Archive for the 'Asia' Category

Pakistan: after the second coup

Kishwer Falkner’s article Trouble in Islamabad features in the current issue of Prospect. She is Liberal Democrat spokesman in the Lords for home affairs and justice

The declaration of emergency rule in Pakistan has left the US and Britain with a conundrum. While they need the military on side, they cannot any longer be seen to be supporting a “second coup.” Their carefully crafted deal between Benazir Bhutto and General Musharraf was predicated on the Pakistani supreme court being pliable. When it appeared that the court would not play ball, Musharraf “jumped” in what appears to have been a strategic miscalculation.

Given these unwelcome developments, the reaction in London and Washington has been to hold our collective breath, utter several expletives and then press Musharraf to recant on his declaration of emergency and restore elections on schedule. So we hope that in a few weeks Musharraf will step down as chief of army staff and hold elections on January 15th, to emerge sharing power with Benazir Bhutto. From our perspective, these two may not be the dream ticket, but it’s the only scenario on our books.

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What now for Burma?

The recent protests in Burma have transfixed the world’s media, but it seems likely that—however courageous the actions of those involved and appalling the treatment they have received—these will not on their own bring reform. What actions should the international community now be taking?

In our latest web-exclusive, Bangkok-based journalist William Barnes argues that sanctions are not the answer. Instead, he suggests, we should demand the opposition in exile join up more effectively with internal dissent, and should recognise that Burma’s neighbours are more interested in energy than democracy. Underestimating the resources and intelligence of the junta is, for Barnes, an error committed by much of the media: as is overestimating the sympathy that many governments in the region feel for street protests.

Let us know what you think here.

Out of the Tsunami came the Dune

Dimitri Klein sold his Paris-based advertising agency on the crest of the wave that preceded the bursting of the dotcom bubble. He spent five years at Auroville—the utopian spiritual community near Pondicherry, Tamil Nadu, founded by Sri Aurobindo and “Mother” Mirra Alfassa—thinking about the big picture and formulating his plan for an “experimental” hotel. The Dune eco-resort was due to launch on 6 January 2005. The Tsunami washed it away on New Year’s Day. Nobody was killed, but the local economy was devastated and the Coramandel coast was blighted as a tourist destination.

Dimitri’s time in Auroville clearly lent him paranormal resources. The Tsunami wrecked both the Dune and the adjacent fishing villages. As a French citizen, he did not qualify for aid from the Indian government while, as an expat, he got no help from France. He raised the cash to rebuild from friends and fellow spiritual travellers—and out of this misfortune has arisen a truly revolutionary Dune Mark 2.

The Dune is a collection of 35 stylised beach huts: Keralan palm houses with surreal garden portals, lighting columns made of recycled plastic water bottles, brutalist concrete structures designed by a German architect and even a suite atop a water tower—voted India’s most exotic honeymoon location—surrounding a palm-fronded restaurant and glass-sided conference centre. An ancient Brahmin travellers’ hostel is in the process of re-assembly, stone by stone, on the complex. A blue swimming tank with overlapping sides near a deserted beach accessed by metal doors and an ayurvedic spa and yoga centre, in traditional Keralan style, supervised by an authentic Yogi (Dr “Bobby”) and staffed by Keralans, complete the eclectic picture. Food is grown on the Dune’s organic farm, irrigated by recycled waste water, heated when necessary for showers by solar energy. The beachfront tree line, swept away by the Tsunami, has been replanted. A fair number of villagers work for the Dune, which recycles profits to fund a school for fishermen and a residential academy in Chennai where kids are taught textile and fashion skills then placed in gainful employment.
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Prospect’s new issue—India’s middle-class failure

cover-sep-large.gifThe September issue of Prospect, out today, marks the 60th anniversary of Indian independence by asking an uncomfortable question of India’s new middle class—why is it so uninterested in politics and social justice? In our cover story, Chakravarthi Ram-Prasad argues that aspects of India’s history and culture have helped shape a middle class—easiest the biggest in the world—that is largely apathetic about politics and the 300m Indians living in extreme poverty.

One reason for the introversion of India’s middle class, argues Ram-Prasad, arises from the great achievement of India: democracy. Whereas fighting for political representation was an important part of western middle-class experience in the 19th century, in India, political rights existed before the creation of a big middle class, and are now taken for granted by those who see their prosperity as entirely of their own making. In fact, India’s middle class, says Ram-Prasad, behaves in a similar manner to the apathetic consuming classes of today’s west, “concentrating on expanding its choice of lifestyles while taking political parties to be as bad as each other and non-party politics as hopelessly idealistic.”

Click here to read the article, and let us know what you think in the comments boxes.

Partition and hope

It’s 60 years today since India was born as an independent nation, and 60 years and one day since Pakistan was. The history of the divided subcontinent has been a troubled one—to say the least—which is perhaps why our latest web exclusive has, for me, a double poignancy. It is taken from the writings of Horace Alexander (1889-1989), one of a group of English Quakers closely associated with Mahatma Gandhi. Alexander spent the day of independence itself with the Mahatma in a group that contained Christians, Muslims and Hindus, and that brought an all-too-brief peace to one of India’s most religiously divided regions. In his words, we see both the fierce hopefulness that attended the birth of the largest democracy in history, and the awareness that its triumphs and failures would be the fruits of struggling self-mastery rather than sudden miracles.

Alexander’s writing also reminds me of another great Quaker who made his life in India (and there have been several)—Laurie Baker, who died in April this year. Also a friend of Gandhi, Baker embodied much that is finest about India as a home of authentically popular idealism—an architect by training as well as a missionary, he designed hundreds of buildings that attempted to combine simplicity and affordability with a sensitivity to local environments. A resident of Thiruvananthapuram (Trivandrum) in Kerala for much of his life, his creations include one of my favourite of all Indian buildings—a humble coffee house near the bus station that serves delicious, inexpensive food and drink, within which I have passed more time than almost any other public space in southern India.

coffeehouse.JPG

And for those who believe that faith in humanity is a vanishing part of the world, take a look at our review of Jonathan Power’s new book—as clear a testament as you’ll ever find to those parts of our nature that may be, perhaps, a little less difficult to see or believe in at this time of anniversaries.

From the archive

FlagToday is the sixtieth anniversary of Indian independence. In our July 1997 issue, Sunil Khilnani explored the nature of Indian identity. Later that year, Pankaj Mishra wrote about the cultural poverty of the Indo-British relationship. More recently, Jonathan Power interviewed the prime minister, Manmohan Singh. Finally, Winston Fletcher endures a difficult journey to the Taj Mahal.

From the archive

According to today’s cover story in the Independent, leading Khmer Rouge member Comrade Duch has been charged with crimes against humanity by a UN-backed tribunal in Cambodia. Duch (real name Kaing Guek Eav) is a former mathematics teacher who became commandant of Tuol Sleng prison in Phnom Penh and thus oversaw the deaths of 20,000 people during the Khmer Rouge’s bloody regime.

It has taken a long time to start bringing Duch to justice. Much of his story is chronicled in Nic Dunlop’s gripping article, “On the trail of Pol Pot’s chief executioner.” Dunlop, a photographer and writer, was the person who tracked down Duch in 1999. His article is one of the best pieces of reportage Prospect has published, and you can read it here. Dunlop has since written a book, “The Lost Executioner,” which we reviewed last year.

Revisiting autonyms

I’ve been writing about two Chinese authors for this month’s Prospect, and it just has struck me that Will’s June column about “autonyms”—words that in some way embody themselves—touches on something that is fundamental to all languages, but that is far more obvious in character-based ones: all writing has its roots in autonymy. For example, take a few Mandarin Chinese characters:

中 (Zhong) means “middle,” and is based on the image of an arrow striking the centre of a target, and perhaps also the idea of a flag flying

国 (Guo) means “kingdom,” and is based on the image of a square of land within which stands a highly stylized piece of jade, representing the wealth of that land. This is, however, the “simplified” version of the character; the pre-20th century, “traditional” form contains within its outer square the characters representing a town and a weapon, indicating a defended territory.

人 (Ren) means “person” or “people,” and is based on the image of a standing person—one of the most basic and ancient of all characters, and the basis for many other sets of meanings (大, for instance, connotes “large,” as it represents someone stretching their arms out; while 天 connotes “heaven” because it represents a large man with the sky above him)

Put these together and you have a phrase that reads “middle kingdom people/person,” or, as we might more simply put it, “Chinese person/people.”

Similarly, in Japanese, take these two characters:

日 (Ni) meaning “sun” or “day,” based on the image of the sun—a circle with a dot in it that has over time become a square with a stroke across its centre. Rather wonderfully, the symbol for the moon is the same but with “legs” drawn in underneath it, 月, as it has to run faster around the earth.

本 (Hon) meaning “origin” or “root,” based on the image of a tree (大, the same as the Chinese character for “large,” and with many of its connotations; Japanese writing is derived from Chinese) with the ground drawn in underneath it.

Put them together and you get “sun origin” or, more comprehensibly, “place of the rising sun,” which is the Japanese name for Japan (the word “Japan” is a western mangling of Ni-Hon, also pronounced Ni-Pon. The name ”China” probably derives from the early Qin dynasty).

Even our own alphabet began with the concrete. The letter “A” can be traced to a pictogram of an ox’s head in hieroglyphics; both “C” and “G” probably come from Hebrew representations of a throwing stick; “F” from the image of a hook or club in proto-Semitic; and so on.

There are massive complexities to be explored here which my potted comments barely hint at, but it remains astonishing to think that over the last 6,000 years humanity has leapt from representing the world with images to exploring its deepest workings through the layers of meaning these images have accumulated. No matter how astonishing its flights of abstraction may seem, the written word is rooted in the physical world.

On the Steppe

“What did you think about the Borat film?” Saken asked, a bit aggressively, on day one of my trip to Kazakhstan. I was there with a group of journalists to look at oilfields and meet energy executives from the state oil company. “Very impolite,” I answered, and mumbled some other platitudes about stereotypes and Western ignorance. I’d wanted to say “offensive and over-the-top” but my Russian was rusty and I was jet-lagged. I was determined to like Kazakhstan. Dictatorships aren’t my favourite destination — especially ones where journalists have a habit of dying unnatural deaths — but they have their attractions. Millions love Dubai, a building site in a dictatorship staffed by slaves, so just because a place goes in for a bit of repression doesn’t mean it can’t be fun, too.

But by day two, when I’d begun to suspect that Saken was the minder charged with looking after the visiting journalists, my enthusiasm for him — if not for his country — was beginning to wane. Then we had a tour of Astana. A quick trip to see an aquarium, a short ride up a tower where we could put our palms in a moulding of president Nazarbaev’s and make a wish. “The president must be a very busy man,” I remarked to the guide after she told us of the excellent histories of Astana he had written and the superlative city plans he had created. She agreed.

By day three we’d flown from bizarre Astana to a rough port on the Caspian. Our reward was another banquet, more toasts, and more greasy horse meat. Saken’s incessant photographing of us was getting tedious. “They keep files on you,” said a reporter from the FT. I had visions of secret policemen looking at pictures of me turning down yet another plate of horse salami, and swore I’d be a more gracious guest at the next meal. Then I saw the sheep’s head on the platter at the lunchtime banquet. Trapped between local enthusiasts at the end of the table, I held my breath, chewed twice and washed down an overloaded forkful of gristly ear with a glass of fermented camel’s milk.

Later that afternoon, after a short helicopter trip down the Caspian coastline, we were in the small resort of Kenderli. It isn’t for the average Kazakh. With just thirty or so pristine houses, a glorious swimming pool and recreation centre, its location — hours by dodgy road across the steppe from the nearest town — is for those who fly helicopters to their dachas on the sea. Vladimir Putin had met Nazarbaev in Kenderli for an energy summit just a week before. A gleaming billboard greeted us. “Always together! Always forward!” it said, beneath a picture of the two smiling presidents.

Day four and I was in Almaty, with the stunning Tian Shan mountains in the background. No more banquets, no more Saken, no more vodka. Just the prospect of sleeping through a long flight back to London. My affection for Kazakhstan had returned. I went on a shopping spree for traditional tat and some camel’s milk fudge — using some of the money I’d won off Saken during high-stakes pool games the night before . By the time I’d got onto the plane the tat was gone from my bag. A portly woman in Heathrow confiscated the fudge.