UK £ 7.50 - $ 12.50 - UE € 8.5 - Hong Kong $ 95 - China RMB 79

www.dantemag.com

UK £ 7.50 - $ 12.50 - UE € 8.5 - Hong Kong $ 95 - China RMB 79

www.dantemag.com

Issue - December/January 2012

Issue 0 year 1 - february 2011 - UK £ 5.00 - $ 8.00 www.dantemag.com

FOR THE RENAISSANCE IN US

The only international magazine with an Italian soul

Italian fashion protects itself from imitation Reining in reckless bankers: a modest proposal

Overture q q q q Obama, Where Art Thou?

Obama, Where Art Thou?

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JORDAN

An Incredible Journey

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21/06/2011 15:56:59

index LETTER FROM THE EDITORS Dante and Beatrice p. 10

HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF Food for thought! p. 12

DIVINA COMMEDIA AROUND THE WORLD. p.14

ART.

Making the fragments whole p. 18 Before halloween the filò p. 30

DESIGN AND ARCHITECTURE The new London skyline speaks Italian p. 42

MUSIC

The best rock you may ever hear by names you may not know p.48

FILM

The spy who came in from the seventies p.56

LITERATURE An elegant writer p.60

COVER

Obama, where art thou? p. 60

POLITICS

The untold war: a British soldier of fortune in Iraq p. 72 Gadaffi loses but who wins? p. 80

BUSINESS

Italian fashion protects itself p. 84 Reining in reckless bankers: a modest proposal p. 90 Scooping up great art p. 92 With all my worldly goods... p. 98

ECOLOGY

MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO EXTREME SPORTS Sagebrush and rodeo dreams p. 106

TRAVEL The Kimberley coast of Australia p. 112 Budapest’s black gold p. 122 health The road warrior’s guide to battling stress p. 126 FOOD Sure about your sushi? p. 132 Embassy Mayfair p. 136

COLUMNS Nonno Panda tales Muffy the Puffin and no more fish in the ocean... p. 138 Leviathan p. 142

The vengeance of meaning : the ecology of apocalypse and utopia p. 102 DANTEmag n.2

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contributors Contributing Writers .

Editor in Chief Massimo Gava

Arts Editor Devon Dikeou

Deputy Editor.

Chris Kline.

Web and New Technology Editor Steven Spieczny

Editor at Large US Caroline Udall.

Special Projects Editor Ezster Galfalvi

Editor at Large.

Bee Van Zuylen,

International Correspondent.

Mike Jerovia

Executive Literary Editor Patrick J.Summers

Associated Research Editor.

Louis Romero

Feature Editor.

Keanu Kerr

Art Director.

Nicola Sasso

Photography Director.

Wiston Cole

Business Editor Martin Shah

Picture Editor.

Luella Stock

New York Business Editor.

John McEwin

Executive Online Editor.

Max Spagnol

Online Design Editor.

Lavinia Todd

Music Editor Dean Rispler

Online Research Editor.

Mary Shulze

Dantemag is published by.

EvolutionTree Publishing Company 12 Charing Cross Mansions 26, Charing Cross Rd. London WC2H 0DG. UK. info@dantemag.com.

Copy Editor Philip Rham

Director Sale and Marketing Emilio Barba

Subscribe online at: www.dantemag.com/subscription

Chrishanti Jayawardene, Mark Beech, Steve Conger, Lucia De Nardi, Rupert Dodds, Jehangir Masud, Barbara Lenisa, Phoenix Troll, Bel Claridge, Duncan Kerr, Nigel Parsons, Veena Kanda, Elisabeth Molnar, Christopher Pocock, Lawrence Kilshaw, Elisa T. Keena, Neil Geraghty, Dante and Beatriz, NonnoPanda.

Contributing Photographers.

Duke Beardsley studio 2011, Rupert Dodds, Johann Bell, Neil Geraghty, Phoenix Troll, Anastasija Hozyainova, Vittorio Celotti, Brendan Olley, Lisa Southerland.

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Letter from the Editors

H

Bringing a magazine to life almost from scratch requires a sort of alchemy. We begin with naked pages and then envision in the mind’s eye how to animate them with the written word, with compelling stories and ideas, and with images that will also capture the imagination.

After labouring to bring you something we can be proud of, once-lifeless paper becomes what you now hold in your hands - a tangible, physical fact, a copy of Dantemag. But we don’t rest on our laurels. We believe our reach should always exceed our grasp, so we pledge to succeed even better next time. A magazine is indeed a living entity, an evolution, a perpetual work in progress. We will keep striving for new heights every time we go to print, and keep capturing your gaze and holding your attention.

We exist online as well as in hardcopy and we embrace the web universe as one of the crucial communications arteries of our age. But when the impending death of the magazine format is pronounced, we resist such grave predictions.

Perhaps it is quixotic to pursue a handmade artifact of ink and paper in our times, to try to compete with the deluge of information available on the internet and shouting from television screens. But we find an artisanal pleasure in doing what we do. Some of us can still remember when we lovingly assembled pages with scissors and glue, counting the column inches and measuring headlines with a ruler and pencil.

We adamantly hold to the notion that a computer screen can never quite provide the same comfort, the unabashed pleasure, the tactile intimacy of turning the pages of a magazine, of immersing oneself in its private universe. So, we persevere in our mission to keep bringing you what we hope is a wellcrafted, incisive, entertaining and thought-provoking publication. We exist because of you, our readership and thus offer heartfelt thanks for giving us the opportunity to practise our craft and to keep classic journalistic, core values breathing even as those too are decried as moribund. DANTEMAG is alive and kicking and we are delighted you are reading our second issue.

We promised in our premiere edition not to see the world through rose-tinted glasses, not to pull our punches. We won’t mince our words now. We’re a pan-European and transatlantic magazine with global perspectives and we would be remiss if we ignored the current state of international affairs.

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The planet is in profound crisis and we need look at only a few issues to know it squarely. Economic woes range far and wide. The euro is fragile and not remotely assured of being spared from collapse. A looming second Recession could well metamorphose into a new Depression, in time. Far- right parties and with them their pathologies keep gaining new ground everywhere.

Yet we live in a fascinating era, the world has grown much smaller, we communicate amongst ourselves as we never could before. Globalisation is not just the scourge of McDonalds and Starbucks. We are closer than ever to achieving a genuine global community even if much work remains. Human beings are remarkably resilient. The hope for a better tomorrow has not been stamped out, even if it must be fought for. And in crisis, humanity has not lost its genius for invention when necessity demands it. In medicine we are making inroads into better contending with both AIDS and cancer.

There have been remarkable advancements in the quest for alternative clean energy sources, especially from the miraculous and life-giving power of the sun. Not all of us are deaf to the reality of climate change. We seek new ways to preserve the oceans, detoxify them and replenish fish stocks. We are beginning to understand that organic farming can feed us efficiently and multiply the food supply dramatically without forcing us to ingest pesticides. For all that we have ravaged the earth, eco-conservation is now a voice that cannot be silenced and many work to preserve the patrimony of the natural world, although it is a never-ending struggle. We possess the technology to reclaim deserts and barren soil.

In the arts, in literature, in music, in film, in all creative endeavours, ours is as a potent a world civilization as any in history. And the simple fact that so many people are taking to the streets in virtually every continent is perhaps less a sign of our disintegration,than rather our capacity for renewal, our thirsty hope, our ability to shape the world anew with courage and determination. The demand for the upholding of human rights has never been louder. The human spirit is not broken and our world need not be irreparable.

So, instead of urging you to run into the bunker, we say step into the light, be the light, seek it within yourselves and add your light to the sum of light, however best you can. Do not hide; face the world head on, for it is still filled with the promise of greatness. All of us at Dantemag wish you a joyful and fruitful New Year. We leave you with a quote from our namesake to help bolster you greeting the New Year. “We climbed up. Until I finally saw through a round opening the beauteous things which Heaven holds. And there we came out to see, once more, the stars.�

Dante and Beatrice (Alias the editors)

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History Repeats Itself

by Massimo Gava Food for thought!

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�The money powers prey upon the nation in times of peace and conspire against it in times of adversity. It is more despotic than a monarchy, more insolent than autocracy, and more selfish than bureaucracy. It denounces as public enemies, all who question its methods or throw light upon its crimes... As a result of the war, corporations have been enthroned and an era of corruption in high places will follow, and the money power of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of the people until all wealth is aggregated in a few hands and the Republic is destroyed. I feel at this moment more anxiety than ever before, even in the midst of war. God grant that my suspicions may prove groundless.�

Abraham Lincoln, sixteenth President of the United States. Excerpt from a letter written Nov.21, 1864, five months before his assassination, adressed to his long-time friend Colonel William F. Elkins, voicing his fear of a central bank being formed.

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comedy THE DIVINE Around the World

Half along our life’s path. Lost in a dark wood.

Unable to find the right way….

PARADISO Dear Beatrice…

CANTO I

Admonishing Italians for letting their 1.9 trillion debt pile up through wasteful spending, tax dodging and trusting in incompetent politicians, Signor Giuliano Melani has become a national hero in Italy after buying an entire page in the daily, Corriere della Sera, urging Italians to buy back their own national debt . He explained that the bill for Italian government bond expiring annually is €260-270 billion - a sum which could be easily taken care of, if every Italian paid €4,500 each, considering the private savings held by Italian families is about five times the national debt.

That’s why Mr Melani declared, “There are many things we have to do, but right now, there’s really only one - buy back our own debt!

It’s nice to see that in a moment of crisis, there are still some Italian citizens that can think of a simple step to rescue their country from the brink of meltdown.

Unfortunately, that cannot be said for those politicians and the rest of the cast that have dealings with European bureaucrats or IMF experts, who, once they enter DANTEmag n.2

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the country, are only capable of stripping assets, handing them out amongst their friends and then letting the country run aground.

In the first issue of Dantemag, Roberto Benigni explained how small gestures made by honourable citizens started the rebellion that created the 150 year-old Italian republic. Now the enemy lies within Italy itself. Italian citizens are disgusted by the constant blame game and are well aware that rats are the first to leave a sinking ship, so they feel they better take their fate into their own hands once again. Let’s all turn into Melani’s for Italy! Away with “ The Second Republic”! Watch out, the renaissance of The Third is coming!

Forza Monti! Make him a Saint now!

CANTO II

Pennsylvania University, USA. A team of scientists headed by Professor Carl June is said to have discovered “killer“ cells that can wipe out leukaemia within three weeks. Researchers treated sufferers with their body’s own cells, which had been genetically modified to attack and destroy tumours. The result of repro-

gramming T cells, which are part of the immune system, was so powerful that the tumours were blown away in under a month with few side effects. The team believes this breakthrough could provide a road map for the treatment of many other cancers.

Let’s hope this will be available soon and to all sufferers—not just to those who have good health insurance.

CANTO III

Tehran. Iran. “Ashenayeh Mahboub”, beloved companion is the title of the best selling DVD in the Islamic republic. It’s a sex education program or, in the words of producer Mohamed Reza Alizadeh, “a guide to a healthy married life.” It costs three euros and can be found everywhere, but particularly in pharmacies.

It can also be ordered from a website (you must, of course, be at least 18 years of age). The video is narrated by Professor Mohammed Majd, a psychiatrist and professor of medical science at Tehran University. It starts with a courtship of two flowers, then moves to an image of millions of sperm approaching an egg, then dissolving to a live foetus coming out of a womb. Accompanied by the Richard Strauss music Also Sprach Zarathustra, Dr Majd gives instruction on the video in

accordance with religious dogma, and is for women as much as for men.

“Anger and stress block sexual activity,” Majd explains. He then goes into very intimate details.

“It was not easy to get it out,” said producer Alizadeh. “Nobody wanted to deal with us, but then we managed to get the signature of the health and cultural office.

So here we are. The promotional campaign has been very prudish.

The most important message to get across to the client was ‘this is a big present for your spouse’, but it has been seen also as a way to stop divorces that in Iran in the last 10 years have tripled from 50,000 to 150,000. In a country famous for its censorship this is certainly a sign of some opening. A pharmacist told us a story of a not-so-young woman that came to buy the video as her husband was not satisfied with her and wanted to have a second wife. She, despite being the preeminent wife, did not have any intention of losing him to anyone.

Therefore she asked for help.

O Beatrice, let’s hope the two of them managed to revive their love for each other. . .

Purgatorio

Neither homosexual men nor heterosexual men were aroused by both sets of images. Thank God the ancients did not have to match the standard devia-

tion to get these findings. But I guess anything regarding sex and sexuality still sells-even when it comes to science.

Virgil what can be said of The Marie Antoinettes of INFERNO the West...

CANTO I

CANTO I

Supermarkets and dairy farms have been fined almost £50 million in the UK for price rigging on milk and cheese that cost consumers £270 million.

The punishment was announced by the Office of Fair Trading (OFT). The great milk robbery took place in 20022003, but only now has a fine of £49.51 million been imposed. Tesco, Sainsbury’s, Asda, and Safeway, now part of Morrison, have all been implicated.

John Fingleton, OFT chief executive, said this decision sends a strong signal to supermarkets, suppliers and others businesses. What signal, exactly? That £270 million versus a fine of £50 million is a very lucrative deterrent? Ask 85-year old Shelagh Angell, who bought six tins of cat food from Sainsbury’s but accidentally left the seventh in her bag and was banned from setting foot in any Sainsbury’s branch for the rest of her life, and was threatened with police action if she did. The grandmother, who lives in Bournemouth, suffers from dementia. I wonder if that is the same syndrome that has stricken the Office of Fair Trading - or perhaps it’s just a good old double standard?

show more empathy, more prosocial behaviours, more compassion, no matter how you look at it. Wealth, education and prestige gave the rich the freedom to only worry about themselves.” In one experiment he filmed various groups in conversation. He said rich people appeared more distracted, checking phones, doodling and avoiding eye contact. those on lower income made eye contact and nodded more, signalling they were interested in what was being said. Another test studied responses to pictures of starving children.

Sensors on those taking part recorded the response from the vagus nerve, which helps the brain handle emotional images. According to the findings published in the journal Current Directions in Psychological Science, those from lower-income people showed a more intense response. Wow! Glad we finally managed to prove it. There is heaven after all. Yes, the tax one.

CANTO III

Bisexuality really does exist! At least that’s what Allen Rosenthal claims. This is a big aboutface from research results from the same university in 2005, which asserted that bisexuality does not exist. The would-be CANTO II Professor Dacher Keltner from doctor and his team at Chicago’s Northwestern University the University of California claim that previous research claims that the rich are more has not been sufficiently self-obsessed than the rest of rigorous in identifying candius. Keltner says that they are dates. This time instead they less empathetic, less altruistic identified 35 self-described and generally more selfish as bisexuals, 31 homosexuals, and a result of their wealth. “We have now done twelve separate 34 heterosexuals. The findings are to be published in the onstudies measuring empathy in line journal Biological Psychoevery way imaginable, social logy. According to the study, behaviour in every way, and bisexuals were equally aroused some work on compassion, by videos of same-sex intimaand it’s the same story,” he cy of both men and women. said. “Lower class people just

that rhino horn in a very specific area of the poachers’ bodies Pharmageddon. Prescription would work wonders. Barbaric drugs are killing American youth. The White House is con- practice? Medieval response. It is progress after all and it might cerned about increasing abuse save money over keeping them by teenagers of prescription in jail. drugs like xanax, oxycodone, klonopin, and hydrocodone.

The problem is so bad that the CANTO III Australia. A 96-year old British state of Kentucky has created woman, Gladys Jefferson, who rehabilitation centres where wants to live with her family, fahuge numbers of young addicts are being treated. The fact ces deportation on the grounds that her health and age will be a that the drugs are prescribable burden on the country’s welfare seems to give them a sort of system. Her initial 12-month legality and legitimacy in the visa has run out and unless theeyes of the kids that use them re is a change of heart by the as a cheap way to get stoned. authorities she will have to say One study states that among adolescents between the ages of goodbye to her only surviving family, be flown almost 11,000 12 and 18, prescription drugs have become the second illegal miles back to the UK, and put into a nursing home. She will substance used after marijuana and parents often do not know be surrounded by strangers since all of her friends have died. about it.

Her daughter, who is looking after her, claims that her mother has enough money to pay for CANTO II any health treatment she might Rhinos today a few numbers: 287 killed in 2011, among them need. Under the contributing parent visa scheme, parents 16 black rhinos; 20,000 white should be allowed to live with rhinos left in the world, 4,838 black; 200 Sumatran rhinos left; their children in Australia as long as they can support them2,913 Indian rhinos remain, selves, which seems to be the and of the Javan rhinos, only case. But Australian authorities 50. Rhinoceros horn is used say it has been a long-standing in traditional medicine in Asia, policy that health is considered but it is based on myth and is as part of visa applications. It putting the whole species at seems the lady failed the health risk. Poachers chop off the requirements simply due to her horn and leave the animal to old age. What a nice way to bleed to death. South Africa, where the majority of the world end somebody’s life—lost in the inferno of a short-sighted population of rhinos lives, has arrested 265 poachers that ope- bureaucracy. . . rated in Kruger National Park, and sentenced them to 12-year prison terms. South Africa’s actions should be matched in To what other terthose Asian countries where races of doom and the poachers sell the product.

It is paramount that Asian and pain, dear Virgil, African governments work will you accomtogether to save this natural pany me... next heritage. Personally, I can think of an excellent deterrent to this time... practice: perhaps a little taste of

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Making the Fragments Whole

By Bel Claridge

Up-and-coming Dallas-based artist Lisa Soderlund has created art for as long as she can remember, but as with many aspiring artists, she had to hold down various day jobs to pay the bills. In 2009, with the support and encouragement of her husband, she started Lisa Soderlund Fine Art and dedicated herself to her art full time.

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ART

“I feel like I have always been an artist inside,” she says. “It isn’t always easy to take a risk and follow your dreams, especially when it takes hard work and requires you to expose something deeply personal to public scrutiny.

My husband’s support was crucial in giving me the courage to take the step into being a full-time artist” Her striking collages, as well as her mastery of a wide range of other media and techniques, are gaining her recognition in Dallas and beyond. Her art is now in private collections throughout the U.S. and in Europe. In this interview with Dante Magazine, she tells us a bit about where she’s coming from.

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ART

What inspires you?

My eye is constantly drawn to details other people may not notice, and I often need to create art after I’m confronted with something I find beautiful. Sometimes it’s a person who fascinates me. Sometimes inspiration comes in the form of landscapes I see in my travels. Sometimes I see patterns that I can’t stop looking at that demand to be replicated in my art. Most often it’s my feelings that cause me to be drawn to an idea or image that I must attempt to create on canvas or paper. The more I create, the more beauty I seem to find around me.

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ART

Why collage?

I think of collage as representative of the times we are living in.

So much of our lives are disjointed, fragmented. Our relationships are often torn apart. We feel disconnected and pulled in a thousand different directions. We have information overload, and when we focus on all those little pieces of information that are constantly at our fingertips, we see nothing but static and hear nothing but noise. But at the same time, we have all this amazing technology that takes all those separate bits of information in our lives, glues them together, and displays them in a way that we can understand and appreciate, creating a cohesive whole that is beautiful and inspiring. Collage represents this dichotomy wonderfully: the bits and pieces that, alone and apart, make no sense, but which together create a holistic image that touches the soul. I love the idea of taking a pile of tiny pieces of paper, sifting through it, arranging it on a canvas, and turning it into something that someone can look at and be touched..

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ART

We notice there is a lone “E” in every collage. Why? My first collage using ripped magazine pages was my collage of Audrey Hepburn, who had special meaning to my husband and me as we were getting to know each other. I was thinking of him as I created her, and I wanted to surprise him. He has always encouraged me in my art, so the special E is my homage to Eric.

I’ve put a special E in every collage I’ve created since. My kids love looking for the E piece as I work.

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Do you work in other media besides collage?

Yes, I also paint using acrylics on canvas. Large abstract paintings are what I love to create when I’m feeling wistful or missing loved ones. At times I try something different and paint using a “spork” (spoon/fork combined into one utensil) instead of a brush, much like artists who use a palette knife to apply paint. I enjoy how the spork gives my paintings texture and looseness. Sometimes I use oils, but I’m drawn to the immediacy of acrylics, which dry fast and are easy to clean up. I love to create pastel figurative works on hymn pages using just black so the lighter parts of the figure allow the music to show through. Sometimes it’s nice to paint a painting or two between collages to feel the rush of accomplishing a task quickly, since collage can be rather tedious to create. But it’s just possible that I’m tedious, so collage could be the perfect medium for me.

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What direction would you like your art to take?

Right now I’m in the middle of creating a body of black and white collages on canvas—some will be larger than any I’ve attempted to create before. I’ve always been drawn to black and white images, from classic movies to photographs and art. I love how images in black and white have an added romance and nostalgia to them. I’ve had the pleasant problem that people buy my collages before I can amass a collection. My goal is to build up a collection large enough to hang in galleries and museums. I also have ideas brewing for installation projects that I would like to try in the future. I am lucky to live in Dallas where the visual arts scene is vibrant and exciting, and I have great galleries and museums nearby to see fresh new art that motivates me to keep doing what I love. I also find inspiration from the classic artists that I am lucky to see firsthand.

What do you want to accomplish as an artist?

I just want to keep producing work I’m proud to put my name on. My main motivation is creating art that people want to look at because it makes them feel something personal and touching.

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What advice do you have for aspiring artists?

How have your life experiences informed your art?

Get an MBA and work on Wall Street. Just kidding. My advice is to never stop working, never stop striving, never stop feeling, living, loving, observing, listening, and just being. Get technical training and acquire the tools of an artist, but don’t confuse the ability to draw or paint well with being an artist. To be an artist, you have to take chances, you have to get inside of yourself and then get outside of yourself. You have to please your own eye and be true to your own vision and your own view of the world, but you also have to be in tune with what appeals to humanity. You can’t simply copy the work of others or try to mimic the latest trend, but you also can’t allow yourself to be self-indulgent. An artist must possess both authenticity and empathy to really create something of lasting beauty and power..

First of all, I was fortunate to have a good teacher in high school who taught me important basics about art that I’ve used all my life.

I’ve also been lucky to travel to many places in my life, including living in Vienna for a year. Gustav Klimt, Egon Schiele, and Edgar Degas were the first artists I saw in museums whose work really inspired me to want to do art as well. I grew up in several states in the Western U.S. and those landscapes have also deeply influenced my vision and sense of aesthetics.

Most of my art is influenced by people that I know. Sometimes I’m influenced by the burning desire to create art using my loved ones or friends as models. Sometimes my creative friends encourage me to try new forms of art I’ve never tried before which become important to me, and turn my focus in entirely new and unexpected directions. This is how I started doing collage using ripped magazine pages. I may get commission requests that cause me to get creative and try new things. Sometimes I find the only way to process otherwise overwhelming feelings is by creating fresh art. I think growing up in a large family, as well as the interactions—some painful—I had with friends in my youth, helped me to become the observer I am. I love to watch people and imagine what makes them who they are, and the constant wonder I feel about people is reflected in my art. I find people endlessly fascinating.

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Tell us about your Ready for What Comes Next collage found on the cover of this magazine?

The political news has been so turbulent lately. I wanted to include as many words and catch phrases as I could find into the design in order to capture some of that cacophony. After a lot of deliberation, I decided to incorporate the words into the white stripes of a flowing flag behind Obama. I love how it looks. The United States is in a very interesting place that I’ve never experienced in my lifetime. There is a definite feeling of unrest and expectation that something must change. The economy is suffering.

Will Obama be the one to bring about positive change? Will the Congress help him or hinder him as he attempts to make changes that are desperately needed? Will he have enough time to prove himself worthy of re-election? The clock faces I put throughout the collage are my favorite bits, meant to possibly remind Obama that time is running out, so now is the time to step up and show us what he’s made of. I have hope.

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Lisa Soderlund’s work can be seen and is available for purchase at her website: www.lisasoderlund.com.

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ART

Before Halloween the filò

by Massimo Gava.

Photos: Vittorio Celotti

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Photo Paul Scheuermeier

ART

The word Halloween is first attested in the 16th century and represents a Scottish variant of the fuller All Hallows Even, the night before all Hallows (or All Saints) Day.

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Photo Paul Scheuermeier

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DANTEmag n.2

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ART

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ART

The memory of my living relatives obviously doesn’t extend back to 1600, but they still talk about the traditions of the Italian folks at the end of the 19th century, with yearly festivals leading up to All Saints Day and carrying on for the rest of the winter.

stable.

A lot of those folks were illiterate. Going to school was expensive and took needed labour away from the land. They lived in a ruthless world where the struggle to survive was a daily battle. They fought the fatigue and despair of endless labour with whatever means they could

The story of the Filò was information, remembrance, communication, but above all, a fantastic training ground for creativity. It was born into a sad and poor world, devoted to sublimation and fantasy, aiming for redemption, survival and hope.

In this society full of overweight people, it is difficult to imagine the hunger of that time. Thanks to the fantastic tales in those stables, the night felt not so cold and that food for the mind anaesthetized, at least temporarily, the needs of the body.

Some sort of escape from these harsh realities was necessary. So these people became masters in the art of overcoming fatigue, learning to guess when they did not know, and using their imaginations to create what they did not have.

Winters were cold and long. After 4 pm, darkness fell like a blanket of ink and stayed for sixteen hours—an eternity. The kitchen had just enough firewood to cook, so when the meal was finished and the fires began to fade, all the families living around the courtyard moved to the

It was the only warm place thanks to the presence of the animals, and that’s where the magic theatre of the Filò began.

The Filò traditions date back to the1500’s. Ruzzante, the Venetian writer, mentions this practice in his comedies. The primacy of these traditions is seen also in the rest of the Veneto, Friuli, Lombardy, Tuscany, Emilia Romagna, Abruzzi and Sicily. An endless amount of diverse agricultural knowledge, rites, cuisine, songs, and fairy tales were DANTEmag n.2

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ART handed down orally from generation to generation.

In each family there was at least one guardian of this precious knowledge, but most of it was entrusted to a special person with a real talent for storytelling.

They were often lonely men, sensitive visionaries, with a past full of experience. In exchange for a place to sleep and some food, they offered their craft during the day and their narrative talent at night.

In simple words, they told the stories of what they witnessed in their travels, terrible diseases, epic wars, cataclysms, exorcism of devils, and ghosts.

The narration of those events evoked images that illuminated the night for the community. In their own minds, they all made their own films.

People moved from one stable to another choosing the best performance. It was open to all.

An oil lamp was the only reflector. In that dim light words took on special textures beyond the short, luminous perimeter of its glow. In

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ART the shadow, the noises of the animals, their scratching, their munching, added a soundtrack to the tales. The sounds of the audience carrying on with their tasks offered a counterpoint—the beating of the weaving loom that made rough hemp sheets, the flip-flop of the flask that children used to turn cream into butter, the rustle of the corlo spinning the wool. The wool, shorn from sheep and goats, was made into everything from shirts to gloves and socks. The sounds of this important activity gave the Filò its name—it means “hand spinning”. In the warm and humid stables, humans co-existed harmoniously with the animals on which they depended, in a very delicate balance.

Men and women, discreetly separated as in church, worked as they listened to the tales of the old. The boys, sitting in respectful silence,

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won over the girls with furtive smiles. The girls, lowering their eyes, kept working on their canvas embroidery, so they could conceal their real feelings, certain their blushes were obscured by the half-light. But up among the rafters of the stable, it was all a fluttering of the wings of rutting Cupids.

Children clung to grandparents with their eyes and mouths open, lost in the magic of stories of the Filò, while outside the fog with its tentacles entrapped the rest of the world in its net.

On All Saints Eve, the different regions celebrated their traditions’ rites.

In Sicily, they prepared gifts and cakes for the children and told them that they came from people that had passed away. In Emilia Roma-

ART gna, the poor went from door to door asking for food in exchange for praying for the dead. In the Veneto and Friuli, hollowed-out pumpkins were painted and turned into lanterns, the candle in it signifying the resurrection.

It is fascinating to see how these traditions have evolved over the years to such a degree that very little remains of the festival of Samhain (summer end) from Celtic times.

The current imagery of Halloween is derived from many sources encompassing national costumes, works of gothic and horror literature, and classic films. But still the old traditions come back full circle, returning perhaps with a different meaning.

Consumer society re-adapted the old ways and concepts to suit their purposes, just as immigrants to America carved the pumpkins instead of the original turnips, accidentally recalling the Italian tradition.

The world is constantly evolving - for good or for bad, who can say which? Maybe another full circle is about to be accomplished in a world and way of life that is increasingly unsustainable. An alternative Filò could be just around the corner for future generations - scary, don’t you think?

Consider it as my Halloween trick!

Special thanks to Ermanno Ongaro - “A casa de Giorgio” Restaurant.

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ARCHITECTURE AND DESIGN

The new London skyline speaks Italian

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By Lucia De Nardi

ARCHITECTURE AND DESIGN

Renzo Piano, winner of the Pritzker Prize in 1998 puts his signature on London’s roof. .

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The Shard is a new jewel of twenty-first century architecture. Rumour has it that it was designed by Renzo Piano on the back of a napkin in a Berlin cafe. It is not finished yet, but already shines and plays with the London skyline

A natural antagonist of Sir Norman Foster’s masterpiece, the Swiss Re Tower, the Shard is rising in the Southwark area, around London Bridge Station. This elegant pyramid is clad in eight sheets of glass, rotating at different angles that make the building dynamic, creating a dancing transparent effect wrapped around a heart of concrete.

Inspired by the peaks of the House of Parliament, and the masts of boats moored until recently at the nearby docks on the river Thames, the Shard replaces the 1970s-era Southwark Tower. The tower will have 72 habitable floors and will be host to the first Shangri-la Hotel in the UK with a spa, offices, restaurants and cafes, luxury apartments and public terraces.

If you get there from Borough High Street, the vision you get is of an enormous yet light building that absorbs and reflects the light to the point of almost fading into the sky.

This is the precise effect that Piano wanted to achieve, covering the building with high-tech glass panels to ensure clarity. As he explains: “so it won’t look green like an empty wine bottle, or dark like a pair of sun glasses, but will reflect the weather and the colour of the sky”.

Furthermore, the skyscraper has an eco-soul and will be the pillar of an environmentally friendly and more sustai-

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ARCHITECTURE AND DESIGN

nable city. “Humanism should be the central theme of the twenty-first century’s architecture,” says Piano, “the awareness that we are constructing buildings in a fragile world.

Today’s buildings have to pulse with the breath of the earth. Therefore we must pay attention to where we place them, understand where the material comes from, predict what will happen in ten years’ time, when it would be recycled, consider the energy consumption. To combine all these aspects should not be seen as a painful process, but a source of inspiration to create a new language.”

The Shard will use the sun for heating and the wind for cooling. The top 15 floors are designed to be a radiator that will capture wind energy to cool the tower without using energy-consuming airconditioning equipment. This will save up to 35% of the energy that would otherwise be required.

In addition, only 48 parking spaces are provided because the building sits adjacent to a railway station, two London tube stations and about 20 bus lines—ergo, we must give up the car for the sake of the air we breathe in the city where we live!

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ARCHITECTURE AND DESIGN The project also includes renovation of the atrium of the railway station and the redevelopment of the area around the bus stop and taxi stands. The currently existing station roof will be replaced with a glass roof and small shops will be located along the connections between the platforms for taxis, the train station and buses.

The opening is scheduled for the summer of 2012. With its 310 metres divided into 87 levels, the Shard will be the tallest building not only in London, but in all of western Europe.

But London is not new to the beauty of Renzo Piano’s work. In 2008, in St. Giles, in the hinterland behind Centrepoint, near Tottenham Court Road tube station, Piano brought vivid colours and dynamic shapes to revitalise a disharmonious and unkempt neighbourhood.

The new structure of Central St. Giles replaced a staid brick building, former headquarters of British intelligence.

This was a very large project with over 39,000 square metres of offices, commercial units, eleven restaurants, and 109 apartments, 53 of which are subsidised housing.

The colour is the first thing that strikes you: cheerful facades painted buttery yellow, orange and green that glitter, sparkle, and twinkle. It makes you think of the sound boxes of the guitars that you can see from the windows of the nearby shops on Denmark Street. The colours recall perfectly the Centre Pompidou in Paris, the building that 30 years ago marked an important turning point in the history of modern architecture and launched the career of the young

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ARCHITECTURE AND DESIGN architect Renzo Piano with Richard Rogers, his partner in that adventure.

As in Paris, here in London an original idea was needed to revitalise an entire neighborhood. Just as in Paris, Renzo Piano, with his Italian craftsmanship, has been able to reinvent an existing space, giving it a fluid relationship with the city.

“The colour adds surprise,” says Piano. ”It helps the fragmentation. I do not believe cities should be boring. Cities are a kind of miracle because they are full of surprises. The colour is the humour and the magic of it.”

The context in which it stands has had a major impact on the design of the project. Central St. Giles is an impressive architectural sculpture, a combination of changing sides. The appearance of each facet is unique: different height, orientation, colour and relationship with natural light. Glass, steel and ceramics are the protagonists of this masterpiece. In each facade the ceramics assume different shades, designed with the utmost care to blend in with the surrounding buildings so as to fully integrate with all the existing urban texture.

It stands on a base of six-metre high transparent glass, that stimulates the curiosity of passers-by, inviting you to enter. The large and welcoming courtyard is 2,000 square metres with cafes and restaurants. It is a modern square

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designed for socialising, thus reinforcing the urban identity of the site.

“The building rises above the site on which it stands, leaning on transparent glass. I like the idea that the building does not take possession of the land in a selfish way, but talks with the streets,” says Piano.

Renzo Piano’s buildings not only bring great artistic value but they also represent a hopeful renaissance of London after the one of the worst financial world crises in history.

Mayor Boris Johnson calls the Shard a clear and illuminating example of confidence in the economy of London.

The world is changing, presenting new crises, but also opening new opportunities for development. The Shard, this designer piece of glass, will not be the last building to change the face of London. There will be others, perhaps more beautiful or not so beautiful. But it’s just a matter of time until London, this old lady founded by the Romans, dramatically changes her face again.

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MUSIC

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MUSIC

The best rock you may ever hear -- by names you may not know

By Mark Beech

So little time, so many new CDs to listen to. But which ones?

I

It’s way too easy to go for the most obvious music, by simply walking into the nearest record store or going online, closing your eyes and grabbing the very first thing on offer. You’ll probably pick up the everavailable Lady Gaga. She’s been sashaying across the charts this year, as we are all too well aware, while Adele is waving the flag for British artists, and of course the Red Hot Chili Peppers are rocking the airwaves. These artists are all fine in their own way, and probably good to hear when they are so much talked about. At least you have a point of view if someone else praises or slates them. To paraphrase the old advertisement used in the U.K. to promote the Financial Times newspaper: “No CD, no comment.”

It has to be said, though, that none of the above stars’ releases are exactly in the category of the very best Presley, Beatles or Stones. Or whatever classic artist you like. So what’s new, you may say, that is genuinely fresh and not so blatantly obvious?

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MUSIC

We all get so much popular music rammed down our throats, or more accurately stuffed into our ears, that it’s easy to give in to the incessant overblown hype or the insistent adverts, and never really stop to ask if this is the finest on offer.

Let’s do so right now. I’m assuming that “Dante” readers want only the best. I’ll try to tell you something you may not know, like possibly where you might find it.

More than 200,000 popular-music albums are released every year, according to industry figures. About a half of them come out in the U.S. alone. Nobody can listen to all that, though I do my best in my role as the chief rock critic for Bloomberg News and as an author of books about music. Record companies from around the world send me many review copies and I buy too many records myself. Fortunately, apart from writing and editing and somehow having a life, I don’t need much sleep. On average, I get through three or four albums each day, or more than 1,000 a year. I play them

for my own pleasure (at home, on the iPod or in the car) and sometimes for others (on the radio or at discos). I really do put on every one I receive, listening carefully and with gratitude for a good job -- I’d never want to miss finding The Next Big Thing.

Still, the vast majority of review copies are sadly mediocre. They are often not that original, just pale imitations of U2, Bruce Springsteen or Madonna. Or, these days, rip-offs of the Killers/ Kings of Leon, Eminem and Amy Winehouse, God rest her troubled soul. But all the imitation is fine, because this makes it all the more worthwhile when the good material jumps out. There is nothing more exciting, for a critic or for anyone really, than putting on a CD by an unknown act and DANTEmag n.2

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being totally blown away by it.

A couple of years back, I was one of the first to hear a new band called the Fleet Foxes. Within minutes, they had encompassed mediaeval plainsong, Beach Boys, barbershop quartet singing and folk that recalled early Fairport Convention or Jefferson Airplane. I got typing at once on what was one of the first top-star reviews to appear in print and online. The group’s second release, out this year with the slightly odd title “Helplessness Blues,” isn’t bad either.

One can expect record companies to overpraise potential stars, even if they aren’t actually much good. Alarm bells go off when acts have silly names (such as Gaye Bykers on Acid or Gay Dad), have ridiculous outfits (as an example, Empire of the Sun, who sport the most laughable headdresses) or are just hyped to the heavens (Virgin Music got very hot about Palladium, a gimmicky ensemble that went precisely nowhere, except into the bargain bins.)

I get more excited when I get an unsolicited email from a reader -- my column is syndicated to more than 500 newspapers worldwide -- or one of my Twitter followers who wants to draw my attention to some new discovery. Of course, this is sometimes a false trail and it turns out that they are the girlfriend or brother of the act being raved about.

A New York concertgoer, who clearly knew something about music, called to rave about musicians called Leroy Justice. I checked them out on one of my visits to the U.S. and they are not exactly cutting edge, though nicely powerful. I enjoyed their show more than Elton John at Madison Square Garden soon after, which gives some idea of their talent.

A reader from California enthused about a quartet called the Morning Benders. I wasn’t too sure about the unfortunate name, but their CD “Big Echo” has an irresistible West-Coast vibe on summer anthems like “All Day Daylight.”. The Beat Geeks from Atlanta, and London’s “Decline & Fall,” also came as recommendations and they are good.

Just now and again, an artist will make direct contact.

I’d already heard of Jon Regen, a songwriter and pianist. He isn’t above pushing his own talent and sent me his accomplished “Let It Go” in 2007. I was impressed by that, and also his most recent “Revolution,” both of which feature Andy Summers of the Police.

Just every now again, there is some big surprise, as with a recent disc mailed from Jagjaguwar records, in a plain box and labeled “Public Strain.” It had me baffled with its weird glacial melodies and off-key singing. It turned out to be

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a thing of beauty, the second recording by Women, a misleadingly named Canadian quartet of guys.

The “Gaga versus Adele, Beyoncé and Britney” battle has blocked out some other divas who are worth getting to know. Eilen Jewell, from Idaho, combines the blues with country in a way that recalls Lucinda Williams or the excellent Eileen Rose. Jewell’s “Queen of the Minor Key” is well crafted. Anna Calvi has won praise from Nick Cave and Brian

Eno. While the latter’s rave, in a BBC interview, saying that Calvi is “the biggest thing since Patti Smith” is going a little too far, her self-titled debut has echoes of P.J. Harvey and Florence Welch. Katy B’s “On a Mission” is club music made by someone who, remarkably, really seems to have been to a club. Download the track “Rider to the Sea” in particular.

Charlie Haden Quartet West’s “Sophisticated Ladies” is a jazzy disc with impeccable female singers covering standards.

Norah Jones is irresistible on “Ill Wind” and Ruth Cameron brings maturity to “Let’s Call It a Day.” If you like a jazzy twist to your music, check out Norwegian saxophonist Marius Neset’s 2011 album “Golden Xplosion” or Italian Alessandro Magnanini’s “Someday I Still Do” from a couple of years back.

Italy has been expanding its musical reach ever further from its proud operatic heritage. Ignoring the ubiquitous Zucchero DANTEmag n.2

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Fornaciari, the country has been exploring heavy metal, rap and instrumental music. Zu, a Rome-based trio, avoid the translation difficulty with a fusion of distorted bass, saxophone and drums.

French pop is also breaking free of the old Johnny Hallyday/ Serge Gainsbourg cliché. Gainsbourg’s daughter Charlotte has been making her own way, with an intriguing double album “Stage Whisper” on its way. The title is amusing after the breathy almost-not-singing whispers of Carla Bruni

on “Comme si de rien n’était” which suggested President Sarkozy’s wife had best stick to the day job.

If you like your music a little rawer, I have recommendations from a rainy Glastonbury this year, inspired by punky performances from the Horrors, Yuck, the Vaccines and Warpaint in front of an audience of mud-splattered wellington boot wearers. I spend a lot of time going to gigs and festivals watching for talent, usually in more congenial conditions than a festival mudbath, often before the major record companies scouts find them.

Some miscellaneous tips: Shh, an electropop act from Buenos Aires; Geordie good-time band Smoove & Turrell; Sneaky, a double-bass genius living in Berlin; and British folk band the Kittiwakes, whose independent album “Lofoten Cal-

ling” is brilliant and unjustly neglected.

Elsewhere, Kanye West and Jay-Z are battling for the male crown with their respective rap albums and the joint CD “The Throne,” though there are plenty more not so well-known singer-songwriters out there worth hearing. Ron Sexsmith’s recent “Long Player Late Bloomer” is literate and tuneful. As the title suggests, the Canadian seems to have been around forever. So has Sufjan Stevens, who plans a series of 50 albums each named after a U.S. State, and also Ryan Adams -- yes, that’s Ryan, not Bryan Adams. The two Adams are not related and Ryan’s work sounds nothing like “Everything I Do (I Do It for You)”: he is a prolific artist, back after a long illness.

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just to think about English-language lyrics, and of course, if you do that, you omit much of the outstanding music of the world.

I’ve always had time for Akvarium, a Russian band formed in 1972 by Leningrad math student Boris Grebenshchikov. He faced years of official disapproval but has kept going, with the latest, “Archangel, ” a wonderfully inspired return.

Spanish and Brazilian influences are all over “Cosmic Ocean Ship” by U.S. alternative folk singer Mia Doi Todd. Canadian artist Abel Tesfaye’s “House of Balloons” is a striking mixtape of sounds. A group of four wheelchair-bound street musicians from Congo-Kinshasa, called Staff Benda Billy, came together with a teenager who plays on a lute made out of a tin can.

That formula doesn’t sound too promising on paper, which makes the result, “Très Très Fort,” all the more breathtaking with its fusing of rumba, rhythm `n’ blues and reggae.

African music has been billed as “the Next Big Thing” even before Paul Simon’s “Graceland” project in the 1980s. It’s worth discovering the joys of blind Mali musicians Amadou & Mariam -- “Welcome to Mali” is a joyous celebration and builds on the equally fine Ali Farka Touré, who died in 2006 after making the sublime “Savane.”

I don’t pretend to understand a word of records by Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu, an indigenous Australian who sings in the Yolngu language. He might be singing the telephone book for all I care, I just know he sounds great.

I know my tastes might not be yours. My favourite CD of last year was Arcade Fire’s “The Suburbs,” which defeated challenges from the Gorillaz, Robert Plant and Cee Lo Green. I keep pretty mainstream, so I am often more in tune with popular taste than some of my rock-critic colleagues who seem to like to pretend how superior they are by dissing everything commercial and selecting only the most obscure, if not to say unplayable.

I do give extras kudos to records with clever lyrics and

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those that have up tempo rock. I’m also a little old fashioned in liking melodic tunes but I don’t necessarily like things to be retro or backward looking. CDs get an extra star if they are fresh or do something that hasn’t been done before. It’s getting harder to do this, when most forms of pop have been done and a lot of the time when trying to describe it, I resort to saying it sounds like a combination of something that’s come before. Liam Gallagher’s new act Beady Eye predictably sounds like a combination of Oasis and John Lennon, and so on.

Hopefully, the preceding paragraphs have some recommendations that will win approval. Slightly more obvious names from this year’s releases include Gil ScottHeron and Jamie xx’s “We’re New Here”; the Streets’ “Computers and Blues” and P.J. Harvey’s “Let England Shake.”

There’s so much good music to hear that searching it out could be a fulltime job. Come to think of it…

More information: mark@markbeech.net; http://www.bloomberg.com/muse/mark-beech/ or http://twitter.com/Mark_Beech Mark Beech is global team leader of Bloomberg Muse, the arts and culture section of Bloomberg News, and Bloomberg’s chief rock critic. He is the author of “The A-Z of Names in Rock,” “The Dictionary of Rock & Pop Names” and “Culture Shock” (forthcoming in 2012).

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FILM

The Spy Who Came In From the Seventies

By Eszter Galfalvi

Director Tomas Alfredson conjures the Cold War era and George Smiley as quintessential Englishman for our time.

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Translating a book into film is a notoriously difficult task.

Viewers will tend to judge the director’s vision against their own inner eye. Nothing–not even reality–can ever compete with a fully-fleshed fantasy created by the imagination.

How much more difficult is it then to recreate something which has already been mapped out on screen? And how can a two-hour film compete with a version which has had the scope

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of a full mini-series to explore the complexities of the written page?

The BBC adaptations of Pride and Prejudice and South Riding, for example, undoubtedly owe much of their success to the mini-series format, building a detailed and subtle world into which the viewer can enter, and allowing a clearer articulation of the characters.

attack from hidden enemies – a more pervasive, insidious threat than the simple brutality of a suicide bomber on a bus – was an immediate concern. We are never allowed to forget the presence of the Russians, even for an instant. Even at the secret service office party. Even as a joke.

The contrast between the new feature version of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy and its predecessor, the 1979 BBC mini-series starring Sir Alec Guiness as espionage veterean George Smiley, is striking, largely due to differences in approach. The series is the dramatisation of Le Carré ’s novel, while the film is unmistakably a spy film in its own right. The viewer may therefore be more forgiving if the characters do not exactly correspond to what is called up by the imagination. Nevertheless, any director is undoubtedly taking a risk in carving a new space for this iconic piece.

Not that we have entirely left behind our Cold War paranoia. Recently, suspected Russian spies were uncovered in the UK and Germany.

The truth of the claims regarding these two discoveries is up for debate, but what is interesting about these stories is their exposure so soon after the film’s release. The UK case “exposure” took place in 2010, and yet the case has been dragged into the public eye a year later. Similarly, the agents in Germany have supposedly been retired for some years with little evidence of recent activity. (What happens when a KGB agent retires? An agent never retires, he just joins Lenin for a vodka.)

The success of this film is precisely in its ability to transport us to the “old days”. The clues are not ostentatious; everything is naturally in its place. The furnishings and typefaces are all correct, the clothes all in style, and even the small behavioural characteristics are more reminiscent of the men of the seventies. It is visually understated – as opposed to, say, Life on Mars, the strength of which was its self-consciously perfect image of Manchester in the seventies. Our eyes are drawn to the objects as objects, not as symbols of another time—and yet another time is clearly called up before us. Only a few discrepancies can be found, notably in the background of communist Hungary near the start of the film, which depicts an anachronistically multicultural, modern subway scene.

Regardless of any link – genuine or imagined – between the success of this film and recent events, its effect has been profound, particularly in the UK. The film’s style is undeniably British: understated, cautious, dignified; all characteristics of the television series. But the intervening years have not been kind to the original television masterpiece. Its age is showing, and the style of acting and directing, while outstanding in calibre, are dated in style. Moreover, the DVD version is of a disappointing video quality. This big-screen re-imagining comes at just the right moment, with just the right budget, and with an updated understanding of what it means to be British. The legion of gentlemen, all speaking with received pronunciation in the television series, is no longer accessible to us and a new generation of gentleman Director, Tomas Alfredson arguably has a more difficult task in conju- must be born. Our main protagonist, George Smiley, exemplifies the ring up the Cold War era atmosphere now, so long after the time when heart of the British character as we would like to be seen. He presents Russian spies and the war against communism permeated the cultural us with not only the model of a spy, but the model of an Englishman. vernacular. Somehow, Alfredson must return us to the days when DANTEmag n.2

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FILM The limited scope of the two hour film shows up a certain lack of detail in some of the other characters, perhaps a necessary sacrifice to give enough time to the main story, but it’s a problem that presents itself rarely. The other suspects at the top of the secret service ladder, aside from Colin Firth, who portrays Bill Haydon with insolent panache, are uniformly unpleasant and occasionally almost interchangeable. Benedict Cumberbatch plays a solid, earnest Peter Guillam, while Mark Strong gives a powerful performance as the disillusioned, broken agent, Jim Prideaux. Gary Oldman’s performance is greatly enhanced by the foil of his supporting actors, and is beautifully nuanced. We are given the occasional nod to his predecessor, particularly at the start, satisfying those who were intitiated by the mini-series, bridging the gap between old and new.

There is a significant build-up to Smiley’s first lines; indeed, he says nothing until a good twenty minutes into the film. This is characteristic of Oldman’s performance throughout: he is so economical in his movements and speech that anything he does or says is of marked importance simply because it exists. A fractional turn of his head blares surprise; a word in the right place carries multiple layers of meaning. His face is at once expressive and enigmatic: a near blank canvas on which the barest hint of emotion registers as clearly as if he had shouted it. His manner carries the distillation of decades of observation, turning him into the perfect vessel – the perfect spy.

There is a peculiar element of directing in Gary Oldman’s performance. Rather than letting the story speak for itself, the director often works through the actor, subtly but unmistakably moving our attention from object to object through Smiley’s eyes. “What does he see through his large, luminous glasses?” we wonder. We are invited to follow his silent gaze, almost follow his train of thought as he shifts his (and our) focus. Indeed, this technique pervades the film. When Smiley is not present it is the viewer who takes the role of the spy.

This illusion is maintained by careful juxtaposition of close-up shots (usually of inanimate objects) and long shots, often through a doorway or from a voyeuristic perspective through a window. In the penultimate shot, Smiley passes from close-up to distant. Out of focus and through a doorway, we now spy on him.

There is much to be appreciated in the cinematography. Visually, the

film is beautiful, reminiscent of the bold darknesses of Ridley Scott.

A certain reverence is given to the mundane, through close-ups of inanimate objects and small vignettes of everyday actions. Our lives are mundane. We all have eye tests and we all fall asleep while reading in bed. The film presents these small events with a quiet dignity which we would like to think imbues our everyday lives with meaning.

Alfredson gives us a bittersweet painting of London, displayed with curiously poetic candour, rather reminiscent of Eliot. A vision of George Smiley, for instance, taking a swim in the Hampstead Ponds on a cloudy day causes a soft nostalgic pang. London is grey and aging, not unlike our protagonist, George Smiley, and we are invited to view her with his jaded but affectionate eye.

A great deal of the effect of this film is built around the perception of the viewer, and much is left for us to infer. More is said in the silences than in speech.

This film is full - some might say too full - of pregnant pauses, leaving what would usually be background noises the space to move to the foreground. The clicking of a mint in a silent room, the sound of the wind, and even the dismissive scrape-scrape-scrape of butter on toast all carry carefully coded meanings.

Similarly, violence is never gratuitous. In fact, it is omitted until it is most needed. It is brief, brutal, and to the point. The film is full of elisions, of blanks and dropped moments, and yet the continuity remains artfully intact.

Even the climax, the crucial moment when the mole in the secret service is revealed to both the characters and to the viewers, surfaces quietly without unnecessary frivolity, to great dramatic effect. It is almost as though the film itself takes the form of a spy. The point is made, and the film calmly removes itself from the scene, leaving only a jumbled impression of itself on the memory.

The “good guys” win in the end, but it is a hollow victory. There is something of the Oedipus in any detective story, and this is no different. The end of the line may lead to the discovery of a mole, but nothing is truly won. The end is still tragic. The pervading sense of disconsolation, the grey colour palette, the constant low light and shadows all build in our minds a timeless image of a Britain locked in a futile conflict, where the chess pieces are at a constant stalemate. This film takes us to the Cold War and back, leaving us wistful, confused, and perhaps a little grateful to be living after the thaw of a cold, hard winter.

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LITERATURE

An Elegant Writer Described by the critics as one of the bravest contemporary British novelists, Michael Arditti is not just a thinker but also a wonderful observer and story teller who takes his readers on a unique literary journey. Massimo Gava met this elegant writer in London.

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MG: When did you start writing?

MA:

I have been writing on and off since childhood. At Cambridge I wrote for student magazines. My first professional writing was dramatic, both for the stage and the radio. I realised quite soon, however, that, being someone who shies away from conflict in everyday life, I wasn’t a natural playwright. In addition, I became a theatre critic for the London Evening Standard and it seemed somehow unethical to submit plays to theatres that I might then be reviewing. So, I gradually turned my attention to fiction.

MG: Was it an easy transition?

MA:

Easier than I had feared. My first novel, The Celibate, about a young ordinand who discovers that life is not as black and white as he had been taught in the seminary, was written in the first person–very much as one writes a character in a play. I soon discovered that such talents as I had were better suited to the expansive world of the novel than to the constricted world of the play.

MA:

Yes, I think that’s the accolade of which I’m most proud. I said at the start that I’d written seven novels. Three of them have very little to do with faith. Pagan and her Parents questions the nature of family, after a gay man has to fight various emotional, legal and even physical battles to bring up his dead friend’s child. Unity explores the nature and legacy of fascism through the story of a German director in the 1970’s making a film about Unity Mitford and Hitler. A Sea Change, which is my only historical novel, focuses on a fictitious teenage boy on the fateful voyage of the SS St Louis, a ship taking 900 Jewish refugees from Hamburg to Havana in 1939. That said, four of the novels, The Celibate, Easter, The Enemy of the Good and, now, Jubilate, have, to a greater or lesser degree, focused on faith and they’re the ones that have struck the greatest chord with the public.

MG: So what is it that draws you to faith issues?

MA:

I suppose because they lead on to the biggest issues of all (I hope it doesn’t sound pretentious!): why we’re here, how we live our lives, what’s the basis on which we relate to our fellow human beings, and indeed the whole universe.

There was a time when most literature tackled such topics but, now, it’s the exception rather than the rule, which I think is just another reflection of the trivialisation of our culture.

MG: And you’ve gone on to write six more novels?

MA:

Yes, along with one collection of stories, Good Clean Fun, about which, if I can be so crude as to quote my own reviews, one critic wrote “it’s certainly good and fun but not always clean!”

MG: Speaking of

reviews, you’ve been compared over the years to Dickens, Waugh, George Eliot, Graham Greene and Hogarth. How does that feel?

MA:

Well on one level, of course, it feels very pleasant. They’re all great writers (I exempt Hogarth – I think the critic was referring to the satirical qualities of my novel, Easter) but they’re all very different. I would like to think that there are aspects of my writing which evoke all those great names, but as a whole, I hope that it’s uniquely Arditti! If such labels encourage readers to pick up the books then that’s great. But when I read a novel, what I want more than anything else is to hear an original and particular voice. I hope that’s what I give my readers too.

MG: In your case, that comes above all from your explorations of

faith. Philip Pullman has called you “our best chronicler of the rewards and pitfalls of present day faith”.

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MG: And you’ve ranged widely, not sticking

to any one denomination: Anglicans in The Celibate and Easter, Jews in A Sea Change, Anglicans and Jews in The Enemy of the Good and now Catholics in Jubilate. Why is this?

MA:

I suppose you could say I’m an equal-opportunities novelist!

As a writer, I enjoy exploring different points of view, and as a liberal, of course, I feel that there’s value in all of them – although it has to be said that I struggled to find it in the fundamentalists in Easter and The Enemy of the Good.

MG: So tell us something about your latest novel, Jubilate, which came out in February to huge critical acclaim.

MA:

The short version is that it’s a love story set in Lourdes. The longer one, well you’ll have to ask me.

MG: Go on then.

LITERATURE

MA:

The two protagonists are Gillian, a middle-aged woman who’s taking her brain-damaged husband on a pilgrimage to Lourdes in the hope that he’ll be given a miracle cure, and Vincent, a film director who is making a documentary about the shrine for the BBC. They meet and, in a very short space of time (but then Lourdes is a place which lends itself to intense emotions), they fall in love, which brings them great turmoil. Gillian, in particular, has to decide whether to put her own happiness over her marriage vows, which, in her eyes, she made before God.

MG: You chose to write the book, using a very original structure.

MA:

Yes, the novel is narrated by both Gillian and Vincent – nothing very unusual there. What is unique is that Vincent tells the story forwards while Gillian tells it backwards. As well as enabling both of them to give their point of view, I hope that the structure creates a particularly intimate relationship between the events of the story and the reader. It makes the reader constantly reassess what he or she has previously thought.

MG: I’ve read novels which tell the story

backwards but I’ve never read one which tells it both ways and yet at the same time always manages to be so clear.

MA:

Yes, for good or ill, it’s a first. But then I believe that, if you’re trying to say something original, then the structure of the book should reflect that. Remember that the word ‘novel’ has a double meaning – both a work of fiction and something that’s new. I try to do both.

MG: And I’m also amazed to be told that Jubilate is the first novel set in Lourdes since Zola’s Lourdes in 1894. Can that be true?

MA:

Absolutely. I was as amazed as you.

Though I should point out that it’s the first serious novel. There have been some hagiographies of Bernadette! Lourdes is a gift of a setting for a novelist.

It has such a rich atmosphere, not least because of the enormous amount of faith, love and expectation that people invest in it. Remember that 6,000,000

people visit Lourdes every year and yet there’ve been only 67 accredited miracles. So the odds are smaller than winning the lottery. But then one of the things that Jubilate explores is the nature of miracles. Do they have to be something spectacular like the cure for a serious illness or can they be something as simple but as overpowering as two very broken people falling in love. And, if so, do they have the right to reject it.

MG: It’s also a setting that offers enormous scope for comedy.

I never expected to laugh out loud at a novel set on a pilgrimage. But that happens again and again. I don’t want to give too much away, but Vincent’s late-night search for a condom brought tears to my eyes!

MA:

Thanks so much. It’s trite but true that all life is a mixture of comedy and tragedy, and in my own books, the most painful episodes and most intense debates have always been leavened with laughter. What’s more, I found when writing Easter that it’s particularly when people are trying to be most high-minded that they set themselves up for a fall. And that of course is a classic pretext for a comedy. Which is another reason for writing about faith.

Then again, naming no names (thank you, Geoffrey Chaucer), I’m not the first writer to find that setting a story on a pilgrimage gives him the scope for a rich and varied cast of characters.

MG: Are you working on something now?

Can you tell us what it’s about? Will it also focus on faith?

MA:

The answer to all three of your questions is yes. I’m reaching the end of a novel entitled The Breath of Night, which concerns an English missionary priest in the Philippines during the Marcos era who becomes involved in both liberation theology and the struggle against the oppressive regime. He dies in mysterious circumstances and, thirty years on, people are claiming he’s a saint. A young man is sent out from London to investigate, only to uncover something very unexpected.

MG: And what’s that?

MA:

I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until spring 2013 to find out.

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Lisa Southerland

COVER

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Obama, where art thou?

He’s still there, apparently.

And despite crises, despite disappointments, despite unrest, and almost despite themselves, his supporters are still there too (mostly). They’re waiting for the guy they elected to show up.

They are pretty sure he will.

by Caroline Udall

L

Lily Tomlin once famously remarked that no matter how cynical you get, it’s impossible to keep up. In the USA of the Aughties, cynics have been run off their legs. From stolen elections to elective wars, from political fecklessness on one side to an apparent leavetaking from sense altogether on the other, it has often felt as though one’s personal sanity depends on developing a deeply yellow jaundiced eye.

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COVER So the election of Barack Obama in 2008 represented something of a respite - a moment where you could stop rushing to keep your cynicism equal to the demands of the times. I think Americans on both sides of the political divide felt some kind of awe on November 4, 2008 when we looked around and realized what we had done.

John McCain himself, in his concession speech, remarked on the historic nature of the election of the first black president in our history. It was almost impossible not to be moved by the iconography of the moment, if nothing else.

dignity that seemed to reside in the very rawness of his emotion.

His face was utterly naked and it was awash with tears.

That night, along with millions across the nation, I watched Obama give his victory speech in Grant Park in Chicago. There he told the crowd-estimated at more than a quarter of a million people-that “… if there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer…. It’s the answer that led those who’ve been told for so long by so many to be cynical and fearful and doubtful about what we can achieve, to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.” Now I am a sucker for a lyrically turned phrase, so after eight years of such tortured locutions as “is our children learning” or “they misunderestimated me,” I hope I’ll be forgiven for going all weak at the knees at that particular moment of Obama’s speech.

Still, the most eloquent moment, for me, came when the camera moved in almost painfully close to the face of Jesse Jackson. He was—somewhat startlingly—not on stage with the candidate, but was down in the standing-room-only crowd. His expression was uncharacteristically solemn, open. Washed clean of the politician’s calculation and self-consciousness, he had an unwonted stillness, a

To see him present also at a scene that had been wildly unimaginable on April 4, 1968, gave me a sudden, dizzying view of the expanse we have travelled between those two points, and brought home the terrible price we have paid—and no doubt will continue to pay--to traverse it.

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Both the joy and the unbearable sorrow in Jackson’s unflinching gaze reminded me forcibly that Martin Luther King had been gunned down in front of that man’s eyes. Whatever you may think of Jackson, he had been there at a Ground Zero of sorts himself, had felt the first horrific impact of a blow that still wounds American history, even four decades later.

But coming now to the end of year three of the Obama administration, frankly, it’s sometimes almost impossible to pull up the emotions of that moment. In the last few years we’ve seen partisan fighting on steroids. We’ve witnessed the rise of such phenomena as the Tea Party movement, gripped by an hysteria over Obama that seems at times based on nothing more than the most lurid right-wing fantasies of “Commies” and “Socialists”, pulled from the farthest nooks and crannies of the old Cold War night closet. And since the infusion of Tea Party-backed politicians into Congress after the 2010 mid-term elections, the situation has only seemed to get worse, culminating this summer in the insane spectacle of the debt ceiling debate that left the whole country feeling as if it had fallen down the rabbit hole.

COVER Even in more ordinary times, some drop in support might be expected when almost two centuries of historical and political hopes are projected onto a leader. But as election season approaches and protests have begun (and are spreading) among what would have once been considered Obama’s base, it seems that the hope and optimism generated by his historic election have not simply dissipated but have been positively atomized.

My first gut response when looking at this picture, as is common, I think, across the political spectrum when a situation doesn’t align with our liking, is to…blame the media! Certainly within the first couple months of Obama’s inauguration you were already seeing media memes that were setting him up for failure. Particularly in the more partisan media, it was completely acknowledged that the Right wanted to see him crash and burn—most famously by Rush Limbaugh who, even before the Inauguration, announced unapologetically, “I hope Obama fails.”

“The problem” explains J. Todd Ormsbee, an Assistant Professor of American Studies at San Jose State University in California, “is the way the corporate media works. Since the 1980s there’s been a marked shift in the news media in this country toward a pure profit

model. They’re all owned by corporations now. . . . When broadcasting first came along [the news] was seen as a public service. Now it’s very much profit-driven entertainment. It’s all about ratings.

“This has had a massive impact on how politics is talked about in the media. So if you go back and look at the really surprisingly incisive coverage of, say, the Johnson-Goldwater campaign and then look at, you know, Katie Couric—there’s just no comparison.”

With the media full of caricatures with the loudest, most outrageous voices all but drowning everything else out, it can be problematic to get a measure of the president’s true support (or perhaps lack thereof).

But is a persistent media narrative to blame here either? Poll questions and media tropes show us a flattened landscape. How do actual Obama supporters feel?

So what has changed?

Is Obama’s support gone? Was it really that ephemeral?

So, I tried to take the temperature, as it were, of some Obama supporters. A bit over a year ago, I began a series of conversations with a small number of them. As one might expect, I found that the picture took on a more threedimensional (and certainly more interesting) shape at the individual level.

These people live in far-flung cor-

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COVER ners of the country, at a remove from the power centres where the media messages are formulated. I do not make claims that they are typical, but mainly in the sense that I’m not sure there is a “typical” Obama supporter. Certainly, there are commonalities among those I interviewed, but their level of support varied from still strong and hopeful, to attenuated to the point of apathy. For the most part (with one exception), they approve of Obama, and back the Democrats, but not simply because of personal or party loyalty. Politically, and philosophically they are diverse in ways that are difficult to define.

So let me introduce them: Adam Hansen is an Innovations Process consultant to corporations and lives in suburban New Jersey. He describes himself as “a walking contradiction in terms. My Facebook boil-down on my politics says ‘Obama Independent who leans Libertarian.’ I’ll be the first to acknowledge how completely convoluted that is. It probably doesn’t make sense to anyone other than myself. I do believe the best answers tend to be an integration of conservative and liberal views because I think that each side is acknowledging a part of reality that the other side often isn’t.”

Kelly Fielding, a clinical psychologist in private practice in a large city in the Pacific Northwest, is a conservative Democrat—though he is quick to insist on both sides of that description. He bristles a bit at the implied notion that conservative must necessarily be equated with Republicans. “I have what could be considered conservative views on some things, mainly on fiscal issues,” he avers, “but I’m also a Democrat.” He worked in the local Obama campaign in 2008, “out knocking on doors with my teenage kids.”

Ann Porter, on the other hand, is a Democratic partisan and clearly identifies herself as such. A computer programmer from New Orleans, she considers herself “fairly liberal, leaning toward the classical definition of progressive which is that society is going to progress and the best way to see that happen is to make plans for it and try to make it happen in a positive direction. I don’t like to call myself a straight ticket voter just because I don’t like the implication of that.

But the reality is that I’ve always more or less voted a straight Democratic.” She is very active in Democratic politics locally.

Mina Estévez, of Brooklyn, is an English professor who teaches literature, film, and critical theory at a large public institution in the New York area. She is politically the farthest left of the four. She explains: “I’m a pretty traditional kind of Marxist, and thus have no current affiliation in the United States in political terms. It’s hard to talk about because it needs so much contextualization. The political terms that are understood under the label of the left or socialist or communist elsewhere in the world are like some foreign language here in America where there’s no connection to what those things actually mean. Suffice it to say I’m fairly alienated from the American political process. At the same time I’m completely fascinated with how politics functions in a larger sense.”

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him. Now having stepped across the fault line of the 2010 midterms and the ensuing circus, the mood was very different—but not in ways you might think. They’re all feeling a little worse for wear, but are surprisingly consistent in their bedrock level of support for Obama. Also surprisingly (or perhaps not) discussion of Obama almost felt like a distraction in our most recent conversations.

Obama versus... The Volcano? (or après Barry, le deluge) A lot of the expressed support for Obama today came basically in the form of a recoiling from the choices on the Right. This was most striking with Estévez. Considering the fact that Obama is routinely tagged with the label of “socialist” or “communist,” it’s rather ironic—and telling—that Estévez has been the least enthusiastic about the president.

“I wasn’t really a partisan for Obama [in 2008],” she says. “I was very distant. I was interested in the race, but from the perspective of being sort of appalled at the spectacle on the Right—particularly at the point at which McCain announced his running partner…. That’s the only thing that really so worried me about the election that I hoped Obama would win.

“That’s still the case now considering that the alternative has gotten much worse. [Now] there are worse people on the Right than ever. I didn’t think it could get worse than Sarah Palin, but Michele Bachmann accomplished that easily. So it’s not that you have someone that you just don’t agree with, like McCain. Now you have actual crazy people. You read the kinds of things that Bachmann or Rick Perry or other people say and they’re either out and out lies or just garbled insanity. And there’s not even an attempt to fix or correct or even say, ‘Oh, I misspoke.’ You just blurt [something] out and then go on to the next thing you blurt out. That’s pretty frightening.”

Hansen shares that revulsion with the hard right, but he was, by contrast, an enthusiastic supporter of Obama in 2008. Early on, he felt that, “the big prize is getting us to a place politically on the national level where stupid partisanship could be left behind. Some partisanship can be useful, but the national discourse has polarized to a really dumb level.”

He’s been dismayed, however, to watch as things have gone from bad to worse. For that he places the blame squarely on the Republican camp.

“The Republican candidates were asked at the debate, if you could get a ratio of ten cuts to one tax increase, would you turn it down?

And they all said they’d turn it down. For me it’s about being rational . . . . And that’s why it’s not been that traumatic for me to quit thinking of myself as being a Republican.

“Republicans need to understand some of the semiotics of this stuff and how it seems to reasonable people. I have to vote for Obama, because of the choices. That the top tier of Republican candidates could have people like Bachmann and Perry says something about

COVER Republicans that reasonable people are going to recoil from. Am I thrilled with [Obama]? No. Is there anything that even looks like it would grab my attention on the Republican side? No, no, no, no, no.”

Porter was also steaming about that moment in the Republican debate, but saw it as good for Obama. “I think his chances of re-election are really good,” she explained. “He’s actually polling really well against any theoretical Republican because all of the theoretical Republicans are completely insane. Would you walk away from a deal that was ten dollars in cuts to one dollar in revenue? Every single one of them [said they] would walk away from that deal and that deal balances the budget in 2012. . . . Oh, and if I hear one more person call Mitt Romney a moderate I may just have to hit something.”

Fielding—by his own declaration, the most conservative of the group—cut to the chase faster than any of them. “Look,” he said, “everybody who’s appeared so far on the Republican side is a frickin’ joke. And that includes Romney. It’s absurd to me that Romney is the safe bet of all of these Republican nutcases—Perry, Bachmann. Oh, my gosh, they’re just nuts! I haven’t seen anything from the other side that is in any way better than Obama . . . . The Tea Partiers – I’m sorry, but all they remind me of is that scene in Monty Python when the mob wants to burn the woman they’ve dressed up to look like a witch. Every once in a while somebody will yell, “burn her!’ And then they all chime in.”

him are about what they have been. On the flip side, in some areas that are really important to me, he’s done things that are I think are exactly right. The repeal of DADT is just huge. [It’s often said about Obama] that he’s playing 12-dimensional chess and everybody else is playing Yahtzee. The fact of the matter is that DADT is over. It’s gone away, after thorough vetting by the military. And [the repeal] has got huge backing, the popular support for it is absolutely there.

The military support for it is absolutely there.

“You could get somebody out in front and go whoop, whoop, whoop! Follow me! And that works real well for Republicans because everybody follows. Democrats aren’t like that. We aren’t going to say, yes, we will! Because what if we don’t like where he’s going? What if we have other ideas? So with DADT for example, there was a lot of steering going on. The end result had Obama’s fingerprints all over it. But he wasn’t out there leading the charge. He was putting the me-

Grown-Up in the House!

So all of this may sound like a sort of damning with faint praise, but most of them still like Obama for most of the reasons they liked him originally—even Estévez acknowledges his charisma—and work hard to keep things in perspective, see the bigger picture, have realistic expectations—all that adult stuff. In this respect they seemed rather battered, but mostly unbowed.

Says Hansen, “Obama has really accomplished some impressive things. I think if you’d said, somewhere in the middle of Bush’s term, that the next president would be a Democrat and that he’d accomplish what he has already accomplished, on paper you would have said, wow, how did that happen?

Walter G Arce / Shutterstock.com

“We can quibble on timing and how much of a priority it was, but he finally removed Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell (DADT) from the military.

Yeah, he should have done that immediately but now it’s done. And again you can quibble about the specifics of it but he’s still accomplished more on health care than anyone else did. He got a stimulus plan through. . . . . On top of all of this you have the overlay of the biggest macro-economic adjustment since the Great Depression . . . . Were we not going through that, I think it’s hard to paint a scenario where Obama is anything but an absolute rock star.”

Porter agrees. “Obama inherited a mess, an absolute mess,” she says.

“And expecting a mess of that scale to be all better now is ludicrous.

What’s he supposed to have done? So my feelings about the president and the presidency really haven’t changed. My frustrations with

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COVER chanisms in place that led to the end result. And it happened with his leadership, but without his cheerleading. There’s a difference between a leader and a cheerleader. They’re not the same thing.”

“He’s done a lot of good things,” Fielding insists. “In fact, if you look at the list of things that he said he was going to do, he’s succeeded in most of them. He’s pulling the troops out of Iraq. Things that people didn’t think could really occur in this amount of time and are done—health care, for example. . . . When he was elected everyone was screaming that he was going to destroy those programs. It’s absurd to me that the public has literally attempted to destroy real care for the elderly. I do appreciate that Obama’s stayed very strong on that. And contrary to the propaganda, Social Security is still a pretty strong animal.”

The Whole Damn Country Needs Ritalin…

In some ways, the latest conversations—though they ostensibly began about Obama—tended to come around to nagging worries about the country as a whole, its state of mind, as it were. It definitely plumbed deeper than mere conjecture about who may or may not win the presidency in 2012. Discussions of Obama, in this sense, almost became background noise.

“The general angst in the country is very, very different than it was a year ago,” says Porter. “Because a year ago, it was before the midterms. There was a whole lot of generalized anger from the Right that somebody had taken their toys away from them. And now that there’s a Republican Congress . . . a lot of that anger is being put into action in some very negative ways. The President is in a tough position right now. And once again he’s the only grown-up in the room.

He’s dealing with people who are incapable of rational thought. Are things any better? No. You can’t cut your way out of 9% unemployment. Businesses are doing really, really well. And yet they’re still not hiring. There’s no incentive for them to hire. If anything what they’ve found is that their productivity is up because people are frightened, so they’re getting a lot more work for less money.”

“We’ve become an increasingly pissy country,” complains Hansen.

“We hated Bush, now we hate Obama. You know how babies finally at some point develop object permanence? I feel like we’ve lost any sense of object permanence as an electorate. We say what’s happening in this six-month window is the final answer. People are already starting to write Obama off for re-election. Are you kidding? This far out Hillary was the nominee last time around. Not only don’t we DANTEmag n.2

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Jose Gil / Shutterstock.com

“I’m disturbed by the short memory of the people of the United States,” says Fielding. “I think they’re forgetting what kind of disaster we had going into the Obama administration. And for people to actually believe that in this very short amount of time it could all be fixed is incredibly unrealistic. Really there has been a decent recovery. Yes, unemployment is still high and that’s a very big deal. I do wish there was more of a Rooseveltian push to get public works going so that we can put people back to work, repair infrastructure that needs it. It’s fundable and doable. But Obama needs to toot his own horn about [his accomplishments]. I’m tired of having him not defend his record.”

COVER learn from deeper history, we don’t even learn from the most recent history. I know pundits get paid to pontificate and say provocative things that get attention, but it’s so distorting. And the Internet— which I love—you have to call out some of the weird things it does to the discourse. Memes get very incestuous and start having lots of deformed babies.”

Estévez whose support for Obama is mainly negative (“he’s better than the crazies”), sees it as not merely a short-attention span, but a real degeneration of the social compact. “One reason,” she says, “why these extreme kinds of politics have gained currency, is because we have a public that’s by and large incapable of evaluating things and only capable of reacting to things that happen to them individually. And that’s because the education system in the country has been destroyed. That’s something that’s been progressively happening for over twenty years now. A great deal of the public has never encountered anything about history, cannot think critically, and cannot think abstractly. So they can only react to things in terms of their own immediate individual emotion.”

Saying the C-Word Estévez, also sees a sharp distinction between today and the political culture of an earlier era, when the kind of pragmatic, give-and-take that Obama seems to want to engender actually did happen. “The old shared idea, that I recognize from my childhood and early adulthood, about politics and the public good . . . was that you are trying to produce a better world for generations to come. That seems to be gone now. It’s like ‘fuck them. I suffered; everybody else should suffer too.’ You remember that quote from Thatcher in the 80s? Something like there’s no such thing as society, there’s just individuals?

That [idea] seems to have conquered.

“It’s almost a triumph of capitalism in its rawest and most Hobbesian sense. It’s just a war of all against all. I think most Americans don’t have appreciation of the actual class system in which they live—how incredibly wealthy people are at the top and how much of the collective social wealth goes to them and how little goes to anybody else. And how they actually generate that wealth that is then appropriated by the top. Those are just concepts that are not available to people to help them make sense of things—or even to argue about and reject. It’s just invisible.”

As Ormsbee explains it, “in real pragmatism, in philosophical pragmatism. . .there’s a theory of valuation. And part of the process is that [you have] to hammer out shared values in order to have the democratic process. And the assumption has been, until I would argue Richard Nixon started killing it with the “southern strategy”, that there is a shared bedrock of values between the two parties. But then Reagan changed the entire political scene when he got into bed with the Christian Right in 1980. It was a purely political move. It was the only way a Republican could win. We were only six years out from Watergate. By making that move and changing the power structures of the Republican party—that’s kind of a Machiavellian pragmatism: just get and keep power—those old values of democratic deliberations basically ended. . . . So in that philosophical mode, what Barack Obama [does is not] pragmatism. What Obama’s doing is resulting

in the loss of the bedrock of democracy. He’s capitulated. For example, I was in favor of the health care bill because it’s better than what we have; but I wasn’t in favor of it because it was going to save us. It’s basically a wealth transfer to the shareholders of insurance companies.

“There’s a lot of resentment [about all this] in [both the middle class and the working class] but they don’t see anyone to blame. In the U.S., the culture of capitulating to capitalist power is so strong. A boss will only lay you off because they economically have to. There’s never anything structural. It’s always bad luck. . . . There’s always this hope that ‘I’m going to get mine. . . .’ There’s this narrative about ne’er-do-well poor people sucking on the teat of the state who’re too lazy to get jobs. As a social scientist that stuff just makes my eyes roll. If there are no jobs, people aren’t lazy. There are no jobs.”

Always Look on the Bright Side of... oh, never mind All these conversations reminded me of a joke that was current in Argentina during Juan Perón’s last years. His support also came from across the political spectrum (though perhaps a much broader spectrum than Obama’s). Perón’s supporters actually fought each other in the streets, and the joke goes that a group of right-wing Peronists had captured a group of left-wing Peronists and had lined them up for a firing squad. Just before the order was given to fire, one of the Leftists turns to the man next to him and brightly says, “So what do you think of this neat new tactic the Old Man’s come up with?”

It can feel like that as people continue to assert the Obama-as-ChessMaster meme, even while claiming to be disappointed or disgusted with him. That’s certainly a danger of a cross-spectrum base. As Porter described, those on the Left (such as it is in the U.S.) don’t really think like a rank-and-file. They do still support Obama (however reluctantly), but for considered reasons that they mostly work out for themselves rather than take on as an identity with an outside locus.

That can give their support an ephemeral feel. On the other hand, a more subtle approval based on a longer, more integrated perspective can actually be surprisingly durable, despite disappointments.

This isn’t to say, obviously, that Obama’s support, even in this small sample, is as unalloyed as it was on that distant night in 2008. I certainly heard as much expression of despair as I did of hope (and often from the same individual in the same conversation).

After declaring Obama’s chances of re-election to be good, Porter suddenly shifted gears and musingly told me, “Sometimes I think the solution is to stop caring.” Estévez laughingly echoed her: “I just want a little trailer and to live somewhere far away from people. And to have wi-fi.”

As Porter summed it up: “We’re all still really supportive and really depressed.”

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The Untold War:

A British Soldier of Fortune in Iraq

Mercenaries. Some of the least understood participants in war.

Duncan Kerr reveals why they do it.

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There was no march past when I came home from my last tour of duty. No royals to pin a campaign medal on my chest. No TV crews in search of a prince’s first test by combat. No praise for my efforts in parliament by the minister of defence. No mention of my comrades either, even those who died, blown to pieces by roadside bombs. There will be no wreaths on the Cenotaph, nor bugle notes of the Last Post on Remembrance Day for them, ever. And for those who have returned maimed for life, no veteran’s hospital or soldier’s pension either.

But we are all soldiers, British soldiers, dying to save British, American and Iraqi lives in a war Britain helped devise. Yet when we die, since we aren’t wearing British uniforms, nobody bothers keeping track of the body count or mourning our loss, except our mates and our families. We are an invisible army to most of you – and that’s precisely why we’re useful. Privatising war is a corporate business, and is worth billions to those who hire us to do their dirty work: 53 billion pounds a year at the last count.

And there’s plenty of work in Iraq providing frontline security, because there aren’t enough regular soldiers to do our jobs in the overstretched Allied armies. There aren’t enough properly trained or sufficiently reliable Iraqi soldiers or policemen either. While conventional armies fight the insurgency, we guard the failed strategy and keep it from collapse – just – so the cracks won’t show up the leaders who led us to Iraq. But our own government doesn’t have to acknowledge us, provide training, equipment or after care.

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I never fired on anyone indiscriminately and I have saved lives: no dishonour in that.

No international regulations or standards exist, so nobody is held accountable for where or how we’re used.

That only makes us all the more cost-effective and disposable.

Call us mercenaries if you want. It’s a term we all loathe. It suggests individuals of no morality, who will fight for the highest bidder. But if Al Qaida were recruiting at a higher price, we wouldn’t go. We’re true soldiers and a true soldier has a strict moral code and integrity. The British mercenaries who have traditionally formed the officer corps in the Sultan of Oman’s army are still gentlemen. ‘My word is my bond’ still means something, arcane though that may seem. So the current terminology is ‘contractor.’

We work for private military companies, security firms or risk consultancies, but we’re still just soldiers – more often than not highly experienced ones from elite regiments or corps that we once served proudly. We’d rather be known as quiet professionals, and I am not ashamed of what I have done protecting VIPs and ensuring that convoys have got through safely. I have been a bodyguard to British cabinet ministers and American generals in places where others wanted to kill them. I’ve made sure humanitarian aid reached those that needed it most.

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53 billion pounds a year at the last count.

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have saved lives: no dishonour in that.

I do choose to remain anonymous. Duncan Kerr is not my real name, though my ancestry is Scottish. While I wasn’t born here, and emigrated from Australia as a boy, this is my country and my home. I spent a decade in HM’s Forces before going freelance for another ten years.

I won’t say in which regiment I served, nor reveal what companies I worked for in Iraq. Some won’t be happy that I wrote about any of this.

But I write because the lives of private soldiers are not worth less than those serving the colours.

I believe they must be recognised in life and in death for their contribution and sacrifice in what is, in the end, an untenable position.

Although at least 800 have died thus far, it is not known precisely how many of us there are in Iraq.

By one account there are sixty thousand security contractors of a hundred different nationalities on the ground there. A third of them come from Britain, far more troops than the British army itself deploys. Without them, diplomats, news organizations, the UN, NGOs, hospitals, oil facilities, essential supplies from spare parts to food and fuel for Coalition armies and civilians alike, airports, power plants, dams, every possible dimension of infrastructure, no small part of the Iraqi government itself, police and military training facilities would all find themselves defenceless and a big mess would only get bigger.

The problem is that soldiers like me are no substitute for sufficient numbers of Coalition troops if they are to achieve what they have failed to accomplish since the outset of the war: hold and dominate the ground, and control Iraq.

There just aren’t enough troops, and there never were.

Since declaring victory and retreating to Basra’s airport before withdrawing, the British contingent has been in a de facto siege, hoping the Mahdi Army wouldn’t break its truce. I avoided Basra like the plague if I could help it – it was just so dangerous, even DANTEmag n.2

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POLITICS in the lethal context of Iraq. Tony Blair helpfully suggested contractors could pick up the slack, as the British army slowly withdrew from Basra and went home. Ludicrous. For all the vital work we do, we’re a stopgap, not a solution.

So what was the worst day I spent in Iraq?

Every single day that I stepped outside the portacabin in the fortified compound I called home for four months, in this, my

compensation for going home in a body bag – if there were enough pieces left to put in it. I had bills to pay, a family in London to feed, crippling debts and no pension plan, like so many soldiers.

And why do I do it? Because it’s my metier, my vocation, what I am good at, I am a soldier whether in uniform or not, its what I always wanted to be and what I shall always be. I wasn’t cut out to

life but then what is valuable, what really counts that has no price is a question of perspective and experience.

Sure some of my mates are adrenalin and danger junkies and only war gives them the fix they need. But the comraderie, the bond one shares with his fellow soldier in harm’s way, knowing you can count on the man next to you to cover you unflinchingly, to give his life if necessary for

I was a team leader, responsible for a squad of six men.

eighth rotation to Iraq since 2003.

I was a team leader, responsible for a squad of six men. My rotations were interspersed with contract duty in Afghanistan, but twenty four hours on the road from Basra to Baghdad is a long time and four months is an eternity.

drive a desk, to work in a bank, to hustle kebabs in a chippie and soldiering is the only thing I know how to do and I am too old to retrain when there’s bills to pay. Because civilian society doesn’t rate my skills as marketable, it’s often my only choice to serve as a contractor.

Contractors die every day in Iraq – I didn’t want to be one of them just because I was broke.

Civvy street is hard for many of us for precisely these reasons.

How much is my life worth?

How much is any man’s life worth?

In fairness some of us never adjust and I will admit that life in mufti can be a severe letdown for many of us.

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Our experience as soldiers may not count for much in financial terms in civilian

How much is my life worth? How much is any man’s life worth?

you and you for him, that brotherhood of the battlefield, it’s what we all miss the most and it is our code.

POLITICS Perhaps only firemen, ambulancemen and policemen can understand something like it in civilian life.

The absence of it is often what draws one back to soldiering, because it has nothing to do with how much money you earn, what school you went to, what your social rank might be, whether you have a blue blooded name or not... it’s about honour and courage and that when you say ‘I am

some of the toughest training the British Army has to offer, yet my military skills do not translate into a top salary in civilian life. I won’t go on the dole as a matter of principle.

I went to Iraq because it was the only job option that would sustain my family.

Nobody wants to die, but as a soldier, I accepted the risk. Duty called, not to queen and country, but to those I left behind,

what really counts that has no price is a question of perspective and experience.

here for you brother, I’ll stand by you, I will protect you and I won’t leave you behind, you mean it.

to build a viable future for them.

Being a contractor in Iraq is soldiering at its worst.

Would the stockbroker next to The higher pay scale means you die for you? little if you’re dead.

With the US Department of Defence, I hold a civilian contractor’s rank equivalent to Colonel, and have earned nearly 500 pounds a day. Wonderful – if it’s paid on time. Often we don’t get paid at all, and there’s nobody to complain to. I’m still due six months’ back pay. Money still draws the contractors to Iraq who would earn far less in uniformed service, but the salad days are gone. During my last stint I was earning 200 quid a day. Better than a squaddie’s pay, but still.. I’ve endured

If we get into a firefight, there’s no cavalry riding to the rescue. It’s not the army.

We have no reinforcements, there’s no air cover or artillery, no rapid reaction force to call. In a hot contact, where inevitably one is outnumbered, I’d count myself lucky if there was an Allied unit to call for back up. We operate in small groups and can be slaughtered piecemeal.

You recover yourself, you are on your own with your wits, limited manpower,

luck and no heavy weapons. I had nothing heavier than assault rifles and pistols in my armoury, while the insurgents drawing from Saddam’s stores – one

of the biggest arsenals ever abandoned and never properly secured – have belt-fed machine guns, sniping rifles, RPGs, mortars, IEDs and the even more murderous Explosive Formed PeneDANTEmag n.2

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POLITICS trators, which cut through armour like butter.

In my experience having sufficient equipment – even the right equipment – and keeping it maintained was a constant, losing battle. It’s the suits, our company directors at headquarters with plush offices in Mayfair and Knightsbridge, cutting

corners and maximising their profits, who are to blame.

When doing vehicleborne security work on Iraq’s kamikaze roads, whether on a CP team (close protection) or convoy escort, a dependable and armoured vehicle is crucial. But not all my vehicles were armoured professionally, much was improvised jerry-rigging, proof against little. An up-armoured civilian SUV is never going to be a substitute for an APC. I had to drive to Baghdad once to replace two bad vehicles for two supposedly better ones. I traded in two mediocre vehicles for two worse ones that broke down on the way back. So what did I risk my life for, exactly? In a standard vehiclebased close protection detail, if you come under attack, standard procedure is to DANTEmag n.2

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drive through the fire, push on, stay under armour and get away.

In those moments, a dependable vehicle is a matter of life and death.

But I was driving a second hand bargainbasement special so the books in London

So it’s a constant terrible trade-off: draw American fire or pull over to the side of the road where the IED’s are, becoming a stationary target in the process.

British contractors practice subtler tactics.

We try to blend in better, restrain ourselves where possible, not to be overt with our weaponry.

The American contractors like to put on a big show,

I went to Iraq because it was the only job option that would sustain my family. could be kept in the black.

There are a myriad risks, not least the American army and American security contractors. In my experience contractors on convoy duty get shot at by the American military more often than by Iraqi fighters. It’s because the Yanks are so trigger happy and jumpy on convoy duty.

When a US military convoy is coming from the other direction, we have to slow down, pull over and make as many overt gestures to them as possible so they know we aren’t hostile, because they’ll open fire if they have even the slightest doubt.

display their firepower, block roads, draw attention to themselves. That’s how all close protection details are identified and attacked. We prefer less aggressive methods for the sake of survival. But sooner or later you will get hit, it’s just a matter of time. The odds are always against you.

Small arms fire is not really a concern any more, though you do get fired on sometimes, but with IEDs and EFPs, the guerrillas don’t have to expose themselves to your fire. There are infrared beams, pressure pads on the road, command wires, many ways to detonate them. You

never see your enemy, and no matter how good or experienced you are, if you’re on the road that day, that’s it.

I had made it through most of my tour without incident, although two colleagues died on separate details when I was on duty elsewhere.

improve the driving skills of my locally recruited squad of four. Communication was always difficult with my non-existent Arabic and their equally poor grasp of English. Now when I said ‘accelerate’ they understood I didn’t mean ‘slow down.’

When you drive on the same roads, day in day out, often on a fixed schedule, ambush is easy, even though you try to vary

POLITICS ce to the lead vehicle in less than minute.

An EFP had shredded the SUV: it looked as if it had been hit by a giant shotgun.

One of my counterparts was still in the front seat, still in a normal sitting position, intact – save for his head, which had been sheared off, leaving his neck mangled red flesh.

It was time to go. I had signed all my rights away in the company’s liability agreement, the insurance package was terrible, so bad I barely remember it. Who would take care of my family if I died? To leave them alone, grieving and in debt in return for two hundred pounds a day? It just wasn’t worth it. I needed to survive and get home for them. I’d manage somehow – I was trained to overcome all obstacles.

Nothing was more joyous than to be leaving Iraq knowing I’d never return. Six more of my mates have been killed and 20 wounded in the three months since I have been home.

With twenty days left I had my wakeup call just as my

Yet I have always wanted to be a soldier. I come from a tribe of soldiers.

convoy pulled out of the compound.

An artillery shell had been hastily buried in the ground, directly in my path. We were only thirty seconds past our own security checkpoint when it went off. It blew out all the glass on my SUV, but, as it had been buried poorly, most of the energy of the blast went away from the vehicle and into the desert.

We were saved by the bombers’ ineptitude. At least the incident helped me to

your movements, speed is essential and a fast target is a hard target.

With one week left, I had my closest brush with death. There we were on our usual patrol, our detail of SUV’s travelling at 100 miles per hour, the vehicles spaced 800 to 1,000 yards apart. Then I saw a flash and a puff of smoke near the lead vehicle. At first I thought it was an RPG. I tried communicating by radio, but there was no response. We made up the distan-

I was weaned on stories of daring elders who fought Britain’s colonial bush wars in the twilight of the empire. Now that I have been lucky enough to come home alive from Iraq, after also surviving Ulster, Yugoslavia and other wars that never make the headlines any more, from Africa to the Caucasus, I will soldier no more.

My hand is played. I dream of carpet slippers and a pipe, watching my son grow up, instead of being away listening to his tears and my wife’s on a bad phone line.

But other men like me will keep going to Iraq, lured by money or by an inexorable adrenalin addiction. Among them some will be undisciplined, dangerous cowboys.

Most of them, however, will remain dedicated and brave professionals. And in the wrong war – fought perhaps for the right reasons but in the wrong way – the expedient, expendable, unseen contractor will, for his unaccountable masters, remain a willing pawn, dying to make a living. But not me.

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Gadaffi loses but who wins?

As the dust of Libya’s uprising begins to settle, the view of the situation becomes increasingly clear–clear as mud, that is. Nigel Parsons limns some of the complexity that perhaps NATO and the West should have tried to puzzle out in the first place.

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There will, of course, be no shortage of people celebrating the end of Colonel Muammar Gaddafi’s 42-year dictatorship in Libya.

The families of the 270 victims of the 1988 Lockerbie bombing will no doubt argue that he had it coming, as probably will the relatives of unarmed PC Yvonne Fletcher, gunned down outside the Libyan embassy in London as she monitored a minor anti-Gaddafi demonstration in 1984. Not to mention the countless victims of Gaddafi’s iron rule within Libya itself. And they’d be right.

But while Western leaders were quick to embark on an unseemly scramble to claim the credit for Gaddafi’s demise–British Prime Minister David Cameron, President Nicolas Sarkozy of France,

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and even President Barak Obama all sought to elbow their way into the limelight–it is easy to forget the recent, murky relations these and other Western countries enjoyed with the Colonel.

“Double standard” doesn’t even begin to describe it.

It is a tough call to predict where Libya is now headed, and equally difficult to perceive just who the NATO powers thought they were backing in the Eastern rebels based in Benghazi, with their so-called Transitional National Council (TNC).

Two years ago it all looked so different. As then-British Prime Minister Tony Blair and former U.S. President George W. Bush cozied up to Gaddafi after he offered to help in the fight against Al-Qaeda (not least because he feared his own Islamic rebels), the Colonel must have felt assured of seeing out his days in power.

In June 2009, the self-styled “Lion of the Desert”, was feted in Italy by Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, who was the Libyan

POLITICS leader’s strongest EU ally –that is, until Berlusconi quickly changed sides once the NATO bombing campaign got underway. It was Gaddafi’s first visit to Libya’s former colonial ruler since he had seized power 40 years earlier. During his stay in Italy he even managed to outshine the Italian leader in surrounding himself with beautiful women. Two hundred carefully screened women under 35 years old and over 1.7 metres tall (as stipulated by the hiring agency) were paid €50 each to listen to a 2-hour lecture on women’s rights and Islam.

Libya opened its doors to foreign investment. My first visit was in mid-2010, when I boarded a British Airways flight to Tripoli to look at a proposal to modernise Libyan state television.

To cope with the new demand, BA had laid on a second daily flight to the Libyan capital. Every time I went, the aircraft were packed with oil workers from Aberdeen, agricultural machine sellers from the Midlands, construction consultants, and all manner of other carpetbaggers looking to get a slice of the action.

Tripoli itself was a revelation. Yes, it was a dictatorship. Yes, there was evidence of moral and financial corruption at every turn. Pictures of the Great Leader hung from lampposts every 50 metres or so. His presence was everywhere. The first time I mentioned him–in a taxi–I was quickly warned not ever to refer to him by name again. There were spies everywhere, it was explained, better just to refer to “Him”, or “the Man”.

And yet, and yet. . . . It felt safe to walk around the streets. The old souk off Green Square was a wonder–winding alleyways where tinsmiths carried out their age-old work by hand, where trickles of the first tourists could peruse at leisure the myriad stalls, manned by vendors who, though friendly and courteous, never harassed their potential customers in the way of most Middle Eastern and North African souks. For the more adventurous, in the desert east of the city, lay the spectacular and unspoiled Roman ruins of Leptis Magna.

I walked in astonishment along streets with the latest boutiques and fashions, boasting shops that included the recently opened new Marks and Spencer’s and British Home Stores (BHS).

Women were free to work and dress as they liked, unlike, for example, in the Gulf states. I learned of the huge social and economic gains that had been made since the revolution, thanks to Libya’s vast oil revenues. Life expectancy was in the seventies.

Per capita income hovered around $12,000 a year according to the World Bank, while homelessness and illiteracy had been all but wiped out since the monarchy had been abolished.

I discovered a people who were open and friendly, eager for information about the outside world. In cafes, it was easy to strike up conversations on almost any subject except politics.

And all the time, when we parted, there were words to the effect of “make sure you come back to Libya,” and “you are always welcome here.”

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POLITICS If only they’d realised how we would “come back”.

Since the end of March, when NATO took over control of operations from the U.S., approximately 8,500 air strikes were carried out. No one knows how many civilians died in these attacks, originally designed to save civilian lives. The British government, which originally estimated the cost of the conflict to the British taxpayer in the “tens of millions” of pounds, has admitted that the true cost is in the hundreds of millions. The same will be true for other participants.

Targets in the course of NATO’s ‘humanitarian mission” included the Libyan Broadcasting Authority (where 3 civilian journalists died), hospitals, Ramadan food storage warehouses, the country’s main water distribution infrastructure, private homes and more than a thousand other civilian sites. NATO’s actions stretched UN resolutions 1970 and 1973 far beyond their original intent.

NATO was set up after World War II as a collective defensive organisation in response to fears of a possible Soviet expansion into Western Europe. An attack or threat to one member was to be perceived as a threat to all. Since when was it turned into an attack dog, to be used against any regime that takes our collective governments’ fancy?

Gaddafi may have been a deeply unpleasant dictator–though not in the same league of savagery as Saddam Hussein–but he was no threat to NATO members.

Why was France, so pacifist over Iraq, suddenly so keen to take the lead in Libya–to the extent of annoying other NATO members when French warplanes carried out sorties in advance of other alliance members?

Word on the street in Tripoli was that French oil giant Total had been on the verge of losing out on a huge new contract to the Chinese, who had abstained on the UN vote to use force against Gaddafi.

Of course, as the bombing got under way, NATO was quick to emphasise the support of the Arab League. Oh, that democratic organisation, run by unelected despots and autocrats from the Arabian Gulf to North Africa. Most had lost patience with Gaddafi and no love was lost on either side, but maybe they too should have been more careful about what they wished for.

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their uprising wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Yet now the dust is settling, who exactly are these rebels? In what way is the Benghazi-dominated TNC able to represent the country as a whole? How could Western governments, so quick to wage war in the name of “democracy”, rush to recognise an unelected, rag-tag bunch of rebels in Benghazi, who only represent a few of the country’s tribes, as a legitimate government?

Because Libya is nothing, if not tribal. More than anywhere else in the region, the tribal system remains a fundamental part of Libyan society. Libya is a young state, founded only in 1951, and for most people allegiance to the tribe continues to outweigh their national identity. Most Libyan surnames carry the tribal name, which makes the question of a identifying tribal allegiance as simple as knowing someone’s name.. Colonel Gaddafi, for example, came from the Gaddafa tribe.

There are at least 140 known tribes in Libya, with hundreds of sub-tribes. These range from the Western tribes, where the largest tribal group, the Warfallah, number around one-million people, to the Central tribes and the Eastern clans. Few have

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much love for the others. In addition there are the long marginalised Berbers from the mountains south-west of Tripoli, who became one of the most effective fighting groups of the rebellion, and who were amongst the first to force their way into Tripoli–a contribution they will expect to see recognised in any new distribution of power.

An illustration of the difficulties likely to face any future administration came even before the fall of Tripoli with the assassination of the rebel commander Abdul Fatah Younnis and two of his bodyguards after he had been summoned to Benghazi by the TNC. Younnis, the once powerful interior minister under Gaddafi, defected to the rebels in February 2011. He was a member of another of the country’s larger tribes, the Obeidis. Ominously the Obeidis rejected the idea of a TNC investigation into the murders, vowing instead that their tribe would see “justice”.

Elsewhere, the Misrati factions–Misratans and Tawerghans–were reported to be at each other’s throats throughout the conflict.

Meanwhile the Zintans of Western Libya were said to have only joined the revolution so they could take up arms against the pro-Gaddafi Mashashiya tribe in order to settle old scores, not to fight against Gaddafi’s forces in general.

And so it goes on. Across the country, we can expect the tribes who benefited under Gaddafi to face a backlash from those who suffered.

radicals, and you have a truly volatile cocktail. The TNC’s draft constitution is quite clear that Islamic law will be the base of any future legislation. The rebel leader Abdul Jalil claimed his forces started their attack on Tripoli on the 20th day of Ramadan, to mark the historic battle of Badr, when Muslims fought for the holy city of Mecca in AD 624. Is this something that augurs well for the establishment of a secular, liberal Libya in the future?

As in Egypt, the euphoria of the Western media and governments over their Libyan “victory” could prove to be short-lived. Nearly a year after the start of the so-called “Arab Spring”, Egypt remains authoritarian as ever.

The West’s nightmare is that they could end up having to deal with a pro-Islamist tribal council in place of Gaddafi–or worse, having to send in peacekeepers to keep the warring factions apart.

And while we watch from the sidelines, hoping the dust will settle and wishing against the odds for a stable and democratic Libya, let’s not forget the still restless Shiites of Bahrain, or the huge sections of marginalised members of Saudi Arabia’s population, or Syria, or Yemen, or even the autocratic Gulf states.

Amid the uncertainties, only one thing is sure: as with the fall of Saddam Hussein, the end of Muammar Gaddafi’s tyranny is not the end of the revolution. It will be some time yet before we know who the real winners are.

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BUSINESS

Italian fashion protects itself from imitations by patenting its original designs as well as its label The Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, OECD, reported that International trade in counterfeit goods had a net worth of 150 billion euros in 2007.

Avv. Barbara Lenisa writes.

T This accounted for approximately 2 % of all global trade. According to a United Nations report, China holds 55% of the market, the United Arab Emirates have 12%, and Taiwan 10%. With distribution supported by local DANTEmag n.2

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European criminal gangs, about 60% of the total reaches Italy. But, unfortunately, not all counterfeit goods come from abroad, many are manufactured in Italy.

That’s why Signor Adriano Aere, president of the Italian fashion house IMPERIAL, has decided to seek alternative measures to protect their products.

Before EU directive 98/71/CE, Italian copyright law specified and safeguarded, among other things, works of figurative art and commercial applied goods, wherein the artistic value of the product could be clearly distinguished from its commercial character.

The law demanded this differentiation in the concept of any design or decoration used to embellish, in a creative way, any fabric or car

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pet, and not the material itself.

Previously, reference had been made to fashion and ornamental designs but this law - article 5 of RD 25/8/1140 n 1411 - defined them as ornaments that gave commercial products a specific form in combinations of lines and colours.

Therefore, the only safeguard accorded them was by means of an exclusive patent, and that patent depended on the nature, novelty, and originality of the design. However, the most severe sanctions envisaged by copyright law were not applicable.

The creativity and international success of Italian fashion designers have attracted the interest of legal experts who seek to safeguard designers’ labels and goods from increasing illegal imitation, precisely because of their worldwide success. However, in light of the ambiguity inherent in the term ‘original design,’ the EU concluded that there was a need for greater safeguards to be incorporated in copyright law itself, which was initially and principally confined to the art world, so that it would include fashion and ornamental design. As a result of this directive, products of commercial value with creative character and artistic design were added to the non-specific list protected under copyright law.

It is still with great difficulty that individual fashion house’s original designs are included on the list, even after the aforementioned modification.

In fact, it is well nigh impossible to apply this to specific types of fashion resulting from research and experimentation, such as haute couture. As is DANTEmag n.2

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the case for prêt-a-porter and other more commercial clothing lines, which are targeted by counterfeiters because of their enormous profit. As a result, original designs in these sectors are still only protected by patent.

This means that the commercial designs of fashion houses can only acquire maximum protection if they have been patented. It was precisely this that was demonstrated in an interesting judgement handed down by a Prato court (near Florence), regarding the wellknown IMPERIAL clothing label from Bologna with its annual turnover of a hundred million euros, whose designs had been illegally copied.

The Prato court condemned the behaviour of those who profited from selling these goods. The accused were identified as the owners of a Chinese company based in Macrolotto, the Prato industrial park. The facts of the case go back to 2008. IMPERIAL, following a tip-off from some of its own customers, discovered that items of clothing identical to their original designs (albeit made with inferior materials) were being sold at market stalls at cut-down prices. What is unprecedented about this ruling is that the confiscated items did not have an “IMPERIAL” label. The intention of the ruling, therefore, was to condemn not the illegal copying of the label, but imitation of original patented design.

Antonio Maria Costa, former Secretary-General of the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD), said: “There are a dramatic number of counterfeits in manufacturing, when we climb on

a plane there is a risk that some parts have been pirated and therefore don’t meet specifications.”

The EU and China discussed restricting shipments of fraudulent goods. As recently as 2009, Chinese customs officials seized 450 million euros of counterfeit products; almost double the number of 2008.

This is still a small number compared to the 769 billion euros in Chinese goods that the 27–nation bloc imported that same year, according to Eurostat. But it is still significant, when considering that this accounts for 250,000 lost jobs in Europe.

People buying an item of clothing, more often than not, and especially if they are attracted by the illusion of a bargain, lose sight of how much behind-the-scenes investment has gone into that product, in terms of research and development, and how many people are legally and locally engaged in bringing the product into existence. Fashion is forced to create products with incredible speed in the face of worldwide demand and increasingly cut-throat competition, with new “brands” launched almost daily. This urgency risks letting die out what for years has been the main driving force behind the Italian economy: original design.

In the absence of any future directive that might restrict the counterfeiting of original designs, taking a patent out on them, as IMPERIAL very wisely did, was a pioneering and winning move. The Prato court judgement has only confirmed how effective patents are.

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Reining in Reckless Bankers: a Modest Proposal

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No, our writer Jehangir Masud is not proposing a Swiftian solution to the financial crisis. No doubt bankers make for very tough meat. But he does have some other ideas.

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Seeing the opprobrium being heaped by assorted bankers, economists and financial journalists on Mervyn King, the Governor of the Bank of England, for suggesting that banking was the only industry that felt no responsibility to the community in which it operated, I am reminded of an experience I had in the 90’s, long before the current banking crisis.

We were negotiating a loan for a power project in a transitional economy. The deal was a bit too favourable to the project sponsors and my firm saw that as a potential risk. The country’s legislation mandated an annual review of the electricity tariff to ensure it was “affordable” by electricity consumers. None of

the banks involved, collectively lending billions of dollars to the project, saw this as a problem, even though a tariff review could jeopardise the repayment of their loans. When I tried to argue that a more equitable alignment of the interests of project sponsors, lenders, host government and consumers could avoid the risk of a tariff review, I was asked by one participant, “And who appointed you spokesmen of the electricity consumers?”

That, of course, was not the point. What I quickly realised was that I was the only person in the room whose remuneration was not directly linked to the closing of the deal, preferably before year-end so it would figure in that year’s bonus. I therefore had the luxury of being able to take the longer-term view and try to structure a transaction that would stand the test of time. In another age, the other bankers may also have been more concerned about credit risk, but the nature of bank employment has changed since the Big Bang and the gradual erosion, and final revocation, of the barriers between commercial and investment banking enshrined in the U.S.’s Glass-Steagall Act. DANTEmag n.2

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BUSINESS In the old days bankers could take one of two routes: the safe, regulated world of commercial banks, where one was guaranteed a job for life, a generous pension, a position of respect as a pillar of society; or the racier and riskier world of merchant (investment) banking where the financial rewards and risks were much greater. Financial innovation came from the world of investment banking (traditionally partnerships) where the price of bad judgement was the failure of the institution and the loss of the partners’ equity. These arrangements ensured a balance between greed and fear that is essential to the successful functioning of any capitalist enterprise. The commercial banker would think twice before risking his/her good salary and generous pension provision on a doubtful transaction. The relative stability of employment meant that he/she and, more importantly other contemporaries, would be around when the chickens came home to roost. These were the days when judgment, rather than mechanistic box ticking, was the critical factor in lending decisions.

Thus there was little possibility of avoiding responsibility for one’s mistakes. The investment banker would have his greed tempered by the fear of ruin.

This balance was upset by the demolition of the Berlin Wall that separated commercial from investment banks. The acquisition of investment banks by large commercial banks enormously increased the funds (both capital and deposits) available for investment banking activities whilst simultaneously removing the restraints inherent in the partnership structure of the traditional investment banks. The severing of the link between ownership and control led to a situation in which the “movers and shakers” within each institution saw their remuneration not as a lifetime proposition, but in the very shortest of short terms. The focus of the investing community on quarterly results further encouraged bankers to concentrate on maximizing short-term profits, even at the expense of the long term health of their institution. This was perfectly rational behaviour for the individual banker, as a single annual bonus could run into six figures. In any case, few bankers nowadays hang around long enough in any one institution to have to live with the consequences of their decisions.

Even when they do, there is a perverse incentive to take even bigger risks, the worse they perceive the financial health of their bank to be. For instance, Kelly Killinger, the Chief Executive of Washington Mutual (WaMu) was one of the first bankers to recognize (in 2005) the risky nature of the booming U.S. housing market and predicted in 2006 that it would be “weak for quite some time as we unwind the speculative bubble.” Yet WaMu continued building up its loan book with ever riskier assets until, in 2008, it became the largest bank failure in U.S. history. The DANTEmag n.2

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Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC), which had to reimburse WaMu’s depositors, is prosecuting Mr Killinger and other senior executives , who it has accused of having “focused on short-term gains to increase their own compensation, with reckless disregard for WaMu’s long-term safety and soundness.”

The example of WaMu illustrates how the excessive risk-taking that started in the investment banking divisions of the new giant banks spread to the world of commercial banking and even to Savings & Loans (S&Ls). It is understandable that there would have been pressure on the commercial banking divisions of the large conglomerate banks to try to match the earnings of the investment bankers, from the point of view both of the bank’s overall profitability and of individual bonuses. The easiest way to do this would be by acquiring risky assets (the “sub-prime” housing loans in the U.S. for example), where the earnings are commensurately greater. When this practice became the norm in banking, the foundation was laid for the latest banking crisis.

For, although it was precipitated by the unravelling of terribly

complicated Collateralized Debt Obligations (CDOs), it was not the fact of their complication that was the cause of the crisis, but rather the worthlessness of the underlying assets, the sub-prime mortgages. In this, as in earlier banking crises, the cause was bad credit decisions. The rest – the financial engineering, the “rocket science” – was designed as much to justify unconscionably high fees as to bamboozle regulators.

It is now the conventional wisdom that it was the bonus culture of the big banks that was responsible for the reckless behaviour that led to the financial crisis. This conveniently ignores the role of the regulators (and their political masters) in dismantling the protections for society that their predecessors had created in the aftermath of the Great Depression. It is this Brave New World of virtually unregulated banking that has allowed the establishment of the bonus culture. Ideally, one should go back to the world of the Glass-Steagall Act and the strict separation between commercial and investment banking. Given the power of the banking industry and the weakness of politicians, this is unli-

BUSINESS kely to happen before the next (perhaps catastrophic) financial crisis. In the meantime, regulators and politicians are reduced to exhortation. That may have worked in an earlier age but is futile in a society that has been liberated from the concept of shame, where notoriety is just another form of celebrity and celebrity is all.

In the absence of the political will to reform the banking system, what can be done to restrain the banks, especially those that are “too big to fail”, and to prevent another unsustainable risk-taking spree? It is clear that it is the asymmetry in the risk/ reward ratio that drives the process. The individual banker can earn enough by way of bonuses in a year or two to compensate him for the loss of his job as a consequence of his rashness. The few attempts that have been made to try to tie bankers’ bonuses to longer-term performance have been patchy and do not appear to have been successful. It would, in any case, be impossible for the regulators to monitor tens of thousands of individual bonus arrangements. One needs to have a simple rule that is easy to apply and easy to monitor.

A very simple way to relate bankers’ bonuses to long-term performance would be to change accounting rules to ensure that the front-end fee on any transaction is not recognised in its entirety as income in the year in which it is earned, but is amortised on a straight-line basis over the life of the asset.

Thus the front-end fee for a ten-year mortgage would be amortised over ten years and 10% of the fee would go into the bonus pot for each of the ten years, to be shared out among all eligible employees. The balance would be kept in a special reserve account, helping to bolster the bank’s capital, and would be paid out pro rata every year. Any eligible employee who left before the ten years would lose any further entitlement to the bonus reserve, with that employee’s share either reverting to the bank or being shared by remaining colleagues. In the event of a problem with the underlying asset, first call would be made on the remaining funds in the bonus reserve associated with that asset. This should hold even where the asset has been sold to another institution. Thus the people that created the asset would be entitled to receive a bonus if the asset continued to perform, even if it had been sold on, but would lose that entitlement if the asset ceased performing, with the balance in the reserve account passing to the new owner.

Such a change would not only encourage bankers to focus on the quality of the assets they were creating but also help restore a better balance between salaries and bonuses, further aligning the interests of bankers and their employers. A modest step, perhaps, but better than anything on offer so far.

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Scooping up Great Art As the world’s financial markets continue to find their postdownturn bearings, the art scene is coming under scrutiny again.

But what’s the trick for bagging yourself a truly remarkable piece?

Bee Van Zuylen gets the inside track from the British dealer Lisa Sharpe.

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‘Art is all about going on a wonderful journey that you’re never too young or too old for: it’s free most of the time and is there to enjoy and lift your spirits.’ Making her living from the commercial dealing in art has not muffled Lisa Sharpe’s passion. Her love affair began at the age of ten, when her father returned from a trip to Tahiti bearing a Gaugin print as a gift. She grew up to work in several of the art world’s important galleries, before going solo, sourcing pieces for public institutions as well as private collectors. That was in 2006.

Since then the world has changed, with the art market far from immune to the economic turmoil. But this picture features a beautifully-traced silver lining, according to Sharpe: ‘In many ways, I think the recession has been good for the art world: a lot of key works are coming on to the open market as individuals and corporations have to liquidate their assets. Great works that have been hidden away until now are breaking world records at auction with Giacometti’s Walking Man I fetching £65 million at Sotheby’s, followed by Picasso’s Nude, Green Leaves and Bust fetching £70 million. Prices of work by some well known more prolific contemporary artists have taken a bit of a hit simply because supply outstrips demand and quite a few ill-advised people were buying purely to speculate. I think people are now thinking more about what they are buying and why, rather than just jumping on the band-wagon and speculating because a high-profile collector has bought works by the same artist.’

Not that she denigrates a commercial attitude towards art: ‘When investing relatively large sums, buy work by blue chip artists,

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make sure it is a good work (some periods in an artist’s career are more collectable than others). Good condition is vital and rarity is always an advantage. And finally, check that it has good provenance and always buy at the right price - don’t buy at the top end of the market. It’s often worth remembering that if an artist is dead, he or she is not going to be producing any more work and is less likely to fall out of favour – at the height of the financial boom in 2008 a Banksy print of Kate Moss sold for £96,000 more than a Warhol print of Marilyn Monroe - prices have since re-adjusted to more realistic levels.’

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Art fairs give access to many galleries under one roof, says Sharpe. She’s been looking forward to Switzerland’s Art Basel, the Royal Academy’s Summer Show where 30 percent of all sales go to support the RA. The new Masterpiece London 2010 at the former Chelsea Barracks is an absolute must for her – everything from art to classic cars and above-average catering by Le Caprice & The Ivy. As for diary items later this year, she lists the 20/21 British Art Fair in September, Art London and also Frieze in Regent’s Park the following month and then Art Basel Miami in December.

BUSINESS

The cardinal sin, to her, is to buy art you yourself don’t personally enjoy. ‘Go for a work that you really connect with, that gives you pleasure time and time again. If you have any hesitancy or niggles, don’t buy it.’ Sounds simple? Well there’s a kicker for collectors just starting out: ‘their tastes often change and develop along the way, becoming more adventurous as they really get the bug.’ So it’s not just about knowing what you like, but also what you’re going to continue appreciating.

Strangely, this may be harder for women. Sharpe says it’s easier buying for men: ‘they tend to make up their minds more easily,

and are less likely to change it!’

The general market’s tastes change too, she warns. ‘There has been a fair amount of shallow art over the last decade or so which has been a reflection of our society and what people have been willing to buy and speculate on. But I am totally confident that work of genuinely talented artists will outlast PR-driven emperor’s-new-clothes art.’ She cites the nominees for last year’s Turner Prize as omens of things changing for the better.

Perhaps Sharpe’s is an intuitive feel for the zeitgeist. Of all living artists, she most admires Anish Kapoor. ‘I went around DANTEmag n.2

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BUSINESS his studio a few months before his solo show at the RA. It was fascinating to see so many works in progress in the studio and then finished and on display at the RA. I find some of his work like the finest box of Belgian chocolates – you want to keep on feasting your eyes by seeing more and more. I am thrilled that he

will be designing the Orbit Tower for the Olympic Games.’

What about the future? Her eye is on Paul Day, ‘he is an absolute genius and has got some serious public commissions under his belt – the Battle of Britain memorial, the Queen Mother memorial and the Meeting Place sculpture at London’s St. Pancras.

Some of Paul’s studio work is outstanding – contemplative and observational with a slight twist. He is in the process of making some clay sketches for a football sculpture, which we will be working on together.’

But it’s in very specific jobs that she really comes into her own.

She gives the example of being given a brief to find a great portrait by Frank Auerbach at the best price. ‘In this case, I started by going through all the auction records for the last ten

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years or so to get an accurate auction value, I then contacted the artist’s gallery, Marlborough Gallery, as well another art dealer and a private collector. All this research resulted in up-to-date market information and three wonderful Auerbach portraits for my client to choose from. This was all happening at around the time that the Leon Kossoff head by Auerbach broke all records at Sotheby’s by selling for £1.777 million.’

And if she could get her hands on anything at all, what does she lust over the most? ‘Probably one of the most difficult questions to answer, as there are so many artist whose work I adore – Kandinsky, Klee, Cezanne, Fink, Chadwick, Kapoor, Gormley. But if I were to have one slightly more affordable but utterly fantastic work, I would pick Alison Watt who was resident artist at the

BUSINESS National Gallery a few years ago – her massive paintings of great swathes of cloth are mesmerising.’

And what if the tables were turned? Who would she most like to be painted or sculpted by? ‘Not Lucian Freud as I don’t think that he would be flattering enough! I think Jonathan Yeo is a great portrait painter and I have sourced several of his works for clients via his main gallery, Eleven Gallery, so he would be top of my list, but I wouldn’t want to be immortalised in one of his porn collages!’

Sharpe’s very insistent on one thing: ‘For me, art should be about pleasure and the senses. It should physically move the viewer and connect in a positive way. Life is too short not to enjoy what you have around you.’

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With All My Worldly Goods...

Once the province of wordly bohemians, living together without benefit of marriage is now a fact of modern life for an increasing number of couples, of all orientations. A laissez-faire attitude may be romantic, but it’s not necessarily for the best, warns Christopher Pocock. From a practical point of view, you might be best served to make it legal - and get a pre-nup, while you’re at it..

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It is a fact of life that people form intimate relationships with each other and live together, very often raising families.

Many - if not most - people would say that this is precisely what makes life worth living.

In the 21st century, people live together in relationships of various sorts. Some may say surprisingly, even in 2010, the most common cohabiting relationship remains marriage. There are also a significant number (although there are no reliable statistics) of men and women in same-sex cohabiting relationships, as, since the advent of the Civil Partnership Act 2004, they too have had a choice whether to become civil partners or whether simply to live together.

Times are changing.

In 2007 the Law Commission (‘Cohabitation: The Financial Consequences of Relationship Breakdown’) reported that “While the marriage rate has been declining and marriage is being deferred until later in life, the number of cohabiting couples has increased dramatically since the 1970’s and is expected to continue to rise. The 2001 census recorded just over two million cohabiting couples in England and Wales, a 67% increase on the figures from 1991” and that “Cohabitation is expected to become increasingly common and to spread across a wider range of the population in terms of age. The Government Actuary’s Department has predicted that, by 2031, the number of cohabiting couples in England and Wales will have increased to 3.8 million. On this projection, over one in four couples will be cohabiting by 2031”.

Many of the people who “just live together” do not marry or enter into a civil partnership through conscious decision or aversion (or one or both). Many do nothing, through mere inertia – “We have never got around to it”, or “It is not important to us. What difference would it make?” This last question often derives from the common idea that living together as “common law husband and wife” gives rise to legal rights and obligations which come into play when the relationship breaks down – indeed many think that their rights are the same as married partners after “X” years (X tends to vary among those who believe this).

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BUSINESS country), a common law marriage might arise. Also, in extremely limited circumstances, a marriage can be presumed by the Courts – but that is different. That is presuming an actual marriage.

Otherwise - and this will apply to almost all unmarried English couples cohabiting in the UK - there is no such thing in English law as a “common law marriage”. No rights or obligations (save in respect of children) arise just by virtue of the fact that two people live together – even after 20 years.

Marriage, and now civil partnership for same-sex couples, makes a very real difference, in particular, should the relationship break down, when both give rise to a raft of legal consequences designed to regulate the process and consequences of breakdown and dissolution – in particular the financial consequences – and what follows applies to both.

One difficulty is that the way in which the Courts currently - and will for the foreseeable future - approach the financial consequences of marriage breakdown does not provide a clear answer in advance to the question “What happens to our finances if we separate?” On the contrary, it is designed to provide the Courts with the most flexible of discretions within which to design a bespoke solution for every case to come before them.

Many people - and not just the wealthy - would prefer not to have to wait until then. For many different reasons, sometimes including the views of their own family in relation to assets that they have passed (or intend to pass) to them, they would like to be able to agree both (a) for themselves, and (b) in advance how they will arrange their financial affairs in the event that their relationship should end. Many might consider this approach somewhat unromantic – after all, it means discussing and agreeing, at the outset of a relationship that they intend to endure, what is to happen in the event that it does not. Nowadays, however, in the face of the undeniable reality that many relationships do founder, more and more people believe it wise to agree such things in advance.

nuptial, or Pre-civil partnership, agreements (“pre-nups” and “pre-cips”) were “not worth the paper they were printed on”.

In recent years, however, the Courts in the UK have moved steadily towards a much greater acceptance of the idea that parties to a marriage or civil partnership should be entitled to come to their own arrangements, and that trend has recently reached its highwater mark in the landmark case of Radmacher v Granatino. In that case, the Supreme Court decided (by an 8 to 1 majority) that a Court should give weight to a nuptial agreement out of respect for the individual autonomy of its parties to decide the manner in which their affairs should be regulated.

This will not be automatic whatever the agreement provides, nor irrespective of all other factors. In order to carry “full weight”, a pre-nuptial agreement must be entered into on both sides freely, without undue influence or pressure, and fully informed of its implications insofar as they are material to each party’s decision to enter into the agreement.

This will all depend upon the age, circumstances and other characteristics of the parties themselves, separately and as a couple. Importantly, the needs of the parties and any children must be catered for. For all this, specialist advice should always be taken before embarking on the process of negotiating such an agreement.

However, Radmacher confirms the shift in the approach of the Courts to pre-nuptial (and pre-civil partnership) agreements. They will not be “binding”. But at least the starting point now is that they will “carry the day”. To quote from the majority judgment in the Supreme Court, “the court should give effect to a nuptial agreement that is freely entered into by each party with a full appreciation of its implications unless in the circumstances prevailing it would not be fair to hold the parties to their agreement”.

Certainly, Radmacher gives significant encouragement to couples planning to marry or to enter into civil partnership who wish to do so on a basis of ‘self-regulation’ of the financial consequenOf course, in many countries this has been commonplace for de- ces, in the event of their relationship coming to an end. cades, but can it be done here? In the past, in England and Wales, this sort of ‘self-regulation’ has been problematic, to say the least. Even contracts between people not involved in a relationship have been held to be void for public policy reasons where they might be said, even tenuously, to promote extra-marital sexual re- Christopher Pocock QC is a specialist divorce barrister practising from 1 lations. In the case of married parties and, by analogy nowadays, King’s Bench Walk, Temple EC4. He is co-author, with Maggie Rae of those in civil partnerships, they were unenforceable, as tending Clintons, solicitors, of Consensus, a computer program for the legal profesto undermine the institution of marriage and/or to hobble the sion which aids in the drafting of nuptial and other cohabitation agreements.

Court’s attempts to provide properly for divorcing spouses. Pre- Consensus is published by Class Publishing - www.classlegal.com.

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HIGHLAND PA R K 5 0 Y E A R O LD S I N G LE M A LT is the distillery’s oldest and most prestigious release. Only 275 bottles of this remarkable limited edition have been made.

Each triumphant bottle, handcrafted from sterling silver and designed by renowned jeweller Maeve Gillies, delivers a suitably stunning setting for this historic whisky.

The presentation box, hand crafted from sustainable Scottish oak by John Galvin of John Galvin Design continues the nautical theme. Just like the bottle, each has its individual characteristics and detailing.

www.highlandpark.co.uk

Please enjoy our whisky responsibly

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ECOLOGY

The vengeance of meaning : the ecology of apocalypse and utopia

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In a cache of seeds on an obscure Arctic island Crishanti Jayawarden perceives our unslaked thirst for meaning and our secret yearning for apocalypse. Are we slouching toward Svalbard?

Photos by Brendan Olley

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In the archipelago of Svalbard, in the Arctic Circle, a refrigerated security vault called the “Doomsday Seed Vault” was built to store specimens of the seeds of all plant life on earth. The project has garnered the support of more than a hundred countries so far, as well as the participation of, among others, the Rockefeller Foundation and Bill Gates. Should any doomsday event such as climate meltdown or nuclear war bring the earth to the brink of extinction, all plant life could be regenerated from what has been described as the “back-up for the whole world”. In the wake of global cataclysm, this remote island could effectively become a “second Eden for humanity”.

The purpose of the vault is singular and raises the question - “is reality catching up with science fiction?”, or is science fiction spurring

reality on to catch up with it, in the manner of a self-fulfilling prophesy?

How much of our collective fantasy about apocalypse and utopia is a secret (or perhaps not so secret) desire for the annihilation of the existing order as a necessary, if not indispensable, precursor to any preordained fancy of harmony and global prosperity? In biblical terms, apocalypse signified the revelation of divine mystery; it was the source of salvation for the faithful at the end of time. Although our current understanding of apocalypse appears limited to the notion of catastrophe alone, there is much, in the way this notion is formulated in the present, to indicate that apocalypse and utopia are, conceptually speaking, still two sides of the same coin and thus still linked, albeit tenuously, to their original biblical definition. If the apocalypse was a cornerstone in Western religion – what, with the demise of religion in the West, can explain the sudden, almost violent and emphatic irruption of apocalyptic meaning in a world that is virtually monopolised by the concept of Meaninglessness? Has meaning not, at the dawn of the 21st century, erupted with a vengeance?

Slavoj Zizek claims that the “predominant version of ecology is the ecology of fear, fear of a catastrophe – man made or natural - that may profoundly perturb, destroy even, human civilization, a fear that

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ECOLOGY pushes us to consider measures that might protect our safety. This ecology of fear has every chance of developing into the predominant form of ideology for global capitalism, a new opium for the masses, replacing declining religion. It takes over old religion’s fundamental function, that of assuming an unquestionable authority which can impose limits. The lesson this ecology is constantly hammering into us is our ‘finitude’: ...we are finite beings, embedded in a biosphere which vastly transgresses our horizon.” But for Zizek, as for many other contemporary thinkers, seemingly versed in eschatological matters, this lesson is false and merely a wish-fantasy. He warns us that “one should learn to accept the utter groundlessness of our existence: there is no firm foundation, no place of retreat, which one can safely count on. (For) Nature

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doesn’t exist” What is becoming increasingly clear is that a largely, although not exclusively, populist culture - one serving the demographic interests of the masses – providing them with the opium in other words, is moving in one direction whereas high culture - one that decrees the trickle-down laws of Culture itself - is moving in another. To get to the bottom of this growing schism, it is necessary to track back to a period where both these frameworks for understanding our current ecological crisis were still in gestation - to the quiet before the storm, as it were. Only then will it be possible to grasp what is at stake in a cultural and political landscape, so replete with representations and intimations of ecological utopia and apocalypse.

While environmentalism, as a political, social and scientific agenda can date its inception to the industrial revolution, it was only under the aegis of capitalism and consumerism that it really came into its own. As Timothy Morton so aptly put it, “The environment was born at exactly the moment when it became a problem” and the upshot has become a theological outcrop ever since the demise of the great ideological movements of the Cold War. This outcrop is nothing other than the twin tropes of apocalypse and Utopia which have come to pervade, almost with a vengeance, both popular and some strata of high culture. It is sufficient to look at the spate of narratives, ranging from literature to film, that, steeped in the lingo of global catastrophe, emerged soon

after “environmental crisis” became a catchword in late 1960’s and early 1970’s.

It is noteworthy that ecology- that branch of science dealing with the interrelation between the environment and the organism, but more fundamentally, between man and the environment, has inherited all the trappings of Romanticism. For Nature, as an object under Romanticism, has been portrayed as something distant, pristine and beautiful. Nature was, in other words, a reified, highly anaesthetized space of contemplation, reverie and which later on, became more an object of nostalgia. Much of ecocriticism looks to a bygone age when nature was unspoilt, and where man was not alienated, by way of the machine, from his natural environment It is not surprising that this deeply ingrained perception of nature, which has inflected so much art, as much as it has social and popular activism, should blame Man for both the physical and spiritual ills of the planet - from global warming to the colonisation and commodification of nature as a totality. Nothing was spared - not genes, neither other species or rainforests.

ECOLOGY the other. Not only is God dead, but meaning as a “whole” has been debunked and demoted to something provisional, relative and local, as is human identity. History, too, has no teleological purpose and is not a function of any project - whether political or divine.

If we are to believe that the world lives off the fat of its own meaninglessness, all this brouhaha about End Times seems misplaced at best, and wildly delirious at worst. On closer inspection however, the more one explores these critical theories, the more one questions whether it is not these very theorists, dead-set as they are on their mission to truncate existence of all meaning, that are in fact delirious. One is reminded of what Jacques Derrida had to say about negative theology for instance - which is the knowledge of God by means of what He is not - namely, that “it is still plagued by the metaphysical...(for it) establishes a hyperessential being beyond itself ”. (J Derrida: Differance) Other critics like Timothy Morton fully concur: “Even ecological apocalypticism has a streak of wishful thinking...Is it too much to suggest that we may even take pleasure in it?”

A general survey of these theorists would reveal to what great pains But as stated, this view of Nature has been largely discredited by rethey go to debunk the Big Other with all the rationalist arsenal at their cent social and cultural theorists such as Zizek who argue that nature disposal. In the name of what, one might ask? Is it merely out of is not a materially stable and harmonious entity removed from human courtesy to some anaemic ideal of intellectual rigour? But, as many of agency. Rather, nature is merely a cultural construct endowed with them believe, if Meaning has now come to rear its ugly head throu“displaced articulations of social values” (Lisa Garforth). This degh the back door of ecology, the effort deployed to push Meaning constructed view of nature is of course symptomatic of a much lar- back to the Dark Ages is beginning to look and feel more and more ger, more pervasive cultural and social consensus - namely the demise like censorship. And by censoring Meaning, these theorists betray all of the Big Other and the end of grand narratives on the textbook symptoms of repression. The “Doomsday Seed Vault” the one hand; and as coined by Francis Fu- in Svalbard may well be one of the growing number of measures kuyama, the “end of history” on being taken on a global scale to foil the destruction of the world in its entirety. Beyond this, however, it raises important questions as to what it implies on a broadly cultural, psychological and perhaps even political level. The old Marxist dream of proletariat discontent as a necessary catalyst for revolution may well discover new rumblings of discontent in this twin fantasy of apocalypse and utopia.

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Sagebrush and Rodeo Dreams Give me a bronc that knows how to dance Blue roan in color and wicked of glance New to the feeling of bridle and bit Give me a quirt that will sting when it hits Strap on a blanket behind in a roll Toss me a lariat dear to my soul Over the trail let me gallop away Make me a cowboy again for a day.

Don Edwards

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I am far from the stone cathedral spires of the Rocky Mountains, the endless prairie, the untamed rivers that give life to them, the vast, immense spaces, indescribable light and colours of the wilderness of the American West, but it is never far from the heart, for in those places a long time ago I became a cowboy. I live now in a farmhouse in the South of France and it is a gift of circumstance that there’s a riding school next door. I am serenaded at night by neighing horses and they are the first thing I spy in the morning from my bedroom window. None pleases more than a painted pony, more of a Cheyenne warrior’s steed than an haute ecole charger in his patches of brown and white. He resembles a wild mustang from the New Mexico desert; the very sort of horse nineteenth-century cowboys once broke and turned into redoubtable, tireless and surefooted, cow-punching companions on their long cattle drives. I take it as a sign that the cowboy karma is still with me.

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By Chris Kline photos: Duke Beardsley studio 2011

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MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO - Sport I wasn’t born to the cowboy life. I am not ranch bred nor am I descended from a long line of Western pioneer stock, though my American ancestors came to the New World in the seventeenth century.

I did have the good fortune to grow up in Colorado, though there’s no escaping that I am a city slicker through and through— and not just from Denver, but Madrid and Rome, too, where I spent my earliest childhood. Yet it was in the immortal city of emperors and gladiators that I first caught sight of my first cowboys. There was a travelling American rodeo, a sort of cowboy circus and Wild West show, that had come to Rome and my American father took me to see it. What a grand spectacle it was.

The image of a mounted cowboy with an American flag, circling the arena at speed, is still etched in my mind.

The Stars and Stripes streamed behind in the breeze his galloping created. In the iconography that bespeaks America is there anything more quintessentially American than a cowboy? I knew in that instant that I needed to become one, that I had seen the image of my heroes.

I was an American boy in Italy, but I didn’t really know I was American, although my passport said so. When I was an adult, my father told me that it had been his deliberate intention to create a multicultural son, at home either side of the Atlantic. He was a classic WASP of Anglo-American descent, but my mother was half Indonesian and half Chinese.

Born in Spain, raised in Italy, I received my primary education at an overseas British school on the Appian Way. I grew up speaking four languages simultaneously.

By day I was more of an English schoolboy than a Yank, and once the red blazer, beanie and grey trousers of my school uniform were off, I reverted to a Roman lad and could just as easily be a Gato Madrileno too.

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screen. Dad was a film actor, a refugee from Hollywood who hated Tinseltown and had voluntarily traded L.A. for Rome. And thus 20th Century Fox player Frank Latimore became Franco Latimore at Cinecitta. He made many swashbucklers as a spadaccino, or swordsman, including the role of the masked, caped avenger, Zorro, who dealt justice in Spanish colonial California with his epee. He also made countless Spaghetti Westerns in Andalusia’s extremadura which closely resembles the painted desert of the American Southwest. I couldn’t get enough of Dad’s on-screen cowboying. After school, together with my best friend Giulio, I’d often seek refuge in the neighbourhood cinema, spending hours in the company of John Ford’s lyrical Westerns with Italian subtitles. We both dreamt of becoming

cowboys one day. But if many boys around the world dream the same dream, I got my chance.

The first thing my American aunt and uncle did when I arrived in Denver was take me to the National Western Stock Show and Rodeo.

Every chance I could, off and on between the ages of sixteen and twenty five, I earned my spurs on cattle ranches in Colorado, Wyoming, Nebraska, and as far away as the Australian Outback, amongst the Jackaroos of the Northern Territory, Australia’s cowboys.

School and university were an obligatory inconvenience. All I wanted to do was ride the range. The jewel in the crown was a season spent riding the high country as a mounted guide in the Grand Teton Mountains of

MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO - Sport Wyoming, close to Yellowstone. And I had ventured to a remote corner of West Texas to learn how to rodeo from a former champion, beginning an apprenticeship in the bucking chutes as a bareback rider.

My first bronc ride was a close imitation of a bad car crash, though the involuntary acrobatics I performed, followed by a high impact face plant in the arena dirt also resembled a sky diving jump gone wrong. A bronc ride may be only eight seconds long, but it is an eternity when one is aboard what Johnny Cash once sang is “something like a hurricane that’s dancing with a kite.” You are winded, whiplashed; your wrist—wedged painfully tight into the rigging—feels like it might well rip off and with it your arm at the shoulder. Every single muscle in your body is left strained and aching. When the horse weighs 1500 pounds and the cowboy 185, it’s not even a strength contest. Rather it is, at its best, precisely a dance—a furious, violent dance. As the horse bucks, twists, turns, kicks and leaps through the air at forty miles an hour, the rider seeks only to get in synch with the bronc, to match the moves and rhythm of the animal. That first time, with half my face a torn scab, my mouth full of gravel and blood, my steps uncertain, and my mind in the twilight, the champion turned to me with a smile and said, “Fun ain’t it?” Yes, sir! So much fun, that now, despite having one leg shorter than the other due to spinal compression, two fractured vertebrae, two crushed discs, a broken nose, a broken toe and an inherent ability to predict the rain better than the BBC Weather Service, I’d do it all over

again, were I whole.

My last bronc ride might have left me in a wheelchair. In quick succession I had been bucked off, stepped on, given a glancing kick, and then the horse had lost his balance and fallen on top of me. My then-girlfriend, sitting in the stands of the Jackson Hole rodeo arena, was so distraught seeing only the tips of my boots sticking out from under the belly of the bronc that she broke up with me the next day. Shoot! And I thought all girls loved a cowboy.

But I was never destined for a championship buckle and I knew it all along. I just “wanted to go down the road and crack out” as bronc riders say, wanted a taste. Cowboys don’t golf or tennis, they rodeo, and it is one of the few sports that was spawned from the demands and skills of a working life, so I had to face the test. The first rodeos were informal affairs where the cowboys assembled at the end of a cattle drive and wanted to display their prowess and test their mettle against their best contemporaries. Who could ride the toughest bucking horse and keep his seat, which could rope the best and never miss his mark with his lariat, which was the top hand?

The job at the ranch in the Tetons had been a means to support my rodeo habit, because a rough stock rider or roper has to pay an entry fee to compete. It was my first and last season bucking out in professional rodeos as it turned out, though. That same morning of my last rodeo, a green broke horse—that is, a horse

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MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO - Sport that is just learning to accept the saddle—had also flipped over on me in the corral of the ranch. Luckily he had gone over at an angle and not flush; otherwise the saddle pommel would have pierced my chest with the full weight of the animal. Instead I nursed a broken nose as the back of his head had exploded into my face and I’d been able to step off the horse a split second before he landed on the ground. That I’d often turn up sore for work after a rodeo was a source of endless mirth for the patriarch of the ranch. But cowboys don’t gripe. They don’t complain if they’re wounded. They grin and bear it. They “cowboy up” and stoically stay silent even if they’re “hurtin something fierce.” That’s the cowboy way and I had been taught well.

the air, landed the hardest and kicked up the most dust. Ya ain’t no bronc rider, but by God you’re a cowboy.”

And so I was. I was head wrangler at Bill’s ranch, second fiddle to the ranch foreman, and deputy taskmaster to ten hands and sixty saddle and draft horses. Not bad for a city kid from Rome. But a new path soon beckoned far from the cowboy trail. I went to Washington DC and my first job as a newspaper cub reporter. It was

My last great buckaroo mentor was a man by the name of Bill Thomas, descendant of a pioneer ancestor who had, at different

turns, been a Pony Express rider, an Indian scout and a Wells Fargo stagecoach driver. The photo of Bill’s forbear hangs in the Smithsonian Museum, a cowboy strangely wearing a top hat, to hide the gruesome scar left high on his forehead by a Shoshone arrow. Bill was a cowboy through and through. He would laugh and laugh when he’d see me gingerly tiptoeing at dinner after I’d given yet another improvisational exhibition of free-fall techniques. He’d laugh like Smedley, the cartoon dog—a snickering, breathy whine that got louder and louder until tears formed in his eyes and he’d finally erupt into a deep belly laughter at my silent agony. I think of him, as one of my fathers. I loved old Bill and he seldom cut me any slack. He’d just always say “do it better, you Godless, heathen fornicator!” He was a devout Mormon and he did not approve of my indulging in pre-marital, horizontal recreation. After that last fateful bronc ride that meant the end of my time in the arena, he told me: “You set four new world rodeo records, Chris. You got throwed off the fastest, went highest into DANTEmag n.2

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the beginning of a nomadic journalist’s life, and the pursuit of another burning ambition: to become the foreign correspondent and war storyteller that I remain today, more than twenty years out from my last cowboy sunset. But plumb into the deep soul of this war reporter, and the true identity in the spirit, forever is a cowboy, nothing less. I am still a cowboy. Everything I learned about guts, about adventure, about listening to one’s own inner voice, about keeping one’s word, about a code of honour, about staring down the whirlwind and not blinking, I learned first as a cowboy.

And as an Asian and European hybrid man, I found my America, my home and my American heart amongst cowboys. In the Asian faces of my Native American cowboy friends, I saw myself. Though I am half Indonesian, I am still often mistaken for Navajo. They are my cousins of the land bridge across the Bering Straits, are they not? In the very words the cowboy used, like

rodeo and corral, or in his horses of Spanish provenance brought by conquistadores to the New World, I could also reconcile my Spanish origins in my multiple Latinate identity. In the rodeo arena I also remembered El Cordobés and the bullfights I had seen as a child. My mind could travel even further to the bull dancers of ancient Crete, human and beast together in a spectacle of life and death, as old as time.

Of course the cowboy is also a myth that dime novels and Hollywood created. That myth has endured far longer than the true heyday of the Old West cowboy, who once roamed free before barbed-wire fences altered his reality forever. And Hollywood, as it often does, re-wrote Western history and excised all the Black and Mexican cowboys, homesteaders, and frontier soldiers who helped settle the American West. At the height of cowboy cultu-

re, the era of the great free roaming cattle herds that fed a nation and kept the stockyards from Denver to Chicago booming in the mid-nineteenth century, roughly one in every three cowboys was African American or Hispanic. One of the greatest cowboys of all time, Dee Picket, bronc buster par excellence, and rodeo pioneer was a Black man. The real Buffalo Soldiers were Black cavalrymen, but none figure in the movies much.

And we know too that the other, darker narrative of settling the West was also one of greed, violence and a slow moving genocide of almost all the Native American peoples. They were sacrificed to “Manifest Destiny”: the railroads, the mines, the oil wells and the cities that would rise upon their near-extinction. Modern rodeo cowboys, though some are ranch bred, are in fact mostly full time professional athletes who are part of a multimillion dollar business. When such a tiny percentage of the American population is comprised of farmers and ranchers, the truth is

MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO - Sport there simply aren’t that many cowboys left, except in imagination, in memory, in legend. And cowboys today will drive combine tractors and pickup trucks as often as they will sit astride a horse.

The fruited plain was mechanized long ago.

But a yearning, a longing for the cowboy ideal remains deep in the American psyche. At its worst, it is former president George W. Bush aping a movie Western lawman talking tough to terrorists. But there is another reality still, deep in the heart, a place where myth, history, heritage and the Western landscape all join seamlessly together and the dream lives on. It’s heard when a cowboy song is still sung, when a verse of cowboy poetry is rhymed anew. It lives on when a bronc rider bucks out a majestic wild steed as gracefully as a ballerina leaps through the air.

It speaks when a lariat is thrown with the skill and accuracy of old, a piece of uncoiled stiff rope that is an elusive art form, as elusive as what animates a masterly painter’s brush.

It’s there in the embers of a rolled up cigarette of Bull Durham tobacco before an early dawn roundup across the high country of the Rockies. It speaks in the kicked-up dust and bellowing of a cattle herd on the move. It’s the whistles and shouts of the cowboys that still know how to get the “doggies” up or down a mountain and bring them all home. It is in the miraculous waking dream of untamed Mustangs still running free through the desert. It is the awe of seeing a hundred brown elk heads turning in unison on an alpine plateau, spooked by a whisper from a buckaroo on a ridgeline miles away. It’s in the scratch of a ghostly 45 record and the voice of a pedal steel guitar crying in the jukebox of a smoky, cowboy honky-tonk.

It’s in the glow of a branding iron, in the clanking of a blacksmith’s hammer shaping a new horseshoe, in the jangle of a booted spur when a cowboy walks. It’s as raw and rough a delight as a fresh pinch of Copenhagen snuff in the lower lip. And it’s in the way a cowboy screws down his Stetson and nods, the very image of steely absolute concentration, before the gate of the bucking chute opens. And it’s probably beyond words to describe adequately. I have seen these things. I have lived them. I have loved them and I can never forget them. They are inside me, in my soul, as deep and indelible as the black sweat stains on the leather of my chaps. “I grew up dreaming of being a cowboy and loving the cowboy ways... My heroes have always been cowboys and they still are, it seems.”

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The Kimberley Coast of Australia

Explore the magnificent wildlife of Australia’s Kimberley Coast on a luxury adventure cruise

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Ozzies never fail to surprise you. One minute they’re swigging bottles of Victoria Bitter and ranting about the state of Australian cricket and the next minute they’re hugging trees. I was greeted by this surreal sight on a luxury expedition cruise along Western Australia’s wild and rugged Kimberley coastline. Our ship, the sleek and streamlined Orion was moored off Raft Point, a spectacular red mountain bluff that plunges into the aquamarine Indian Ocean. Jumping into the Orion’s zodiac landing craft we were eager to explore some of Australia’s finest indigenous rock art but when we reached the shore, the Australian passengers were distracted by a cluster of Boab trees. These pot-bellied beauties are the much loved symbol of the Kimberley and make irresistible photo opportunities. Within minutes, the Ozzies were linking hands and performing group hugs. Little wonder then that they lost the Ashes!

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A few days earlier I’d arrived in Broome after a gruelling 48 hour flight from the UK. Walking out onto the sizzling tarmac at Broome airport, I felt as if I’d arrived on another planet. The bright red earth lends an almost Martian quality to the landscape which echoes to the sound of mysterious warbling from elusive birds.

After checking into a stylish villa in the beautiful landscaped gardens of the Pinctada Hotel, I was eager to run down to Broome’s legendary Cable Beach to take a dip in the Indian Ocean.

My eagerness was tempered when the receptionist told me to ask whether there were any sea crocodiles about.

“They spotted one down there a couple of weeks ago”, she nonchalantly told me.

“Ask who?”, I thought as I arrived at the semi deserted 22km long dazzling beach.

I spotted a distant group of school children learning to surf and with the rather evil thought that a small school kid would be a more manageable titbit for a croc than me, I tiptoed into the waves. All thoughts of crocodiles soon vanished as I floated on my back and let the warm ocean breakers wash away the jet lag.

Broome is essentially a one-horse town but is full of nostalgic reminders from its golden years as a pearling boom town. Old pearling boats lie moored in the mangroves and when the tide goes out scarlet red-clawed crabs scuttle around on the mud. In town, a delightful outdoor cinema, dating back to 1916, claims to be the world’s oldest and is packed with charming Hollywood memorabilia. Broome still produces some of the finest pearls in the world and at Paspaley’s I joined a welcome reception for the Orion Cruise. This sparkling boutique would be more at home DANTEmag n.2

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on the Champs Élysées than Broome’s dusty High St. As we sipped champagne and nibbled oyster canapés, the shop assistants passed around pink and gold pearls the size of marbles. It’s not exactly easy to juggle canapés and pearls at the same time and an elderly Australian lady had the misfortune to drop a priceless pink pearl straight into her handbag to roars of laughter.

Viewing these beautiful pearls eased us into luxury cruise mode but our first sight of the Orion still took our breath away. Graceful and streamlined with her funnel tilted back at a jaunty angle you’d never guess that this 53 room mega yacht has a reinforced hull designed to withstand the toughest Antarctic seas. On board, the decor oozes homely elegance. I especially liked the woodpanelled library, filled with books on the Kimberley’s fascinating nature and anthropology. It also has a large coffee-table globe on which you can really appreciate just how isolated the Kimberley coast is. Settling into my spacious fifth floor suite, with my feet up on the balcony, enjoying a sublime Indian Ocean sunset, my phone reception fizzled out and I settled down to ten glorious days of mobile-free cruising.

Early the next morning, still jet-lagged, I was up before dawn and on the windswept prow of the ship I ran into a couple of early morning power walkers.

“See the whales!” they pointed, as they breezed past me.

In the far distance I could see jets of spray shooting up on the horizon. The captain had spotted them too and slowing the engine down to a purr, he began nudging the ship slowly towards them. At 7.30 he made an announcement over the tannoy and, within minutes, the deck was full of passengers in dressing gowns clutching thousands of dollars worth of camcorders. The Kimberley is one of the prime breeding grounds of humpbacks which are the most acrobatic of all the whales. Right on cue, they began breaching and flapping their giant flippers at the approaching ship and, to gasps of astonishment, glided within metres DANTEmag n.2

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of the Orion’s prow.

This exhilarating introduction to the Kimberley’s wildlife was straight out of David Attenborough’s The Blue Planet and there was a real buzz of excitement as we strolled to the stern of the ship to replay our cams over a breezy outdoor breakfast. Later in the morning the excitement mounted as we donned life jackets, jumped into the zodiacs and sped off over the choppy waves to explore the prehistoric cliffs and isolated bays of this magnificent coastline. At the sinister sounding Crocodile Creek, we were greeted by the unexpected sight of our charming Filipino waiters wearing yellow sombreros and strumming guitars. They’d set up a margarita bar next to an idyllic waterfall that was cascading over burnished rocks into an opalescent pool. The temperature was well over 30C and the cool water felt sublime. Clutching a margarita with a refreshing waterfall pummelling my shoulders, I couldn’t help thinking that this was by far the most civilized DANTEmag n.2

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way to explore the harsh Australian outback.

A couple of days later at Raft Point, we tore ourselves away from the photogenic Boabs to trek up to the sacred caves of the local Wororra people. Harry Christensen, one of Orion’s infectiously enthusiastic guides, led us up the hillside, leaping around barefoot as he pointed out towering termite mounds and scarlet Kimberley rose trees that dot this exotic landscape. At the foot of the caves, he paused to ask permission from the spirits before entering. Above us, ancient frescoes of bulbous headed

Wandjinas (ancestral spirits), dugongs and turtles swirled over the cave walls. The Wandjinas bear an uncanny resemblance to ET and Raft Point has long been a favourite location for alien visitation conspiracy theorists. With magnificent views over the sparkling Timor Sea, the caves were as spiritually uplifting as the most picturesque Greek Temple.

Leaving Raft Point, we headed off for some more close encounters with spectacular wildlife. The Kimberley has the second highest tidal range in the world and at Montgomery Reef the

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waterfalls, snowy white egrets were hopping along the coral in an intricate ballet, stabbing at the floundering fish. Below us, green turtles were flitting around Sargassum seaweed meadows and every so often would surface for air in the most fleeting of photo opportunities. In a bizarre twist, our ever-obliging bar staff had set up a bar on a sand shoal and handed us glasses of rum punch as we sailed past in the shark-infested waters.

At Hunter Creek we entered classic Crocodile Dundee country.

It was high tide and there was an eerie silence as our zodiacs glided through the mangrove tree tops. We felt distinctly ill at ease knowing that giant crocs were lurking below us in the murky depths. After all, surely a crocodile’s razor sharp teeth would make short work of a rubber zodiac? The only thing stirring was a russet coloured Brahminy kite that swooped low over our heads out of curiosity. After an hour or so we gave up and headed back to the Orion. At the mouth of the river a sharp eyed passenger spotted a young croc basking lazily in the sunshine on a swiftly ebbing tide traps vast quantities of water inside its circular small rock. As we edged to within metres of the rock, the yellow reef which spills over the coral in shimmering horizontal watereyed croc stared at us with demonic suspicion but decided we falls. Thousands of fish and crustaceans get trapped and become were harmless. Nevertheless I kept my camera at a safe distance fast food for myriads of birds. As our zodiacs approached the DANTEmag n.2

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At The King George River we reached the most beautiful stretch of the Kimberley coastline. This dramatic sea inlet stretches 12km inland and is flanked by copper-coloured cliffs that rise over 100m and resemble giant crumbling chocolate bars. In the jade green water, stingrays were gliding around while, high above us. sea eagles were circling on the thermals. At the head of the inlet the dry season had reduced the normally roaring King George waterfalls to a mere trickle. A few hardy passengers including several octogenarians opted to hike up to the crest of the waterfall where pouring with sweat we jumped into fresh water pools on the dried up riverbed. It was an arduous climb and I was full of admiration at the intrepid OAPs. We were greeted by a round of applause when we reached the bottom and as we sailed into the shadow of the cliffs we stumbled across our ever-thoughtful bar staff who handed us glasses of champagne

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to congratulate us. In a neighbouring zodiac, Harry scooped up a giant pink jellyfish and began telling us about its fascinating biology. Sipping champagne while staring at a blancmange-sized pink jellyfish was a surreal experience and seemed to conjure up perfectly the blend of luxury and surprising adventure that is the hallmark of an Orion cruise.

Fact Box For more information on Orion cruises please visit www.orionexpeditions.com For more information on Western Australia please visit www.westernaustralia.com

MENS MENSSANA SANAININCORPORE CORPORESANO SANO - -Travel Travel

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Budapest’s

Black Gold

Hungary’s capital is the only place to appreciate the true worship of coffee – the dark elixir has warmed the city’s heart for centuries, writes Elisabeth Molnar.

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Ask a Hungarian about his country’s extraordinary coffee culture, and all you will get is a puzzled look. So pervasive is the cult of this dark, digestion-defying drink, that its local devotees are blithely unselfconscious. And yet Budapest is renowned as a temple of coffee consumption..

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MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO - Travel Presumably it dates back to the 1500’s when the land was part of the Ottoman dominions, but it wasn’t until the nineteenth century that the coffee house tradition began to gather momentum.

Sándor Csukás made it the subject of a documentary Otthonod a Kávéház (The Coffee House Is Your Home). In it, Noémi Saly, explains that a large part of the attraction of the cafés was that they were well-lit and well-heated, while people’s homes were less so. Smaller coffee shops would often offer a ‘poet’s breakfast’ for poverty-stricken writers: a cheap cup of the drink with a slice of bread. Such places became branded onto the national consciousness through the medium of verse: it was in a café, The Pilvax, that poet Sandor Petofi recited the Nemzeti Dal (the National Song) on March 15th, 1848. That date is still marked to celebrate the great uprising against the rule of the Habsburg empire.

Budapest’s coffee culture hit its peak in the early part of the twentieth century. Hadik, Gerbeaud, New York, Bécsi – they were all well-known and well-frequented cafés. Palatial triumphs of neo-Baroque architecture, with their towering ceilings and marble columns, many of the interiors of the surviving buildings are much the same today as they were then – albeit perhaps in need of a little restoration.

On a smaller scale but equally artistic and grandiose, were the exquisite cakes and pastries conjured from the kitchens.

Coffee houses were at the focal points of political and literary communion. Illustrious writers would sit in them and socialise, or watch the world go by.

The celebrated author Frigyes Karinthy had a favoured spot near the window in the Centrál café. One wonders, though which side of the fish-bowl he inhabited, since passers-by would observe him with similar intensity. In 1929, he penned Chain-links. The short story set out his thinking on network theory, including the idea that everyone is connected to everyone else by only a few ‘chain links.’ It’s a natural enough conclusion for anyone of his day observing how many connections there were between the people in the Budapest coffee places. There is a well-worn (possibly apocryphal) anecdote that he started a rumour in a coffee joint in Buda, and witnessed its re-telling an hour and a half later across town in Pest.

The Second World War interrupted the coffee party to a large degree. Many of the great cafés were destroyed. The subsequent Communist regime suppressed much of the social gathering by shutting many of the remaining coffee houses. Even the ones DANTEmag n.2

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Café Gerbeaud by Imre Inacsovszky Varga Centrál Kavéház Ráday Utca Café Eckermann Eckermann barman

MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO - Travel yet, despite being so ingrained, there’s no formality as, say, in Italy. Mógor talks of a trip to Bologna: “My three friends and I ordered four coffees and a bottle of wine in a café. The waiter looked at us and said, “But where are the others?”, imagining that there would be more people on the way to drink the wine.

Upon discovering that we four barbarians intended to drink the coffee and the wine on the same occasion, the poor waiter actually got down on his knees and begged us not to drink them in such a way.”

In Budapest you can buy a good cup of the stimulant anywhere, not just in cafés and restaurants, but in patisseries, museums, theatres, even cinemas. So thick does it run through Hungary’s veins that suggesting a coffee in the vernacular can mean any form of meeting up, even ones devoid of hot liquid refreshment.

Yet coffee-vending venues remain the epicentre of Hungarian creativity. They serve as bastions of free thought and free speech, luxuries that are not taken for granted in a post-Communist state. Great moments of history have passed under the view of the high ceilings, as well as small moments, meaningless to the world but filled with the little dramas and passions of our dayto-day existence. The walls of the cafés in Budapest don’t need to speak; the people speak for themselves. And if you want to know what they say, well... I’ll tell you over a coffee.

that survived such repression weren’t especially safe to sit in.

There’s an old Hungarian joke: three men are sitting in a Budapest café in the 1950s; one sighs, “Oh...” the second one sighs, “Ah...” the third pipes up in a fierce whisper, “Gentlemen! We must stop talking politics or someone will hear us!”

Even Communism’s distaste for the bitter beverage couldn’t suppress the Hungarian love of coffee. The social event simply moved to people’s houses. “When you invite someone over to your house, you offer them coffee,” say Ági Mógor, a Budapest film maker. “Under communism, there was so little of everything that coffee was the one thing that everyone had. It was a way of life; a mandatory part of daily life.” Even poorer households would have a small Moka stovetop coffee-maker. I remember my grandmother turning out her little machine daily in her Pest apartment.

After democracy was established in the early 1990s, Budapest coffee culture began to return, but never appeared in quite the same form. A few of the grand coffee palaces remained, but smaller, more down-to-earth cafés appeared in greater numbers. Art and music flourished once more in cellar cafés. New eccentric places were born, in which one can still play cards and gossip. In 2002, Mógor made a short film to immortalise her coffee experience: she filmed a group of her friends sitting in a Budapest coffee shop. The whole endeavour cost about 4,000 forint (£13), the only expense being the cost of the coffee. The atmosphere captured in the film is typical of the current coffee scene: sociable, very casual, with free and intimate dialogue. And DANTEmag n.2

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The Road Warrior’s Guide to Battling Stress

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How a colourful meal can help stop travellers’ blues (and other tips for decreasing stress and increasing immune function while travelling). By Elisa T. Keena

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Long queues, delays, weather issues ...STRESS! Uncertainty, lack of sleep, time changes, disruption of circadian rhythms ...STRESS! Fast food, processed food, airport food, different food ...STRESS! Cabin pressure, bacteria, pesticides, mould ...STRESS! Business dinners, airport bars, delays ...STRESS! DANTEmag n.2

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Whether you are travelling for business or pleasure, being in an airport, airplane, or hotel can increase stress on your physical, mental and, yes, even spiritual body (it’s difficult to remain Zen on a two-hour security line). When the body is under physical or mental stress the immune system is depressed. If it then encounters bacteria, viruses, and different antigens, it is more susceptible to illness.

Whether tourist or road warrior, most travellers have suffered from jet lag and fallen prey to a cold or sickness after travelling.

With a little bit of knowledge, awareness and preparation you can limit the negative effects of travelling on your body. You’ll enjoy DANTEmag n.2

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your trip, be alert for business meetings, and avoid illness.

The frequent traveller should incorporate some of these suggestions into their daily routine, while the occasional traveller should incorporate some of these suggestions 7-10 days before travelling.

It is important to know your body: how it reacts to different foods, lack of sleep, time changes, and medical history. Then you can choose which of these strategies will work for you. Of course, before adding any supplements or herbs, you should check with your medical practitioner.

Let’s take off with the effects of air travel on the body. Usually, you arrive at the airport tired, rushed and nervous. Next, you go through security and have to wait. Chances are you’ll go to a bar or a restaurant to grab a bite or buy something to eat on the plane.

What should you choose?

If it’s an overnight flight, you want to simulate a normal night’s sleep, keep awake and eat close to the normal breakfast time at your destination. This will help reset the circadian rhythms. Meals that include a high carbohydrate content and a small amount of protein are the best choice to encourage sleep. Tryptophan is an amino acid found in complex carbohydrates, dairy products, beans, nuts, seeds, rice, meats and seafood. In the body it is changed into serotonin, which regulates appetite, sleep and mood. Serotonin is used to make melatonin in the brain to help induce sleep.

Calcium aids this process, which could be expressed like this:

Tryptophan → Serotonin + Calcium → Melatonin → Sleep

Andrographs

Reduces symptoms of colds; stimulates the immune system; halts viral growth

Echinacea

Prevents colds, flu and infection (cannot be taken continuously)

Eleuthero

Helps the body adapt to stress

Elderberry

Halts viruses, respiratory infections

Green Tea

Fights infections by supporting the liver; antioxidant

Astragalus

Fights infection; supports the liver for detoxification, circulation

Quercitin

Anti germ activity

Beta Glucan

Offsets risk of colds; boosts immune system

Goldenseal

Enhances immune system

Olive leaf Extract

Immune enhancing; improves allergies

Probiotics

Protects the gut from infections

AHCC- mushroom supplement

Enhances the immune system

Cayenne pepper

Stimulates the immune system

Oregano

Stimulates the immune system; anti fungal

Meal/Snack Suggestions for inducing Sleep • Pasta with parmesan cheese • Cheese with whole wheat crackers/bread • Scrambled eggs with a little cheese or tofu • Salads with sesame seeds or almonds • Hummus and whole wheat pita • Whole grain cereals with milk • Bulgur and vegetable salad • Lentils • Meat or fish with starchy vegetable • Rice and beans • Peanut butter sandwich • Dates, papaya, bananas or figs

• Tofu and vegetables • Pumpkin seeds • Quinoa salad with sesame seeds • Spirulina – tablets or seaweed salad • Tamari or soy sauce and sushi (if not salt-sensitive) • Lentil soup • Avocado and chips • Wild cherry juice

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MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO - health Meals that are high in carbohydrates and low in proteins stimulate the production of melatonin. This helps you sleep and maintain blood sugar during your sleep. You should choose dishes that include pasta, rice and beans, couscous, tabbouleh, falafel, lentils, high carbohydrate vegetables (potatoes, sweet potatoes, plantains, corn) and nuts and seeds (sesame or sunflower) that are high in tryptophan.

Of course whole grains are always more nutritious than processed grains and aid in keeping the immune and gastrointestinal (GI) systems on track. Depending on your choices, it may take an hour or two for the ingested tryptophan to take effect on the brain. It is important that you don’t have too much simple sugar, sweets, candies and cakes. Keep to the complex carbohydrates!

When you arrive at your destination, eat high protein foods with little or no carbohydrates content. This will stimulate the body to wake up and maintain blood sugar levels, keeping you alert. High protein foods stimulate the production of epinephrine, norepinephrine, and dopamine, which help the body maintain an alert state. Some suggestions: • • • •

Avoid sweet sugary foods, cakes, juices and sugar.

Choose eggs, fish, meats, poultry.

Plain yoghurt with added fruit and nuts is a good choice.

If you choose whole grain cereals, oatmeal, bagels or croissants, add some protein (nuts, seeds, salmon, tofu) and have a protein snack mid-morning • Whole fruits will provide vitamins, minerals and antioxidants (we’ll get to that later). So eat plenty of fruit in combination with your breakfast. Avoid fruit juices, though. The high sugar content will cause a drop in blood sugar and depress the immune system.

• Vegetable juices on the other hand, such as tomato or green drinks, are great and can often be purchased just before getting on the plane.

• And of course, have a caffeinated beverage. It takes about 15 minutes for caffeine to increase the adrenaline in your body. The effects can last up to six hours. Coffee has 105 mg caffeine a cup; teas usually around 35 mg a cup.

Besides food, you should be aware of other aspects of flying that will affect your immune system.

Cabin Air Pressure:

The pressure in the cabin is much lower than you would experience at sea level this causes gases in the body to expand and decreases the amount of oxygen in the blood. This can leave you feeling listless, dizzy, or faint and can also cause retention of fluid in the feet and legs.

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Solution: • Avoid high-salt foods, prepared foods, and canned juices if you are salt sensitive.

• Avoid foods that can increase gases such as apples, apricots, beans, broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower, and milk if you are lactose sensitive.

• Eating spirulina tablets can help with circulation and oxygenation.

• Keep blood sugar stable by avoiding simple sugars.

• Use aromatherapy to wake you up, as needed.

• Practice breathing techniques such as alternate nostril breathing to keep the brain alert or induce calm.

Confinement:

The enforced immobility and cramped space in some modes of travel is a major health concern. Long periods of immobility can cause leg swelling, pain and blood clots, all of which can lead to thrombosis.

Solution: • Get up and walk around. Do stretches and exercises in your seat. Consciously direct your attention to each muscle group and isometrically contract them, starting at the calves and working your way up the body, to increase blood flow.

• Increase intake of Omega-3 fats found in fish such as salmon, sardines and herring, and nuts like flaxseeds, walnuts, hazelnuts, pecans or hempseeds • Avoid saturated fats if you know you have an issue with this.

These are fats which are solid at room temperature • Consider supplementing with horse chestnut extract or ginkgo biloba. Also ginger, ginseng and cayenne can be added to foods and taken as teas or supplements. These boost the immune system (more on that later).

Dehydration:

Airplane humidity is approximately 20%. This will not lead to dehydration but can dry eyes, nose, throat and skin, which are our major barriers against pathogens. A disruption in their functioning can lead to an increased susceptibility to infection.

Solution: • Drink eight ounces of water before getting on plane, and stay hydrated through out the flight. Make sure you are well hydrated before the trip. Alcohol and caffeine can be dehydrating so limit your intake or make up for it with extra fluid.

• Use eye drops or liquid tears to hydrate your eyes and moisturizer on your skin.

• Hydrating sprays with essential herbs and oils on your face can help retain moisture and relax or invigorate.

Colour your Plate: Choose foods and herbs that boost the immune system. Oregano, echinacea, mushrooms, blueberries and a host of other nutrients all have

MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO - health Colour

Choices

Nutrient

What it does

Yellows/Oranges

carrot, kiwi, lemon, sweet potato, mango, pumpkin, apricots, cantaloupe, squash, peppers, dried cayenne & chilli pepper, papaya, figs, persimmons, peaches, nectarines, pineapple, sweet corn, tangerines

Vitamin A Beta Carotene, Antioxidants Flavinoids

Helps maintain skin Increases white blood cell activity Helps fight off viral infections

watermelons, peppers, beets, strawberries, grapes, tomatoes, cherries, cranberries, pomegranate, radicchio, radishes, raspberries, red chilli peppers

Vitamin C Carentoids Antioxidants Flavonoids Ellagic acid Quercetin Capsaicin

Scavenge free radicals Anti-inflammatory properties Allergy relief Immune boosting Cancer fighting Joint support Cardio protective

arugula, asparagus, avocado, broccoli, broccoli rabe, Brussels sprouts, endive, cucumbers, green apples, leafy greens, watercress, courgettes, basil, oregano, thyme, tarragon, cilantro, spirulina, sea weed

Vitamin C Flavonoids Lutein fiber Folate Calcium Beta carotene

Boost immune system Cancer fighting Lower blood pressure Normalise digestion time Maintain Eye health Aid in detoxifying body Prevent the formation of carcinogens

black currants, blackberries, blueberries, plums, aubergines, grapes, purple potatoes, purple grapes, cabbage, raisins

Flavonoids Ellagic Acid Vitamin C Quercetin Phenols Tanins Reservatrol fiber

Boost immune system Support healthy Digestion Decrease free radicals Inhibit cancer cells Lower Cholesterol

pears, cauliflower, garlic, ginger, artichokes, jicama, mushrooms, onions, potatoes, shallots, parsnips, bananas, oats, barley, teas

Beta-Glucans, fiber Catechin, Epicatechin Polyphenols Vitamin A, Vitamin B Caffeine: Teas- Black (45-60 mg/cup) Green and White (15-20mg/ cup)

Boost immunity Influence T cell formation Maintain GI Tract Anti inflammatory Cardiac health Support healthy nervous system

Reds

Green

Blue

Brown and White

immune-boosting properties. An easy way to make sure you are getting the immune support you need is to colour your plate. At every meal, add a food item or drink from the different colours on the list below. Road warriors, you may want to utilise some of the herbs* when you travel for an extra boost to the immune system.

When your body is under stress and your diet consists of foods low in nutrient value, it produces more free radicals, which damage the body and interfere with immune function. Antioxidants derived from fruits and vegetables can protect and repair this damage keeping your immune system strong and helping you fight off not just chronic diseases but colds, flu and other infections.

So to enjoy your trip in the bloom of health, just remember to: • • • • • • •

Choose the right meal for the right purpose Stretch Relax Stay hydrated Take your supplements Watch the caffeine and alcohol Colour your plate

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MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO - health

Sure About Your Sushi?

We’re not talking mercury levels or good fish gone bad. Veena Kanda’s question is: Are you sure you’re not eating the last of a species? There are some easy ways to be sure.

T

The earliest record of the forerunner for the sushi we all enjoy today dates to 2nd Century China and 7th Century Japan. Originally, sushi, a term for fermented meat or fish was a method of preservation. During the 10th century, uncooked rice was stuffed into uncooked fish, cleaned with sake. The rice was discarded and the fish eaten after about two to three months of fermentation. The sushi we know today originates from the early 1800’s and is known as Edo (Tokyo) sushi.

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MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO - FOOD Much has been written about the health properties of sushi. Scientists believe that a diet of sushi is one of the reasons Japanese people are so healthy. It is said to reduce the risk of heart disease and the Omega 3 fatty acids, found in raw fish, have been linked to heart protection and improved circulation. It is rare to find a food that is both healthy and delicious!

However, it is precisely this popularity that now places sushi on the list of foods you may wish to think about before you eat. It is now available all over the world, in every supermarket, in countless fast food outlets as well as high-end restaurants. This is not going to be an article about high mercury levels in raw fish, - you would have to eat a substantial amount of sushi over a prolonged period of time for the mercury to be harmful – no, this is an article instead about sustainability.

Over the past decade, there have been calls from marine conservationists to stop overfishing the world’s waters for popular sushi fish such as bluefin tuna. Some even predict that we will not find any bluefin tuna in the sea by next year, such has been the devastating effect of our greed for this delicacy. Our lack of resolve to protect against over exploitation appears to be driven by high prices, with bluefin tuna being the most expensive seafood in the world.

In January this year, a 342 kg bluefin tuna was sold for £257,000. Demand from the Chinese market is said to be helping push prices up.

The World Conservation Union has a red list of species that are vulnerable, endangered or critically endangered. Bluefin tuna is, of course, on that list. Unfortunately, as tuna is a highly migratory species, so any conservation efforts require regional and global cooperation – which is hard to come by. Last year, a few countries attempted to stop the trade in bluefin tuna under the Convention on the International Trade of Endangered Species. Their efforts were quashed by a group of governments led by Japan. So, if the international bodies set up to protect these species are ineffective, what can you do as an individual?

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MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO - FOOD One of the foremost sustainability experts and author of “Sustainable Sushi: A Guide to Saving the Oceans, One Bite at a Time”, Casson Trenor, provides some easy-tofollow guidelines that we can all use when out eating sushi. Casson suggests the 4-S’s rule, which are his golden rules for eating sustainable sushi.

S-mall: try ordering sushi made of smaller fish, they are lower in mercury, they reproduce quickly and die younger. This includes sardines and skipjack tuna.

S-easonal: This is key to sustainability and has the benefit of reducing our carbon footprint. Fish, such as wild salmon, Dungeness crab and spot prawns fall into this group.

S-ilver: Look for fish that still has its silver skin still on. These are high in Omega 3 and normally grow quickly and die young, such as mackerel. The fish in this category can normally be sourced from well-managed fisheries.

S-hellfish: Finally, enjoy clams, scallops, mussels and oysters. They all help in cleaning the water and are farmed using low impact methods, with no additional feed required.

This seems to leave plenty to order from a sushi menu, without having to contribute to the extinction of species!

Casson also suggests that there are four fish that we should not eat, all of which are in danger as a result of overfishing; bluefin tuna; orange roughy; shark and shark’s fin and Chilean sea bass It is pretty clear that the effort we can make as individuals is really not that taxing. All it takes is to think before you order and you might find into the bargain some new favourites that are sustainable and guilt-free.

Pick up your chopsticks and be sure about your sushi!

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EMBASSY mayfair Chef Joël Antunès Launches New Restaurant in Landmark Mayfair Site

E Early November 2011 saw the successful launch of “Kitchen Joel Antunes” at Embassy Mayfair under the watchful eye of the eponymous chef, accompanied by business partners Dan Kapp, Jacobi Anstruther-GoughDANTEmag n.2

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Calthorpe and Timo Weber, along with Mark Fuller, owner of Embassy Mayfair.

This stylish new restaurant has a 95-seat ground-floor with a 40-seat extended terrace. The newly designed interior by Jacobi and Dan has a mood of understated chic, echoing mid20th century Riviera glamour. A classic French patterned limestone-tile flooring complements the light Carrara marble topped bar while the seating sports leather in shades of duck-egg blue,

burgundy and champagne. A collection of Slim Aarons prints hang alongside contemporary art pieces, including a couple of Tracey Emin neons.

Joël Antunes was born in Volvic, France, and worked in a number of prestigious French kitchens, namely “Ledoyen”, with Paul Bocuse at “L’Auberge du Pont de Collonges”, with Marc Meneau at “L’Esperance”, Michel Troisgros, Jacques Maximin for a decade before moving

to London in 1991. He opened “Les Saveurs”, in Curzon Street, Mayfair, to incredible critical acclaim, gaining a Michelin star in 1994. He then moved to the USA, and launched “Joël” in Atlanta, Georgia, in 1999, which swiftly became one of the most talked-about restaurants in the country. He returned to the UK to open “Brasserie Joël” at the Westminster Park Plaza in March 2010 “Kitchen Joël Antunès” showca-

“Kitchen Joël Antunès” is open Monday to Saturday.

29 Old Burlington Street, Mayfair, London W1S 3A.

ses a largely Provençal-based menu. Typical dishes include Jerusalem artichoke velouté with poached eggs and truffles, traditional Niçoise salad, pissaladière comme à Menton, octopus salad with caponata, shrimp piperade with basil, traditional coq au vin, osso bucco gremolata, sweetbreads with porcini, and roast sea bass with lemon.

Desserts feature some classics and also some whimsical offerings, including tarte tatin with vanilla, poached pear with

Reservations number 020-7494 5660. www.embassymayfair.com.

yogurt sorbet, chocolat liegois with nougatine, baked Alaska, and Kit-Kat peanut bar. A wine list of approximately 140 bins concentrate on the major European wine-growing regions.

In addition, coffee and pastries are served from 11am til noon and in the afternoon each day while a light menu is available after official last food orders at 11 p.m. to accompany your late night drinks with a licence until 1.30 am

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NonnoPanda TALES

O

One day lost in the dark wood, unable to find the right way around the zoo.

I bumped into my friend Muffy the Puffin. I couldn’t help noticing that he had a sad look on his face.

“What’s going on? “ I asked

him.

“Ah, Nonno Panda, Don’t ask. It’s one of those embarrassing situations I couldn’t begin to tell you about.”

“Oh, c’mon! There’s nothing too embarrassing you can’t tell to an old friend like me,” I said, trying to assure him of my discretion.

“Well,” he said lowering his voice, “I have a problem, let’s say, with the traditional courtship routine.”

I had to admit that I was aware myself of that problem and I ventured to say: “I’m afraid it’s something we all have to deal with sooner or later. It’s called old age my dear friend.”

Muffy the Puffin and No More Fish in the Ocean...

his face fell back into lines of sadness.

“I guess it’s a sign of modernity, dear friend. It’s called women’s emancipation. Obviously the female puffins are not immune to it,” I said, trying to comfort him.

“Yes that might be it!” he exclaimed. “But they are becoming so unreasonable that it’s impossible to accommodate their requests.”

“What do they want?” I asked, intrigued. “Don’t tell me they’ve seen those TV programmes, and want jewellery and expensive gifts, and to be driven around in a Ferrari. Because if even the female puffins are succumbing to the trend of luxury goods and other products of excess, there really is no chance the whole animal kingdom can survive.”

“Good Nature, no!” answered the Puffin, almost disgusted at the idea. “It’s much worse than that.”

“Worse than that? What could that be?” I asked, puzzled.

“You know how difficult it is to get a real fish from the sea these days, right?” said the Puffin.

“There’s no denying it. Everybody’s aware of that,” I agreed.

“No, no, Nonno Panda, what are you thinking?” The Puffin could not contain his laughter. “It’s nothing to do with what you call the old age factor. It’s the fact that the female puffins are getting more and more demanding these days. Nothing seems to please them.” And DANTEmag n.2

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“Pollution and overfishing have left the ocean with very few stocks.

That’s why a bunch of human environmental and conservation groups have launched a campaign called Project Ocean, to celebrate

the beauty of the ocean and to understand the threats facing us, to make positive choices about the right fish to buy and eat, to save life in the oceans.”

COLUMNS produce eggs. That’s why the female puffins complain male fish are not as they used to be. They’re lacking that masculine taste that turns them on.”

“Oh, yes, we’ve seen it all before. The humans get together to save endangered species to soothe their guilty consciences and so on. Now is the time for the ocean project,” said the bird not at all impressed by these positive human actions. “Anyway, the problem I have is much bigger than that. Maybe they should start a Save the Puffins project,” my sad friend continued.

“Ah! That phenomenon has existed in the animal kingdom for a long time,” I said with relief. “Sex determination is usually a fixed characteristic in the life of vertebrates, like us. But there are a few organisms for which sex is often determined by a combination of internal and external signals. The tropical fish teleost, for instance, a colourful inhabitant of coral reefs, has developed like this.”

“Bigger than that?” It was difficult to think of something more tragic than a barren ocean with no fish in it. But the Puffin seemed to think so.

I did not just make that up to cheer him up, by the way. The vast majority of reef fish change sex at some point in their lives. In fact, reef fish that stay the same sex throughout their life spans are in the minority.

“Yes, bigger than that,” said the Puffin, almost in tears. “The females claimed I’m not capable of providing them with suitable excitements to courtship, and if I couldn’t come up with a solution the whole race would become extinct.”

I guess it was impossible not to get into the gory details which could lead to too much information, I thought. So I tried to be as vague as possible so as to avoid wounding his already battered feelings.

Muffy the Puffin gave me a bored look, and I felt he was about to fall asleep. But it was important he knew these things about the animal kingdom, so that he could go back and tell the object of his affection she should be more accommodating. Therefore I carried on with my scientific explanation.

“Good quality standard product, like it used to be,” answered the Puffin.

“There are many different patterns for sex change. Some species will begin life as male then switch to female,a phenomenon known as protandry; and others switch from female to male, known as protogyny. And what is more, some will change sex in both directions and others will be both sexes at the same time. This is known as hermaphroditism.

“And what would that be?” I asked, not being knowledgeable on the subject.

Sex changes therefore become quite fascinating from several different perspectives.

“A fish that tastes like a real fish,” said the Puffin. “Just pure and simple, standard, proper fishy taste!”

From the behavioural standpoint, how does a fully functional female become a male in a matter of hours, followed by a physiological and anatomical change to functionally become the opposite sex? The endocrine system is most likely responsible for this ability to change, but the hormones have yet to be identified. And let’s hope the humans will never find out. Otherwise can you imagine the commercial impact? They’re already confused; we don’t need to confuse them any more. Besides, the chromosomes and genetic sequences responsible for this sexual plasticity, are not known yet either.”

“What are they looking for?”

“What do they mean it’s not up to standard?” - I asked. The request seemed a bit unreasonable. In times of shortage one must take what is available, I thought.

“You tell me Nonno Panda, what’s the quality standard these days?” asked the Puffin, getting more depressed by the minute.

“They claim that most of the few male fish left available in nature have started to produce eggs; and they don’t like the taste of that incestuous feeding process. So what am I supposed to do? Steal the only proper male fish left from some aquarium? I’ll get shot down by a security guard in no time!” The Puffin was starting to sound angry.

“Wait a minute! What are you talking about? Male fish producing eggs?” I could not believe what I was hearing.

“You’re obviously up-to-date with the latest news,” said the Puffin.

“Yes the male fish population are changing sex. It’s a widespread phenomenon, caused by the high level of pollution and the abuse of oestrogen intake by the humans that gets into the water through their water waste. It’s absorbed by the male fish and causes them to

Muffy, at that point, really was ready to doze off, but when I stopped talking he perked up.

“It’s all well and good, and you are, as always, so very eloquent,” he said. “But the truth of the matter is, where do I get a normal fish that tastes like a proper fish? I also have to accomplish the full circle of my existence, if you know what I mean” – and he winked at me – “and I don’t think I can convince the female puffins based on what some promiscuous fish that, as usual, live in the tropics do with their bodies. Where I come from, the fish always follow more traditional patterns and values. It is only now with this global warming and water pollution that everything is getting mixed up. It’s not just the humans that are confused, we all are.

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COLUMNS “You see, Nonno Panda, as part of my regular courtship, if I were in the wild, I would do a long, sweeping dive into the ocean for a juicy little fish. Then I would climb into the sky, from which vantage point I could espy my beloved, far below. Once I’d spotted the favoured one, I’d drop the offering near the mate of my choice, as a token of my affection. “ What on earth am I supposed to do? Here at the zoo I can fly and I can also dive into the artificial lake. That might work, but where am I going to get the precious treasure for my potential mates when the only fish available here are either the dead ones, which are thrown to the seals or locked away in the aquarium, or the few left in the river that are changing sex. This is driving me crazy!” Muffy complained bitterly. “We’ll definitely all become extinct.”

“Sounds good. But what about the real male fish?” He still sounded doubtful.

“I told you about those fish changing sex before right?”

“Yes but what about them?” asked the Puffin.

“We’ll draw up a contract with them, stipulating enough time to cover your need for courtship so the fish will be male at the point that they drop through the chute. That way you don’t have to worry about the ones producing eggs in the river.

“OK, that’s a good idea. A bit artificial, maybe, but that’s the way things are, I suppose, these days.”

“You see? We’ve thought of everything.” I said. I was glad to see he was starting to look a bit more relaxed.

“You are too impatient!” I said, trying to calm him down. Other animals have mentioned similar situations. I can tell you for instance that the Platypus even though he has his own private stream, can’t make a meal for his lover either, for exactly the same reason. Others, like the Eagle, can’t soar high in the sky to stalk his lover with his shadow, simply because there’s far too much traffic in the air nowadays. Collisions are an ever-present danger.

“But my techno-freak friends, Fatima and Transistor, have been working hard on the problem and they’ve come up with a plan.

They film each one of you in 3D. Your message is then broadcast on a big 3D screen to recreate a real-life effect. I can guarantee it will provoke the right natural reaction in your intended mate.”

“So what do I have to do now?” asked the Puffin.

“Go to Fatima and Transistor. explain to them what you want and they’ll write a treatment. If you just act natural and with feeling the new technology will record it all. Then you invite your lady to the movie. She will be so impressed with your new way of courtship, it’ll do the trick.”

“Great!” Muffy said, considerably cheered up and set off to find the techno-freaks.

“Another problem solved today,” I sighed, as I saw the happy Puffin strutting off to stardom. I carried on with my walk.

“Hmm!” Muffy mused. “Well, it would solve the problem of flying up into the sky, but in my case it’s extremely important to drop the fish. That’s crucial. How can you do that on video?”

“Don’t worry about that,” I said, trying to reassure him. “They have given some thought to that as well. They’ve developed a sort of automatic chute based on the assembly line principle. At the crucial moment in the film, a fish will move along the line and pop out of the chute right in front of your inamorata, just as if it had been delivered by yourself.”

Muffy thought about this for a moment.

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www.theoceanproject.org www.projectocean.net www.seabird.org/sospuffin.asp

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Leviathan

By Chris Kline

J

”J’accuse...ACTION THIS DAY.”

Before the UN, NATO, or the myriad array of international organizations that crowd the world stage today with their impressive sounding acronyms and unimpressive track records ever existed, there was that notable failed experiment known as the League of Nations. Fail it did and ignominiously so. Just as the planet verged on the most colossal conflict in human history, the League distinguished itself by its singular inaction toward Fascist aggression.

Haile Selassie, the exiled Ethiopian Emperor, received thunderous applause as he addressed the League at its seat in Geneva.

Selassie made an impassioned plea for concerted international action to save his nation from Mussolini’s ferocious bid to build a new colonial empire in Africa. But applause and a few laudatory newspaper articles were all the Emperor walked away with.

Mussolini’s deputy commander in East Africa, the decidedly bloodthirsty Rodolfo Graziani meanwhile promised to deliver Ethiopia to Il Duce, as he put it, “with or without Ethiopians.”

Beginning in October 1935, the conquering army slaughtered the hopelessly outclassed but suicidally brave Ethiopian warriors and their horses with mustard gas, armour, flamethrowers and air power. Mussolini’s son, an air force pilot, wrote sickening entries in his diary on what beautiful, flower-like patterns his bombs made on massed Ethiopian fighters.

In July of 1936 Francisco Franco, at the head of the Army of Africa had launched his rebellion against the Spanish Republic.

The German Luftwaffe had helped to speed Franco’s betrayal ferrying his fierce Legionaries and Moroccan mercenaries from Spanish Morocco to the mainland. In time after carrying out the first major airlift in the annals of warfare, German pilots of the Condor Legion would give the world the first example of terror bombing by launching a fearsome incendiary aerial attack against the ancient Basque city of Guernica, a horror later immortalised

by Picasso’s masterful paintbrush.

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struggle for survival, only Lazaro Cardenas’ revolutionary Mexico stood by her. The same so-called Great Powers that made up the core of the League’s muscle—France, Britain and the United States—adopted a spurious neutral position towards the Spanish Civil War. It was neutrality that barely masked their antipathy for a populist government which had so adamantly renounced the socioeconomic status quo that prevailed in the West.

The strict enforcement of an arms embargo and naval blockade by these non-combatants ensured Republican Spain would be starved of the means to defend itself. The late arrival of an opportunistic Soviet Union, only confirmed the League’s fears of a “Red” Spain at the heart of Europe. By contrast Franco’s Nationalist forces had all the material support they needed from Hitler and soon after Mussolini, who also sent a sizeable army to fight alongside the Spanish Fascists. And so the Spanish Republic died, almost inevitably. The great democracies failed utterly, only to fight the same jack-booted enemy in the Second World War, just as the Spanish slaughter was ending, three years later. So too died the League in 1939, a pathetic footnote in history, defined by the gross negligence and indifference of what today we label the International Community.

An echo of this great sin of omission was heard again in the former Yugoslavia more than a half century later. The US, the European Union, NATO and the UN observed a strict neutrality that left Bosnia gasping for air, while a well armed Serbia and Bosnian Serbs did their worst. Only when the spectre of potentially coming to blows with Moscow emerged, did the West act decisively, bringing a grudgingly cooperative Russia symbolically

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on board, and rather swiftly putting an end to the conflict.

So where to now? What have we learned or done since Bosnia?

How strong is the moral pulse of the Western democracies, which still purport to take the dominant leadership role in the world? Where does action match the lofty ideals of our liberal societies? How worthy are the multilateral mechanisms of our global community? How strong is the moral imperative supposedly anchoring the likes of NATO and the UN in recent history?

The Rwandan genocide saw Western peacekeepers exit hurriedly after white foreigners could be evacuated. The local Tutsis were abandoned, to be butchered by the machetes of the Hutu Interhamwe militias as the UN dithered in New York, and Washington prevaricated over the literal meaning of genocide, seeking semantic alternatives to sugar-coat a word it didn’t want to use, since recognising “genocide” meant it would have to act. When the full dystopian evil of Rwanda came to light, there came a resounding “NEVER AGAIN” from those that did nothing.

But the slaughter in Darfur today proceeds apace and a genocidal campaign waged by the regime in Khartoum has now expanded into the central highlands of Sudan. The combined AU/UN peacekeeping force there remains a toothless lion with a weak mandate, barely able to defend itself, with no change in sight.

Meanwhile, in Somalia and much of East Africa a new famine of epic proportions is underway. Millions face the prospect of starving to death, but only a trickle of aid reaches the neediest when a swift, massive effort is needed. An AU force in Somalia does its best to confront the warlords and protect and feed civilians trapped in the crossfire, but how much more could it do had it meaningful help from the outside, from those that have the means?

the same ground. And of course there is all that oil to safeguard, or rather Libyan democracy.

But what of Syria, which is by far the worst bloodbath in the whole of the North African and Middle Eastern uprising? It is, bar none, the most savage crackdown by any of the enduring police states in the region that refuse to yield to the will of the people. It is likely, at a conservative estimate, that 5000 unarmed civilians have so far been cut down by the Syrian military and security forces. It is not a matter of tear gas, truncheons and fire hoses. A defenceless people are being butchered with the full weight of the firepower a modern army brings to bear: tanks, cannon, heavy machine guns, fighter planes and helicopter gunships. Government snipers are using dum-dum hollow point ammunition and are under orders to take head shots. The torture chambers are working around the clock, and evidence is increasingly emerging that mass rape, as in Chechnya (does anyone even remember Chechnya?) the former Yugoslavia and Darfur, is now a systematic instrument and authorised tool of government repression.

But the UN Security Council is surprisingly silent. The ICC has not taken even any paper action against President Assad, surely now as great a vampire as his own father—a man who, by contrast, makes Gaddafi seem like an unpleasant schoolmaster. But Syria is not even remotely an item on NATO’s agenda. Silence reigns in all the capitals of the alliance. In Syria, fascism prevails and the great democracies look on as they once did, at great cost and to their eventual shame.

Are we then that much more evolved since the League of Nations was born and not least since the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was ratified? Can we, the West, in all earnestness still claim to be the conscience of the civilised world? The compass bearing of our limp moral leadership and glaring inaction registers at this juncture in history as a resounding “No”, more worthy of 1936, than the new millennium. What will be our debt when we will be held to account for reprising the moral flexibility of our grandfathers?

Further north on the African continent the Arab Spring has not lost any of its momentum. NATO has fought a war in Libya alongside the brave amateurs of a resistance army that couldn’t stomach Gadaffi’s brutal misrule any longer. The mad colonel has now met the fate of dictators from Mussolini to Ceausescu.

It’s certainly been a very picturesque war, very photogenic, the columns of rebel technicals Chris Kline is the American grandson of the late President Sukarno, key architect of the Non-Aligned Movement, liberator and founder of modern Indonesia, the world’s most setting out to do battle evocapopulous, predominantly Muslim nation. Kline is an open adherent of the mystical Sufi tive of the Allied desert raiders tradition within Sunni Islam. in World War II who once trod

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