Echoes of Churchill

With the Eurozone in crisis over the Greek tragedy, Ireland’s financial tumble, and the economies of Portugal and Italy teetering on the brink, a core group of EU leaders came together on December 8 and 9 to draw up a new EU treaty. Led by the indomitable, if misguided, Angela Merkel of Germany and with Nicolas Sarkozy of France in tow, the Europhiles seek tighter integration, centralized control over financial markets, and, ultimately, even more national power from EU member states divested to Brussels – whether or not the people agree. Indeed, Mrs. Merkel recently called for a “Fiskalunion” at all costs, insisting recently that she would “give up a piece of German sovereignty” in order to make it happen.

And what of Cameron? Recently, he angered Tory backbencher Euroskeptics, whose motion in the Commons demanding a referendum on Britain’s role in the EU was beaten into submission by party whips. Many conservative columnists predicted his capitulation to Germany, accusing him of, at best, weakness, and, at worst, treason. Some, more outrageously, even compared him to Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, who infamously signed over the Czech Sudetenland in a vain attempt to appease Hitler, before pompously declaring , “peace for our time.” 

Indeed, had Merkel, Sarkozy et al read the British broadsheets, they would have reasonably assumed that, when faced with even the slightest opposition, Cameron would roll over. Even smaller nations turned up the heat on the embattled Prime Minister, with Luxembourg’s prime minister and chief of the ‘Eurogroup’ warning, "I don't want the United Kingdom setting aside entire pages to say the United Kingdom will not do what all the others have to do. I will not accept that."

In the end, however, Mr. Cameron invoked not Chamberlain but his more prescient and formidable successor, Winston Churchill. First, Cameron demanded protection for the City of London, which, to the chagrin of European technocrats, remains the financial hub of the continent. This prompted a blazing row with Sarkozy, who wouldn’t hear of such a thing – dissention in this “new Europe,” not being tolerated. Undeterred and finally channeling Churchill’s mythic “bulldog spirit” that has been absent for much of his term, Cameron refused to back down, and eventually wielded Britain’s veto.

This bold stroke has endeared him to the same Euroskeptics who, just hours before, were filleting him on Fleet Street, while also sending a direct signal to the power base of the EU that Britain will be pushed around no longer. Boldly defiant, Cameron’s stance reveals a hearteningly Churchillian willingness to become a pariah.

During the mid to late 1930s, Churchill issued a wakeup call over Hitler’s ambitions and military buildup, vocally criticizing the leadership of his own party and ensuring that he would never hold a Cabinet post under Baldwin or Chamberlain. He endured his outsider status, and was proved right in the end, when he was called on to lead Britain against the Nazi Germany. Then, in March 1946, once again finding himself out of office, Churchill took the podium at tiny Westminster College in Fulton, Missouri to issue a stern warning about the ills of Communism, the division of Europe by an “iron curtain,” and the need for a “special relationship” between Britain and America.  It was a time when many still considered “Uncle” Joe Stalin a staunch ally, wrongly assessing Communism as merely an alternative system of government, thus reverting to the isolationism of the interwar years. Churchill’s words of warning set off a firestorm of hostile criticism from politicians on both sides of the aisle, the ridicule of most magazine columnists, and a stinging rebuke from Moscow itself. Yet, when asked a few days later if he regretted his sentiments, the supposed ‘warmonger’ roared, “I do not wish to withdraw or modify a single word!”

Now it seems it is Cameron’s turn to be unpopular. Worldwide financial markets have plunged, the Europhiles are in a white-hot rage, and Douglas Alexander, Labour’s Shadow Foreign Secretary, recently blustered, “Britain this morning is more isolated than at any point in the 35 years of British membership of Europe.” Cameron’s coalition partner, Liberal Democrat leader Nick Clegg, he of the strong pro-Brussels views, was so miffed that he stayed away from the first Commons session after Cameron’s controversial decision and has subsequently decried the Conservative’s veto. The Prime Minister has even risked straining the Anglo-American “special relationship,” with Barack Obama cozying up instead to the EU’s integrationist leaders. 

Like Churchill in 1946, Cameron must screw his courage to the sticking place, and reaffirm in 2012 that Britain is, and will ever remain, a sovereign nation. He should also, as Iain Murray and James C. Bennett suggested in the Wall Street Journal and the prescient English Member of the European Parliament Daniel Hannan has advocated for years, look to the rich trade possibilities of the Anglosphere instead of to the crumbling Continent and what Hannan has correctly called (in homage to C.S. Lewis) its “hideous strength.” 

Winston Churchill: In Celebration and Memoriam

This week the two most important birthdays to me are those of my sisters, who somehow managed to be born on the same day, two years apart. "Bravo!" I say.

Yet there was also another birthday this week that I cannot let go unmarked - that of Winston Churchill.



When I was a lad growing up in the idyllic, rural southwest of England (which my friends and I call "the Shire", as homage to J.R.R. Tolkien's countryside creation in The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit), one of my favorite pursuits was listening to my grandmother's tales of life during World War II. She told me that when she was working at Woolworth's department store in London, she and the other girls wouldn't go to the shelters when the air raid sirens went off, but would instead go back to the break room and put on a pot of tea. I was astounded that they would be so cavalier, and asked her why. "Well," she said, in her unique voice that was a cross between the lilting Irish of her youth and the long-voweled local accent, "we heard Winston Churchill didn't go, so why should we?"

From this point on, I became fascinated by this man, who of course has reached mythic status on both sides of the Atlantic. I quickly found out that Nan's story had only partial basis in fact - Churchill sometimes took cover and sometimes went about his business. Just one of the many stories about him that are untrue are have been distorted, to say nothing of the misquotes (see the "Red Herrings" section of Richard Langworth's fabulous quote omnibus, Churchill by Himself). Furthermore, this complex man certainly had his faults - a short temper, overconfidence, and a maddening tendency to circumvent due procedure, to name just three.

And yet, he was also the perfect man, and arguably the only man, to wake Britain from her slumber to the dangers of Hitler's militarism and extremism, to lead Britain in defiance of the Fuhrer's tyranny and, as I describe in my new book, to define the postwar divide between the democratic West and Communist Russia at Fulton, Missouri, in 1946. While his war memoirs (for which he received the Nobel Prize for Literature) are more apologetic than accurate history, he was also a prolific and profound writer, composing over 40 books and dozens of articles, in addition to his many speeches. Despite his aristocratic lineage, he also had a fondness for people from all backgrounds, and those who loved him certainly outnumbered his critics - despite what revisionist Churchill critics want you to believe!

So, I raise a glass to Sir Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill. May his pronouncements on the virtues of democracy, liberty and freedom live long in our memories, his example of courage in the face of overwhelming odds inspire us, and his true leadership in speaking the truth even when it risked unpopularity embolden those who have followed him into the halls of power.

JFK: How Quickly We Forget

"[when each elected official] presses its own ends...which generally results in no action at all...they devote more time to the prosecution of their own purposes than to the consideration of the general welfare...and so, as each separately entertains the same illusion, the common cause imperceptibly decays."

Greek historian Thucydides, on the main flaw of his nation's ruling counsel. A favorite quote of John F. Kennedy.

When I pulled up Google News this evening, I was horrified to find nothing on the front page about what I thought would be the top story: today marks the 48th anniversary of the fateful, despicable murder of President John F. Kennedy by Lee Harvey Oswald.

What could I have gleaned from the news aggregation service? That the Denver Broncos released quarterback Kyle Orton. That HP sold a few of its TouchPad tablets before discontinuing the model. And, lest I go a moment bereft on star-crossed teen vampire news, that many viewers are seeing the new Twilight movie twice.

Let me restate: this is the anniversary of the day that a President of the United States died.

And yet, we concern ourselves with trivial morsels that can neither satisfy nor advance us. None of them evil or inherently wrong, yet all sideshows, distractions from the history we ought to be immersing ourselves in on this day, of all days.

The top story, thankfully, was a little more substantive - an overview of the Republican debate on foreign policy.  Yet, as I digested it, I was reminded of how we're cultivating the politics of division, of how feuding and finger-pointing has taken the place of positive policy-making, and how paralyzing partisanship has derailed the budgetary not-so-super committee, stalemated the Senate and which will likely cloud all political coverage until November 2012.

This, in turn, prompted the recall of the quote at the top of this page, which I borrowed from page 331 of William Manchester's informative, moving, and fantastically detailed tome on JFK's demise, The Death of a President (review to follow soon). Now, Kennedy was certainly a divisive figure - his mere Catholicism was almost enough to prevent his election, his rich background bothered many and his appointment of fellow Irish Catholics irked outsiders. And he certainly had personal flaws - don't we all!



Yet, he was, too, a man with the courage to own up to his folly in the Bay of Pigs debacle, the strength to stare down the Soviets in the Cuban Missile Crisis and the fortitude to take on the violent ignorance of white supremacists over civil rights, even at the risk of alienating the southern Democrats. As I recently wrote, he also had a keen mind, as evidenced by his Pulitzer Prize-winning literary work. When he spoke of change in his inspiring inauguration speech, he had the policies to back up the sentiment, and the determination necessary to force them through.

How very different to certain political "leaders" of today, on both sides of the aisle. They talk a big game in the locker room, but have neither the intellectual chops nor the gumption needed to win when they get on the field. They spend too much time slinging dirt and focusing on what their opponents haven't done, rather than convincing us of what they themselves can do. With their teenager-like egos and insecurities, they worriedly watch the opinion polls and are blown this way and that by the fickle winds of public opinion. This is no way to inspire, to lead, or to govern. What we need is someone who is principled enough to form new ideas, articulate enough to explain them, and determined enough to implement them when they reach office.

Then, and only then, can the pretenders of today live up to the legacy of Kennedy, Reagan and Lincoln, for the good of what Thucydides called the "common cause." Assuming of course, that our politicians know their history, and aren't too busy reading the drivel that makes it onto the front pages these days.

The Guns Will Be Silent

This past week we had a date anomaly – the day, week and month all mirroring each other. But for a small, and ever-dwindling, group of men, the past seven days were significant for a reason far more profound than calendar alignment. They gathered at sites across Europe and America commemorate the moment when, on the 11th hour of the 11th day in the 11th month of 1918, the roaring guns of World War I finally fell silent.

It soon became known as the “Great War,” yet that is ill-fitting in all respects save one – the great sacrifices made by soldiers and their families on both sides. More than 8.5 million died (and a further 21 million were wounded), and their number has been dubbed “The Lost Generation,” to signify the enormous loss of life and potential on the fields of Flanders and beyond.

After the war, the leaders of the Western Allies idealistically hoped for permanent peace, though the League of Nations that was set up to foster togetherness and prevent future hostility quickly proved to be a paper tiger. Nonetheless, the sentiment of “never again” was on most lips among the “victors.” Meanwhile, the defeated Germans smarted, not just at their losses of men and material, but also at the overly-punitive terms of the Treaty of Versailles, which punished the “Fatherland” by imposing harsh sanctions on an already ravaged economy, and confiscated territories far and wide. It was the resulting frustration and the promise of restoring national pride that enabled Hitler to take power so swiftly and terribly in the mid to late 1930s. Even with his rise, the majority outside of Germany still hoped for peace, not seeing that no number of Munich Agreements could slake the Fuhrer’s lust for revenge and land.

Though it is easy with hindsight to slam those who, like British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, signed such treaties and they must certainly be held accountable for inaction and, in some cases, capitulation, it is just as easy to forget how horrendous the trench-based battles of World War I were, and the impact they had on the collective psyches of both the victors and the vanquished.

Trench foot, rat bites, and typhoid were rampant, as the soldiers literally rotted in their water-logged holes, to say nothing of the mustard gas. There was no sanitation, no clean facilities to treat the wounded, no place to bury the dead. Then, when they were sent over the top, the weak, despairing bunch were greeted by machine gun fire that toppled their ranks like contorted dominoes and, if they advanced to the enemy lines, were ensnared as if they were game in barbed wire, or run through by enemy bayonets. Those who did not capture their foes’ positions yet could not make it back to their own trenches were sometimes so stunned by the clamor, the fear and the firework flashes of barking muzzles that they wandered around in “No Man’s Land” until captured, finished off or, for a lucky few, retrieved by their comrades. Some opposing trenches gained or lost a total of mere inches over the course of the war.

Click here to read the rest of this post on the blog of Boston University's The Historical Society

JFK: President of Firsts

This week marked the 51st anniversary of John F. Kennedy’s election victory, which saw him become the 35th President of the United States. The Camelot myth aside, he was undeniably a President of firsts:

• The first President to win the office at age 43, and the first "Chief Executive" born in the twentieth century.

• The first Catholic in the White House. It is easy to forget how difficult it was for the Kennedy clan (JFK’s father, Joseph–the US Ambassador to Britain who FDR pressured into resigning in November 1940–masterminded his son’s career) to overcomeProtestant opposition to their faith during the campaign.

• The first President to win the Pulitzer Prize. His book,Profiles in Courage, which highlighted the bravery of John Quincy Adams and seven other U.S. Senators claimed the award in 1955. Interestingly, it was patterned on Winston Churchill’s Great Contemporaries, which was not the only literary connection between the two. Kennedy’s Harvard thesis, Why England Slept, (published by Wilfred Funk in 1940 after several big publishers rejected the manuscript) was a play on Churchill’s While England Slept, which examined Germany’s militarism and England’s failure to stem Hitler’s ambitions. Churchill went one better, winning the Nobel Prize for Literature for his war memoirs. On April 1, 1963, Kennedy conferred honorary citizenship on his literary and rhetorical hero.

• A participant in the first televised Presidential election debates, with Richard M. Nixon. Popular opinion contends that the first debate was a turning point in the campaign. The dashing Massachusetts senator and the Vice President were opposites in style and appearance–Kennedy fit and poised, Nixon unattractive and growling. The encounters moderated by Howard K. Smith (a pioneer of broadcast journalism and one of the Murrow Boys) also changed the campaigning landscape for good, and put a premium on candidates’ ability to come across well on the small screen. It’s fascinating to me that last year (yes, 2010) saw the first televised debates in British electoral history. That’s half a century after the US got in on the game!

• The first celebrity Presidential couple. Kennedy and his wife, Jacqueline, were the most photographed, most fawned-over political partners in history. As in the debates, his camera-ready appearance helped, though he was often overshadowed by his gorgeous fashion queen.

Click here to keep reading at the blog of Boston University's The Historical Society

Book Review: The Fear Index by Robert Harris

I’ve been a big fan of British writer Robert Harris since a friend lent me a copy of Fatherland, an alternative history novel in which Germany won World War II. Since then, I’ve consumed Harris’s other books like kids munching candy on October 31st – quickly, and with joyous abandon. But that is not to suggest that his novels are a mere sugar high. On the contrary, Harris meticulously researches his topics, creates substantial, memorable characters and crafts a three-dimensional world that I immerse myself in for a few hours each time I pick up one of his books.

So it was with great satisfaction that I stumbled across the pre-order listing for a new Harris novel a couple of months ago – The Fear Index. Annoyingly, it won’t be released in the US until January 31st, 2012, but help was at hand: my good friend, Mr. Paul Hunt, dispatched his mum (deliberate spelling, American readers!) to her local bookstore in what Paul calls “God’s Country” – that’s the English county of Yorkshire, for the uninitiated. As luck would have it, she not only got the book the day it came out for half price, but it was also a signed copy. Huzzah.

For the sake of those who may read the book, I will endeavor to avoid spoilers. Here’s the synopsis, which is nothing you can’t find on the jacket: Dr. Alex (for some reason the Amazon.com pre-order page lists him as “Max” – did the US publisher really change his first name because Alex, or heaven forbid his full name, Alexander, is too British?) Hoffman is a brilliant scientist working for CERN, the organization that runs the Large Hadron Collider. An ambitious London banker hears about Hoffman’s experimentation with computing models, and recruits him to co-found a hedge fund in Geneva. Not just any fund, mind you, but one in which the trades are conducted by an algorithm based on the VIX, of “Fear Index”, which measures market volatility.

All is going well for their company – unheard of year-on-year returns of more than 80 percent, several billionaire investors ready to pump more money in, and, for Hoffman, marriage to a beautiful and creative woman. But when a violent intruder breaks into his house, Hoffman’s world and the numbers he has put his faith in to build it start unraveling at a dizzying pace. He becomes totally isolated from all he holds dear and Harris offers two, equally distrurbing possibilities for this: either his protagonist is losing his mind, or someone’s trying to make him think he is.

As with every Harris book I’ve read, I was pulled into the plot from the beginning? Why? First, believable and inherently flawed characters whose specialties are not my own – as anyone who knows me will attest, I know little of science or economics. In fact, I’m the type of guy that has to put his 401K on autopilot, as anything else would, I fear, wipe out the meager sum therein in record time. As for science, as my good friend, Mr. Paul Avery, may recall, I once scored 28 percent on a physics exam. Yikes.

Second, Harris has evidently been to Geneva many times, and brings a city I have regrettably never visited to life, from the chill breezes coming off the lake, to the grandeur of the stone-façade buildings, to the pretentiousness of the artsy crowd who prance through its galleries.

I’ve already mentioned the fast pace of this novel, which rattles us through 24 hours of chaos, but it would be ineffectual without Harris’s ability to build suspense. Thankfully, he dials up the tension without resorting to the graphic violence of, say, Stieg Larsson to cap it off (a trend in today’s thrillers that I find troubling). For a sample of what I’m describing, check out this excerpt from The Daily Telegraph.

Timing is also key with this book and indeed, Harris paused his work on volume three of his Cicero trilogy (check out part one here and part two here) to write The Fear Index while we’re still feeling the reverberations from the financial crisis. I have just about forgiven him for this transgression, despite my own concern that I’ll be waiting until 2013 for the concluding volume. Curses.

OK, so back to the book I’m supposed to be reviewing. I also liked how Harris takes his time to drip feed revelations about Hoffman’s character and past throughout the text, rather than, as a rookie writer might, telling us everything up front. Harris also capably shifts his point of view (the most overused and annoying phrase on Project Runway, which Nicole has roped me into watching with her!); from Hoffman, to his wife, Gabrielle, to Hugo, his business partner. (Incidentally, is the name Hugo not seen as too British by the American publisher? I’ve never come across anyone by that name in my ten years in Kansas City. There are far more Alex’es here than Hugos). By seeing the world through several sets of eyes, I was drawn deeper into the book – hence the 2:00 a.m. bedtime on my second night of reading it. It took me three nights to finish The Fear Index, but I could’ve pushed through in two evenings or, possibly, in one transatlantic flight. War and Peace, this is not.

My only reservation when starting to read The Fear Index was the foreknowledge that Paul Greengrass (who directed the excellent Bourne Trilogy) had already optioned the script and that Harris is writing the screenplay. Much as I admire Mr. Greengrass’s work and respect Harris’s artistic integrity, I was concerned that the latter had written this book with the intention of getting such a deal, and the big bucks that accompany it – a suspicion not dispelled with Harris’s acknowledgment of Greengrass in the front matter. This is not the first Harris book to come to the big screen – Roman Polanski pulled in the talents of Ewan McGregor and Pierce Brosnan for The Ghostwriter, which I enjoyed.

However, The Fear Index hooked me on page one and, while I can see how certain elements were conceived with the big screen in mind (sorry, have to keep that promise of no spoilers!), the book is not a cynical vehicle to get Harris to a Hollywood deal. It stands alone as both a taut, engaging narrative and a timely critique of the flighty and unpredictable financial market.

In summary, I pose three questions to you:

1) Do you enjoy exciting yet intelligent thrillers with intriguing characters?

2) Would you like to know more about the stock market without reading dull economics books?

3) Have you got 12 spare hours over the next few weeks?

If the answer to either/all of the above is yes, then I implore you to get a copy of The Fear Index, sink into a comfy chair, and read the book cover to cover in as few sessions as possible.

Through the Rain and the Night

Racers recount 340-mile, Missouri-crossing odyssey

With water flowing fast and pushing flood levels all summer, Missouri American Water MR 340 organizer Scott Mansker was doubtful that this year’s 340-mile heartland odyssey from Kansas City to St. Louis could even happen. The planned start date in July was out, with the Army Corps of Engineers breaking levies to reduce the river level, though Mansker created the first 100-mile Kawnivore race down the Kansas River later that month to keep the race’s fanatical competitors paddling. But the MR 340 faithful still pushed Mansker to reschedule their beloved race for later in the year. August and most of September passed with the Missouri still raging, but in the final week of September, the waters subsided enough to make racing safe again.

On October 11, 105 boats lined up like a makeshift military flotilla along the now-calm river in Kansas City, Mo. It was unusual for returning competitors to start off in more temperate, 65-degree conditions; temperatures for the MR 340 typically soar into the 90s and often break triple digits. However, the weather soon turned.

“We had an incredible storm Wednesday night with hail and heavy rain that knocked many paddlers out of the race,” Mansker said.

Thankfully, the ever-fickle Midwest skies soon cleared.

“After the storm, we had incredible weather with a nice tailwind,” Mansker continued. “The moon rose exactly as the sun went down and made night-paddling easy. Most paddlers were prepared for the cold and the extra four hours of darkness.”

In the men’s solo, last year’s mixed tandem winner West Hansen (who, with David Kelly, completed the 2010 event in a course record) was the pre-race favorite, but dropped out early. Matt Dressler took the early lead, with Glenn Phaup, a third-year MR 340 entrant and resident of Ashland, Mo., in pursuit. Phaup caught Dressler at Jefferson City, but as the two were side by side, he realized that something was wrong. “Matt was really sick, and wasn’t paddling as he normally would,” Phaup said. “I got out the boat for about half an hour to make sure he was OK before I started racing again.”

Despite taking time out, Phaup was still in the lead. However, his ground crew soon let him know that he wasn’t home free, and that with 115 miles still to go, his friend Joe Zellner was closing fast. “I know Joe’s a faster paddler than me, but I stuck to my game plan of keeping a steady pace rather than trying to sprint ahead,” Phaup said.

His tactics proved wise as he crossed the line first in 43 hours, 6 minutes, with Zellner coming home in 44:10.

Click here to read the rest of the story at Canoe & Kayak. 

STANDUP PADDLING THE WORLD’S LONGEST RIVER RACE

Competitors in Missouri’s MR 340 have a reputation for being a friendly bunch, but not all of them were welcoming when they heard the rumor that a standup paddler was going to attempt the world’s longest nonstop river race this year. Before the October 11 start date, that paddler, Shane Perrin, noticed a particularly disparaging comment on the MR 340 forum: “It’s interesting, to say the least, to see folks attracted to a craft that is less comfortable, less maneuverable and slower on purpose.”

Instead of being deterred by his fellow racers’ skepticism, 35-year-old Perrin used their barbs as fuel, and became determined to make his mark in this grueling endurance event.

Over the past year, SUP athletes have attempted increasingly long and difficult paddles. Perrin finished the inaugural Kawnivore 100 (held on the Kansas River, aka The Kaw) in just 23:58 and last month, Jan Brabant, 62, became the first SUP racer to finish the Adironack Canoe Classic. Further afield, SUP magazine contributor Shelby Stanger and her team just paddled the Peruvian Amazon.

Contrary to expectations, Perrin not only finished the MR 340, but also came 31st out of 116—beating many of the canoeists and kayakers who had doubted his prowess and choice of craft. I caught up with Perrin after the race to ask him about this experience and the growth of SUP river racing in the Midwest.

Click here to read the full Q&A with Shane on the Standup Paddler website

The Brixton Pound and Localism

In recent years, there has been a resurgence in localism in the foodie and environmentalist communities in the US, with farmers markets and specialty grocers the beneficiaries of those looking for locally-grown produce sold outside of Wal-Mart and its ilk, which typically favor the cheapest possible foreign fare. The trend makes sense for health reasons – not a shock that peaches from an orchard five miles away are more nutrient-dense and typically less pesticide-afflicted than those shipped from Central America – and for the local economy. Traders such as independent book stores and one-off coffee shops have also benefited from those who’d prefer to patron small businesses with whom they can build long-term relationships, rather than store #7680 of a huge multinational.

However, there is no doubt that “Main Street” as it’s often called here and “The High Street” in the UK has failed to halt the overall decline in number of stores and business volume that arguably began since the advent of the big box stores that accompanied the expansion of suburbia in the 1950s and 1960s.

To help turn the tide, some towns are introducing local currencies that encourage residents and merchants to spend their money with neighboring small businesses. In the US, these and other forms of financial exchange media that became known as “scrip” – including Larkin Merchandise Bonds and Caslow Recovery Certificates – were introduced during the Great Depression to alleviate the challenges caused by lack of cash flow. As many as 5,000 were in circulation by the mid-1930s. More recently, local currencies such as San Francisco’s Bernal Bucks, Great Barrington (Mass.)’sBerkshares and the Ithaca (NY) HOUR (also a payment system for labor there) have promoted local trading. These are typically introduced by groups of business owners and/or private citizens, and are not backed by city, state or federal government.

The latest area-specific currency in the UK is the Brixton Pound (B£) re-launched earlier this month after a more limited first issue in 2009.

Click here to read the full story at the blog of Boston University's The Historical Society

How Streaming Media Services Affect our Perception of “Owning” Music and Movies

Despite the company’s recent price increases, the decision to split its DVD delivery and streaming businesses and the lamentable choice to name the former “Qwikster” (as one friend commented, “It sounds like fast-drying spackling!”)*, I am an avid Netflix fan. And if the company can increase its still-inadequate library of on-demand content, this miser may eventually ditch his ancient, 500-pound behemoth of a TV and invest in one with Netflix streaming built in, or maybe just a Roku box. Right now, I occasionally watch a movie on my HTC Flyer tablet, which is a better viewing experience than an iPhone/iPod but still a little rinky dink for my liking.

So why does the ability to get movies without waiting for a DVD to arrive or, heaven forbid, leaving the house to patron the nearest Redbox, appeal? Because it’s quick, convenient, offers a (soon to be) wide choice and there’s a predictable, all-you-can-watch fee instead of an individual charge per disc. And if I sometime think that Amazon’s Instant Video has a better selection, maybe I’ll forsake Netflix.

So that’s the good, but what about the bad or potentially bad? How is the rise of streaming film and TV content affecting studios large and small, and the actors, producers, directors, crew members and others they employ? Were some of the same questions asked when other new technologies were rolled out? The television? The videotape machine?

Certainly, DVD and Blu-Ray sales are down. And movie prices continue to rise, much to my horror. $12 for a ticket? In the middle of Kansas? Really? I also loathe the gimmicky “cinema suites” that offer a crappy buffet and cheap beer if you’re willing to fork over $20 bucks or more per ticket, and possibly the shirt off your back, too. But how much of these price hikes and the luxury concept that seems to be borrowed from major league sports’ premium on suites and boxes is attributable to movie studios, and how much to the theater companies themselves? I admit that I don’t know.

What I do know is that the ability to stream movies and music on demand, on mobile devices as well as at home, is profoundly affecting how we think about owning this content. 

Click here to continue reading on the blog of The Historical Society


*A decision now thankfully abandoned

On the Record Player

I'm the proud owner of a Technics SL-1700 Direct Drive turntable, which should've been on my recent "Things I Use a Lot" list. Because it's quartz-driven, unlike those crappy cheapo belt-drives the hipsters buy at Urban Outfitters and are about as durable as a Yugo , it offers consistent rotation and, like its brother the 1200 (the industry standard for DJs) it is also beautiful. I don't sell these, honest!



Here's my summer playlist:

The Wedding Band - The First Dance EP

The lads from Mumford & Sons perform as part of a folk ensemble on this hard-to-find, four-song EP.



Frank Sinatra - Sinatra's Sinatra

Ol' Blue Eyes picks his favorites from his back catalog - my four-year-old son knows I've Got You Under My Skin from the first bar.



Mumford & Sons - Hold On To What You Believe (b-side to Winter Winds single)

Possibly their best song to date, and not on the platinum-selling album Sigh No More for some reason. These guys KILLED IT at Crossroads in KC this summer, playing alongside Cake and Matthew and the Atlas (the best band you've never heard of).



Johnny Cash

All manner of different records. Both my sons love "The Orange Blossom Special", while Nicole is digging "Jackson" (feat June Carter Cash)



The New Pornographers - Together

Not as controversial as the band name would suggest - in fact, just great power pop from A.C. Newman, Neko Case, Dan Bejar and co.

Surviving a Book Edit

The title of this blog post may have drawn more readers if it read “Surviving a Shark Attack” or “Surviving a Tsunami” but, though it may lack the same drama, I hope this particular musing will be more useful for the would-be book writer.

I have been working on my book (shameless plug alert!), Our Supreme Task: How Winston Churchill’s Iron Curtain Speech Defined the Cold War Alliance, since March 2009. From its genesis, it has gone through multiple metamorphoses, with entire chapters re-written and axed, new sources discovered and integrated, and days spent at the Churchill Archives Center, the National Churchill Museum,the Harry S. Truman Library and other archival treasure troves.

When I first settled on September 1 as my manuscript submission date, almost nine months ago, it seemed a lifetime away. After all, I’d already put hundreds or even thousands of hours into the project, had what I thought were five complete chapters (of 11) on my hard drive, and was rolling along with the remainder.

However, the deadline that once seemed so far off soon appeared right before my nose, like the knights caught unawares by Sir Lancelot in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Liz Murphy, archivist at the National Churchill museum, came across a batch of pertinent Churchill letters just days before, and I was still hurrying to incorporate this new material. I was also hastily acquiring rights for photos from the Potsdam Conference and Churchill’s 1946 visit to the U.S., while trying to cut bloat from certain chapters. Arrggh! I thought I had this under control! How did it become this mad panic?

Anyway, I got the manuscript and images away a couple days early, and took a deep breath. Two weeks later, my editor mailed back a Yellow Pages-sized packet of paper, with red pen to indicate her first read comments and blue pen to show comments from the second pass (how is she so fast and efficient - I have no idea!). The first eight chapters were smooth sailing, but numbers nine and eleven were anything but – too much detail, too long, too everything other than ready to go to print. So I spent an entire day cutting away, and eventually, after four and a half days of hard work, sent back my response to her comments. In the midst of cutting almost 20,000 words, re-formatting a chapter and putting my pride to the sword, here’s what I learned:




Click here to read the full post on the blog of The Historical Society

The Things I Use Daily

Nicole, my good lady wife, recently cleared out bags of junk from our house, and we took a full carload of bags and boxes to the local Savers thrift store (see: "charity shop" for you UK readers).

As I was unloading all the excess we've collected in the past eight years, I started thinking about the things that survived the purge. What are the most useful items I own? Here's the list, in no particular order:

Bodum Stovetop Espresso Maker

You can't beat the crema of an coffee shop espresso, but this little gizmo comes close, without the costly repairs and high cost of fancy automated machines. The genius of this is its simplicity - the heat forces water up through the espresso grounds and into the serving chamber. Once the metal is cool, it takes two minutes to clean out (note - do NOT use soap), and is good to go again. Other great tasting coffee making methods? The French press and old-school pour-over method.

Watch


Matthew Battles at The Atlantic wrote a great piece about the decline of the wristwatch recently, but for me, the curmudgeon who STILL doesn't own a cell phone, my watch is essential. Nicole tells me I have no concept of time and I invariably underestimate how long just about any task will take - with the notable exception of writing. I am Captain Lateness, I admit, but at least wearing my old, scratched steel chronograph gives me a slight chance of being within 10 minutes of my appointment times. And its still the best fashion accessory (unless you're into pocket squares or bowties).

Free Weights


I don't have any idea why gyms insist on dropping thousands of dollars on the latest machines - particularly the thigh strengthener thing that MUST have been invented by medieval torturers. The fact is, free weights work stabilizing muscles better, enable you to perform an almost unlimited array of exercises and burn more calories because you're supporting the entire load. Add in dip bars and a pullup bar, and you've got the perfect strength training setup. With this kit, the right trainer - such as my good friend Mr. Cory Maxwell - could get your heart rate off the charts in just a few minutes.

Concept2 Rowing Machine


I'd been looking for a cheap, lightly used Concept2 for five years when I finally came across one three summers ago. Why did it take so long? Because the machines have a very high resale value and most people who buy one realize it's the best way to work every muscle in your body this side of cross-country skiing, so don't want to give up their machine. Now, if you see a C2 at a gym it's typically underused (just like free weights) because it's hard work - at least if you use it properly instead of jacking it up to maximum resistance and moving the handle with all arms and back power - the common technique mistake. If you can grab a cheap one on Craigslist, check out The Pete Plan for an easy-to-follow training schedule, and see the Concept2 forum for encouragement and advice.  Best thing about the rower? You can get a killer workout in 20 minutes - great when I'm on deadline.

Etymotic MC5 Headphones 


I used a pair of Sony studio cans for the longest time, but while they offer great sound quality, they leak noise like Julian Assange leaks secrets and don't cancel outside noise (think kids banging on my office door, noisy neighbors) unless you turn up the volume to ear-splitting levels. So, while it is probably criminal to drop 80 bucks on headphones, I did just that at the beginning of summer on the Etymotic MC5s. Like my good friend Mr. Tom Seibold, I am an avid web researcher, and I spent many an evening combing audio forums for reviews, warnings and endorsements, with three criteria in mind: noise cancellation, sound quality, durability.

Results? I can't hear a bloody thing once I've got the triple flange silicone earplugs jammed in, I've cut the volume level on my laptop and iPod by more than 50 percent, and I'm hearing parts of old favorite songs I'd never noticed before (example: Ludovico Einaudi at the Royal Albert Hall - heart-breakingly beautiful piano + strings). Now, there is a breaking in period - putting the afore-mentioned plugs in hurts like heck the first few times, but I got over that quickly and would buy these 'phones again in a second if I lost them.

HTC Flyer tablet


Fact: Writers write things, and most like to do so with a pen. Problem: this leads to half-full notebooks all over the house, which it takes ages to trawl each time you need specific info. Solution: HTC Flyer + Stylus. OK, I am still ticked off that I paid 80 bucks extra for the stylus (curse you, Best Buy!) but I now have a digital notepad that I use several times a day. The notes are synched to Evernote, so I can review them later on any device, and (this is key) perform a full text search to find a specific word or term. I'm also using the Flyer's camera to take pics of expense receipts, emailing them to myself and presto! no more using a scanner. Liking Amazon's Cloud Player music service, too. And if I ever get into ebooks, the ability to write on them - just like the good ol' days of literary criticism with Mr. Tyler Blake at MNU - will be most welcome.

Book Edits - Everything Comes Full Circle

Last weekend was a blur of quad espressos, 18-hour work sessions, little sleep and headphones jammed so deep in my ears for so long I'm surprised I got them out again. Why? Responding to my editor's comments and changes to the manuscript for my forthcoming book, Our Supreme Task: How Winston Churchill's Iron Curtain Speech Defined the Cold War Alliance. 

20,000 words, one reformatted chapter and two completely overhauled chapters later, and the book is in production. To quote from Monty Python and the Holy Grail: "And there was much rejoicing."


So I could concentrate, I split my time between a local Starbucks - where I shamelessly hogged the only big table, spreading out pages in a random order that MIT mathematicians would struggle to interpret - and Mabee Library at my alma mater, MidAmerica Nazarene University. Late Sunday night, it struck me that there was something circular about finishing this process at the latter venue. In the second half of 2009, I spent many evenings hidden away in a corner of this library, poring over interlibrary loan books as I researched the background to Churchill's speech, his life in 1945 and 1946 and the people influenced by his unlikely appearance in Fulton, Missouri. Now, in September 2012, here I was again, this time trying to get past my ego and make the cuts needed to wrap up the project (more on this in the next blog post).

This got me thinking: how does location affect research and writing?

For certain texts, such as Thoreau's  Walden, a certain location is essential, and could not have been any different. But what about President Obama's inauguration address, written in a Washington Starbucks by then 27-year-old Jon Favreau (not to be confused with the Iron Man director, this Favreau is one month younger than me and is the Director of Speechwriting in the White House - unbelievable!)? Did the partially overheard conversations, whir of grinding beans and whoosh of the steam wands affect the content or tone of this speech? Is David McCullough's narrative voice so consistent because he writes each book in seclusion in a modified shed, as did children's author and onetime propaganda agent Roald Dahl?

I welcome your insights and opinions, dear readers!

Postscript: I realized, after re-reading the piece on Favreau in The Guardian (linked to above) that James Fallows of The Atlantic was the same age as Favreau when appointed head speechwriter for President Jimmy Carter. Fascinating.

Citations: Source for Mabee Library picture: MidAmerica Nazarene University
Source for David McCullough image: Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.
These two entities hold the copyright to the images.

Reading this Week - Communism, Robert Harris and Too Much of My Own Writing!

I've wanted to write a new blog post at multiple points this week, but editing the manuscript for my forthcoming book on Winston Churchill's 'Iron Curtain' speech has me tied up. Not that it's a bad experience - it's quite liberating to receive edits and comments from a fresh set of eyes and someone whose job it is to edit. When you're too close to your own writing (as we all are), you don't see the repetition, the passive voice and the myriad other individual and persistent mistakes.

The key here is humility, and the realization that my editor and I want the same thing - a well-written, engaging story that people will want to read.

Anyway, all that aside, I've had the chance to read a couple of interesting things this week, that weren't composed by my own hand (amazing how un-interesting your own work becomes when you've read each word multiple times, believe me):

First was this wonderful interview with Robert Harris, conducted by Judith Woods over at The Daily Telegraph. In case you're not familiar with him, Harris is the author of all manner of wonderful historical fiction books, including Fatherland, The Ghost (which became the film The Ghost Writer, starring Pierce Brosnan and Ewan MacGregor) and Conspirata (the second part of his Rome trilogy, and a bargain at $6.40 on Amazon). I've bought everything he has created since my good friend, Mr. Jon Manley, lent me a copy of Fatherland more than 10 years ago.

In the interview, which he rarely consents to, Harris talks about his creative process, politics and the story behind his forthcoming book on the financial industry, The Fear Index (my lucky friends in the UK can get it several months before us poor buggers living stateside and yes, if anyone wants to send me a copy, I won't turn them down!). Harris combines historic authenticity with the page-turning suspense of a master novelist, and I'd love to sit down and talk writing with him over a pint of stout.

Other than that, I also read this wonderfully succinct and atmospheric piece on Prague’s Museum of Communism, written by another historical novelist, Thomas Mallon for The Atlantic. As my book has the specter of Communism as a backdrop, I'm always interested to learn what life was like in Eastern Europe before the fall of the Berlin Wall, and to discover what its legacy has been. I implore you to read Mr. Mallon's take. I'm looking forward to reading his forthcoming book, Watergate, in February.

OK, enough slacking. Back to my manuscript and a well-earned glass of Samuel Adams Octoberfest!

Chroniclers

With the brief lull following my manuscript submission, I’ve finally been able to start reading for pleasure again. Having zeroed in on Churchill-focused books for the past three years, I scoured my shelves for something completely unrelated, and settled on Juliet Barker’s Agincourt, which vividly recreates the battle between heavily outnumbered British troops and their French foes on October 25, 1415.

One of the central figures is Henry V, the iconic English monarch. Previously, I had (somewhat embarrassingly, for an Englishman) only read of his exploits by way of William Shakespeare in Henry V, and through watching the film portrayals by Laurence Olivier and Kenneth Branagh.

Such the Bard’s reputation and flair for characterization that we (or at least, I) often forget that he took creative license in his portrayal, and was crafting plays to entertain common, noble, and royal audiences rather than to provide an accurate historical record.

Still, it came as a surprise when Barker revealed that the incident that defines Act I, Scene II – the French prince sending Henry a set of tennis balls that mocked his youth and poured scorn on his negotiators’ attempts to acquire former British territory in France by peaceful means – was merely a myth. Shakespeare did not invent this incident, but seems to have conveniently used this piece of royal tittle tattle for dramatic effect and to set up one of Henry’s most famous utterances in the play:


We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us;
His present and your pains we thank you for:
When we have match'd our rackets to these balls,
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard

In fact, Barker contends, Henry did not believe that negotiations with the French would yield the land he was claiming without force and while the French did not play ball with English diplomats, no tennis equipment was sent across the English Channel to irk the monarch. So much for fancy words and clever plot tools.

Click here to keep reading on The Historical Society's blog

Erik Larson Interview for Historically Speaking

I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Erik Larson, whose books include The Devil in the White City, Thunderstruck and Isaac's Storm, for leading journal Historically Speaking. The Historical Society recently published an excerpt from the Q&A, which appears in the September issue of HS. During our conversation, Larson talked about his latest book, In the Garden of Beasts, a masterful account of American Ambassador William Dodd's time in Germany as Hitler was consolidating power. We also discussed the impact of Larson's journalism career on his books, the research tools he used and the value of going to Berlin to experience the city as Dodd would have. Here's a snippet:

White: Is it true that you were inspired to write In the Garden of Beasts after reading William Shirer’s The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich?

Larson: The thing that caused my imagination to kick in was the fact the Shirer had been there in Berlin and had met Hitler, Goering, and Goebbels, but he met them at a time when nobody knew the ending. And that’s the key thing— nobody knew the ending. What would it have been like to have met what turned out to be these awful people when nobody knew what was coming down the pike?

From there I started looking for characters. It’s a process—finding what kind of narrative energy this person could apply. I read memoirs, newspaper accounts, and letters, looking for little things that might lead to bigger things. I knew nothing about Dodd when I stumbled across him. I found him compelling but by no means someone I could hang a book on; he was a little dry, and I’m not that interested in diplomatic history. But I liked the fact that he was a plain-spoken, low-key guy who was thrust into a job for which he was anything but qualified. From a narrative perspective that made him interesting. He was an outsider, and that’s what I was looking for—an outsider who entered into the world of the Reich during its first two years. Then I discovered that Martha Dodd had written a memoir. After reading that I decided that these might be the two perfect characters, and happily both underwent transformations in their first full year in Berlin.

Click here to read more

An Epitaph for Surprise

I used to look forward to the surprise of discovering a favorite singer’s new album
To stumbling across a book that looked interesting but could go either way
To going to a new restaurant on the off chance that the food was tasty, while accepting the risk that it would be anything but

But now, as a society, we’ve lost the joy of surprise
Everything is “leaked” – from news, to songs, to pics of forthcoming gadgets
Many websites and blogs live or die by the ‘scoops’ they provide us
Which, while satisfying our bloated need for what’s new and what’s next,
Have robbed us of the pleasure of just wait and see

Now, there are examples in which this new transparency is helpful,
Such as when taking kids on vacation and knowing that a hotel isn’t a party hub,
Or when researching a new car without taking a dealer’s word as gospel

But, on balance, maybe we should re-embrace what Frost called the road "less traveled by"
Ignore the all-seeing eye of the web once in a while,
And take a chance on surprise a little more often
What do we have to fear, except discovering what’s on the other side
Of utter predictability’s tedium?

Usain Bolt and the Worst Rule in Sports

I'm not someone who spends hours watching sports. But I do like to catch weekly English Premier League highlights, an occasional NBA game (when the owners and players aren’t playing greedy vs greedier and scuppering the upcoming season, of course) and the sprint events at the Olympics and World Championships. Indeed, my father used to take me to the British Olympic and World Championship trials when I was a lad, creating indelible memories of my athletic heroes defying the British summertime rain in their pursuit of speed. So I’m hopping mad today.

Why? Because the worst rule in sports has:

a)        harmed the legacy of the world’s greatest sprinter, Usain Bolt

b)      further deflated the sport’s flagging global popularity

c)    ruined the spectacle of the blue ribbon event, the 100 meters

I took great pleasure in showing my two sons Bolt’s exploits in the heats and semi-final – namely, leaving the rest of the field so far behind in the first half of each race that he casually jogged to the finish line and still won. Since the Olympics of ancient Greece, humans have been fascinated by sheer speed, and my two- and four-year-old boys are no different – Bolt’s performances prompted them to race round and round the main floor of our house, bumping into each other, me and whatever furniture rudely obstructed their giddy, joyous laps of the living and dining rooms.

So I was relishing the chance to share with them the experience of Bolt laying waste to the under-matched field in the final. But no, the IAAF had to go and ruin my day. IAAF stands for International Amateur Athletics Federation, but in my mind, it now means Inane Assault Against Fun. Or something of that nature. Whatever I want to call them, their silly rulebook stated that Bolt jumped the gun, and was thus DQ'd.

Here’s the skinny: Last year the IAAF introduced a new rule, and one that it had been trying to push through for a long time: if an athlete commits a single false start, they’re disqualified.

Now, for as long as I can remember, the rule had been two false starts and you’re out. But for some reason best known to themselves, the IAAF bureaucrats, most of whom probably couldn’t run from their couch to their refrigerator, changed it. The thinking was that crowds don’t have the patience for multiple athletes to try to jump the starter’s gun. So first they issued an edict stating that the field was allowed one false start, and whoever committed the next was done for the day.

And then, when athletes protested that this new rule was silly, the IAAF committed its crime by altering their Should Just Left it Alone Rule: anyone who false starts is out. What they didn’t consider is the human fallibility of those athletes, whose finishing places are (especially in the 100 meters) separated by hundredths of a second. Their body and brain will of course try to go on the “B of the bang,” as my childhood idol (in a non-idolatrous way) and former Olympic champ Linford Christie used to say, to gain that crucial advantage.

The old standard is superior. It’s much better to give a runner a slap on the wrist for one false start, and then ask him to kindly leave the premises if he repeats his error. If I’m at a stadium, have paid hundreds of dollars to watch the most popular event at a track meet and have been looking forward to seeing the best athletes compete for title of World’s Fastest Man (or Woman, depending on your event of choice), I’m going to be pretty ticked if it can’t happen because the field is robbed of its brightest star. Heck, it’s bad enough from an armchair!

And so it was with Bolt yesterday. The laws of physics make it highly unlikely that the 6-foot-5-inch world record holder can get out of the blocks first. So he got a little over-anxious and took off too early. BIG DEAL. It was in the eyes of the IAAF law, and he lost the chance to defend his 100m title just like that. I almost copied Bolt’s reaction of ripping of his shirt in disgust!

What would’ve happened under the old system is that he’d have chilled out, stayed on the starting line a moment longer, and likely won his second consecutive world championships by a country mile. His legacy is enhanced, his sponsorship deals grow, and, more importantly, the profile of the sport is increased. Track and field has slumped in popularity in the past 20 years, and with the London Olympics coming up next summer, it needed a shot in the arm. Over the past four years, Bolt has provided that with his once-in-a-lifetime speed, freaky genetics and trademark ‘Lightning Bolt’ celebrations.

Not this time. No, the IAAF thinks it is better to speed up (pardon the pun) it’s marquee event by harshly punishing false starts than to present the most competitive race to the fans. Wrong.

The irony is that Bolt supported the rule change because he had never false started before. Might want to re-think that affirmation now, good sir. The popular opinion on news websites and blogs seems to be that Bolt’s opponents in the World Championships 200 meters, and indeed in the 100m and 200m at the 2012 Olympics, had better beware his quest for redemption. And they’re probably right. I hope we will see Bolt return to the form that enabled him to lower the 100m record to an unworldly 9.58, and to eclipse Michael Johnson’s never-thought-I’d-see-anyone-beat-it time in the 200m by over a tenth of a second.

But maybe Bolt will now hold back in his blocks for fear of The Worst Sports Rule Ever befouling him once more, maybe just long enough for challengers such as his compatriot Asafa Powell, American champ Tyson Gay, or Bolt’s training partner and newly crowned champ Johan Blake to catch him. Perhaps long enough to deny him the chance to re-write the record books once again, as well as the opportunity to inspire the next generation of would-be sprinters (though I fear my slow genes will limit my sons’ own racing ambitions –sorry boys! – either way).

In conclusion, there must be the element of chance and surprise in sports, and each competitor is subject to the rulebook, but when a rule that is easily changed conspires against the best possible performances, the next step is simple: change it!

The Berlin Wall 50 Years On: Symbol of Division, and of Hope

This past weekend, German citizens turned out en masse to recognize the 50^th anniversary of East German authorities putting up the Berlin Wall. Coming 15 years after Winston Churchill’s Sinews of Peace speech, this barrier was the embodiment of the Iron Curtain that the British Prime Minister (ex-PM at the time) had spoken of in March 1946. The Wall not only carved Berlin in twain, but also the political and philosophical world – with liberal democracies with capitalist economic models on the western side and the totalitarian Communist regimes on the eastern.

Many desperate souls from the east (at least 136 reported, with many other likely not counted) died trying to cross the wall and with each failed attempt, the dreams of families hoping for a different life in the west perished, too. The commemoration in Berlin was no celebration, but rather a somber affair marked by church bells pealing out and flags billowing in the breeze at half-mast on the Reichstag. In the spot where the wall stood is now a chapel, which held a memorial service for those who lost their lives during the Wall’s 28 years.

Before the concrete monstrosity went up, more than 2.5 million Germans had gone to the Allied occupation zones in the west of the city, according to The Daily Telegraph. One of the reasons for constructing the wall was the fear that this flight would leave the eastern part of the city economically destitute. Yet it was also, in many ways, a barrier to keep things out, not least “dangerous” Western ideas about freedom of the ballot box, speech and expression.

Click here to read more on the Historical Society blog. 

Democracy on Trial: The Differences Between Protest and Mob Criminality

In the past year, we have seen protests lead to the fall of autocrats in Yemen and Egypt, and incur the full wrath of dictators in Iran, Libya and Syria – where President Bashar al-Assad has used the army to crush resistance in the cities of Hama and Deil-al-Zor. With the use of jerry-rigged web connections in Egypt that overcame the government’s internet shutdown, and social networking tools such as Twitter in Iran, Libya and Syria, we in the West have had real-time insight into these demands for democracy and the repression they have prompted. From the living room to the highest office in the land, this coverage has prompted outrage over the denial of the right to protest that we take for granted. Indeed, Britain and America have led an international task force to prevent the slaughter of civilians and to remove the odious Colonel Gaddafi in Libya.

The common theme in each of these protests has been twofold: an indictment of the ruling regime’s abuses and control, and a call for elected, representative government through open and free elections. Have some of the protesters resorted to violence in the face of troops and tanks? Most certainly, but on the whole, these demonstrations have been peaceful. Perhaps this is because the protesters realize they cannot decry regime violence if they use violence in return, or maybe they know the world is watching. Whatever their motivation, they have not used their masters’ harsh tactics as an excuse for widespread looting, vandalism, and brutality toward ethnic minorities.

Meanwhile, in my native England, one of the world’s oldest democracies and a supposedly “civilized” nation, armed mobs stalk the streets, burning cars, assaulting police officers and looting shops. As with the riots in Los Angeles in 1992, this was not a pre-meditated campaign of violence at its inception, but rather a spontaneous response to the death of a young man at the hands of the police. It should be noted that the mob did not wait for the results of the inquest before reacting in the worst possible way. Now, with five days of rioting passed, the disturbances are indeed coordinated, with the ringleaders using the same tools – texting, tweeting et al – as protesters in the Middle East and North Africa to spread their call for anarchy.

Here, we come to the need for clear delineation. The tech tools of the desired ‘revolution’ may be similar, but the motives, methods and mentality are not the comparable. Participators in the ‘Arab Spring’ are rebelling against regimes that deny them freedom of speech, expression, worship and the ballot box. Every aspect of their lives – from what they’re allowed to read in a newspaper to what they can view on a throttled internet – is controlled by the state.

In contrast, the criminals, and criminals they are, who are smashing up London, Birmingham, Manchester and other English cities live in a tolerant, open society that, despite its flaws, provides all citizens with the right to vote, to speak their minds, and to express themselves. Their recent acts are like the tantrums of a toddler who is trying to intimidate his parents into getting his way. Yet a toddler is more sophisticated, for he knows that he has a defined goal – to tip a bag of flour over his head or steal a toy from his baby sister, for example. These rioters, hooded and baseball bat-wielding – have no such clear aim. Instead, they rage against “the system,” and the politicians who are supposedly keeping them ‘down.’ 


CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING AT THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY BLOG

"I Want to See Mountains Again Gandalf, Mountains!"

So says Bilbo Baggins at the beginning of Peter Jackson's masterpiece The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (which may yet be enough to force this old, DVD-clutching curmudgeon to stump up for an HDTV and Blu-Ray player).

At this point in the film, Bilbo has just celebrated his 111th birthday and is preparing for one final trip. He has loved his lifetime in the Shire, with its streams, rolling hills, and villages full of friends, but he yearns for the grandeur and majesty that only the peaks can provide.

I recently acquired a glorious panorama of mountains in Norway, taken by my old friend, Antony Spencer. I'd previously thought that if given free reign in his expansive gallery, I'd probably plump for a shot of a seaside sunset, or maybe a pic of my beloved Stourhead Gardens in the heart of what my childhood friends and I call our Shire. But  when I stumbled across a photo of this white expanse (see the first photo in Antony's gallery), there was something about the peacefulness of the landscape, the stillness of the frozen lake, and the sheer scope of the topography that drew me to it at a soul level. And now when I walk through my home's entry hall and see it, I sometimes imagine myself seated in the small red cabin that sticks out in the great white expanse, with just a heating lamp and an old typewriter, picking away on my next book.

For all such pondering, I couldn't fully appreciate the reality of a mountain view until recently, as I had never been in real mountains. Then I was lucky enough to spend a week with my wife, sons and mother in law in Estes Park, Colorado. The cabin we stayed in had unobstructed, three-sided views of the Rockies. Going from the flat, drab Kansas landscape, as devoid of topographic variation as is possible, to thousands of feet of snow-capped peaks rising above the clouds is as big a contradiction for the eyes as I have yet witnessed.

As fate would have it, the weather decided to be atypically hot between 10:00 a.m. and 4:00 p.m., even getting into the nineties on two days. Very Kansas-y, except the thermometer was pushing triple digits back home, and the fact that before and after that time slot, it felt like autumn outside. Is there a better start to the day than clasping a cup of hot coffee on a chilly patio, inhaling the sweet vapors of pine trees while gazing at the dawn shadows slowly shifting on the peaks, and the pink-hued clouds above?

The trip only got better once we ventured up into Rocky Mountain National Park. As my wife and I have young kids (4 and soon to be 2) we couldn't do any intense hikes, but that didn't matter - every turn, every parking area afforded a new and spectacular vista. On the short walk around Bear Lake the boys took great pleasure in throwing pebbles (or "rocks," as Harry called them) into the shimmering water. Simple pleasure for innocent hearts. The pebble throwing was a little more exciting at the tree-lined, white-peak fronting Sprague Lake, where a two-year-old moose was splashing around in the water. The park ranger on duty told us to give it some space, as "it charged a group of visitors earlier and that didn't go so well." We certainly did as we were told!

Later in the week we climbed up to Alberta Falls, the waterfall cascading down sharp boulders and spray blowing up into the air and our faces. The sheer drop off of the path reminded me of my fragility in what is essentially a wilderness (certainly compared to Kansas suburbia). That feeling of insignificance is healthy and welcome, though it increased the alertness of the risk manager side of me (not least due to the presence of small people who have no self-preservation instincts).

I could go on for a few hundred words, but in summary, let's just say that I now understand Bilbo's longing for mountains. The vastness, the permanence, the jaw-dropping views - I think of them often now that I am at home on the flat prairie. My soul felt at home in Estes, a sense of belonging that I have not experienced before. What more could one want than a family and an endless mountain playground to explore with them? And there is a definite connection between natural beauty and inspired creativity - the words of my book have flowed uninhibited since returning. Hopefully I won't have to wait until my 111th birthday to return!