Sunday, May 31, 2009
A Cloud over Cuckoo Land
I’m leaving Ghana tomorrow for the UK and then France. France is where my house is. It’s smallish and on the lap of Mount Canigou in the Pyrenees, with a thirty mile vista one way and a vertical rock face a little behind. I have seen eagles slide over it, wild boar tramping across the road to the village and a kind of chamois flashing between the trees on one of the many walks in the semi-wilderness. Then there are so many birds.
One summer song I will hear is that of that two-tone Mod, the cuckoo, the quintessential symbol of parental infidelity. They travel, as you might know, from Sub-Saharan Africa to Europe and have a good time laying each other and then leaving eggs in other birds’ nests. What they do then I should research! Maybe they laze about in the sun and limber up for the return journey like the idle rich with wet nurses and nannies and boarding school. Bringing up the young is just too tiring, My Dear, for any well brought up cuckoo.
I see that mating pairs have almost halved in Britain. I saw on BBC World a couple of human mothers with their young, wandering around some woods with a cameraman and interviewer following, saying that they want their children to hear its authentic sound before it goes for ever, which, they said, would be a shame.
I don’t know whether it is the ageing process and that my neurons are disintegrating, dredging up memories from the muddy waters of my youth but seeing a bit of footage of the cuckoo reduced me to a sort of sentimental regression. I suddenly remembered drawing and colouring one in in a primary school that held about thirty pupils and is now a house. I remembered having a jackdaw which sat on my shoulder all the way to school and then had to be taken home because they didn’t enrol birds. I remembered neck-broken chickens running for a minute or two in the garden. I remembered knowing every bird in Britain by memorising the Observer Book of Birds and being regularly tested by my sister. I remembered almost falling asleep in a lilac tree at break, aged about six, filled with the heady scent and the murmurous haunts of flies and bees among summer leaves. I remembered the brilliant colour of corn flowers, growing unbridled among the cereal crops before the advent of spraying.
This vibrant, technicolour living, breathing world of the 1950s swamped me for a while. Nature red in tooth and claw but also every other colour in its more peaceful states.
The film of the bird threw me back in time and the delinquent creature soared into my brain and laid perfect little capsules of memory there.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The corrupt world of moats, ducks and toilet seats
From a Ghanaian perspective, the behaviour of UK MPs regarding their expenses seems small beer. Here, the papers are reporting how the current left of centre government is trying to eradicate a pervasive bribe culture. The most paradoxical story I read on this subject was when a Ghanaian businessman took two men to court who had promised him that they would ‘arrange’ a senior post for him in the Ghanaian embassy in a Scandinavian country. He gave them several thousand pounds to bribe officialdom. In the event he was being duped so he took them to court! The judge judged on extortion and seemed not to take into account, as we might have guessed, the issue of bribery and corruption. Here, the ancient ways of the culture have melded with modern politics to produce the scenario where an MP is a Chief in other clothing. Ancient etiquette has the Chief of an area looking after his tribe, and particularly his own family. To become an MP brings with it expectations from nearest, dearest and others that largesse will follow. Africa has many countries where parliaments are dominated by tribal groups who tend to put their own interests before that of the country as a whole. Ghana may fall foul in the same way but there is a realisation that it is a gross barrier to economic progress in the country and, one hopes, corruption will eventually be stamped out. However, unlike the UK where the populace are angry owing to the fall in the moral standards of their MPs, in Ghana the populace will be up in arms if their MPs adopted such a morality. They expect nests to be well feathered.
I was talking to someone yesterday who disburses grants from The World Bank. He visited a community outside Accra and was accosted by a businessman.
“You have not given me a loan.”
“We don’t make loans.”
“I receive nothing.”
“Your case was turned down.”
“But where is my money?”
Here, the expectation is that if you have a relationship with anyone who augments the passage of funds from one point to another, then you must become a beneficiary. It is a country of hand-outs that, sadly, relies upon western funding to manage its economy. As I have mentioned before, if the West reduced trade tariffs rather than gave funding to Ghana, the economy here would prosper far more. But the suspicion is that Western aid is a way of constraining growth and stalling competition, not encouraging it.
Since President Atta Mills seems to want to clean out the corruption in these Augean stables, there is hope. But he will be battling against the cultural tide, the exact reverse of what is happening in the UK.
Watching the UK expenses debate among a panel on Sky just now, an idea suggested by a historian seems worth recycling and beefing up. There are too many issues on which MPs follow party lines and vote like lemmings in the fearful company of their obsequious colleagues and beady-eyed Whips. Secret ballots, where every MP votes, guided only by his or her own moral compass and not party dogma, would truly enliven politics.
UK MPs of all persuasions live in a hothouse media village, a culture and tribe protecting its own feathered nest. No wonder the golden eggs have gone addled.
From a Ghanaian perspective, the behaviour of UK MPs regarding their expenses seems small beer. Here, the papers are reporting how the current left of centre government is trying to eradicate a pervasive bribe culture. The most paradoxical story I read on this subject was when a Ghanaian businessman took two men to court who had promised him that they would ‘arrange’ a senior post for him in the Ghanaian embassy in a Scandinavian country. He gave them several thousand pounds to bribe officialdom. In the event he was being duped so he took them to court! The judge judged on extortion and seemed not to take into account, as we might have guessed, the issue of bribery and corruption. Here, the ancient ways of the culture have melded with modern politics to produce the scenario where an MP is a Chief in other clothing. Ancient etiquette has the Chief of an area looking after his tribe, and particularly his own family. To become an MP brings with it expectations from nearest, dearest and others that largesse will follow. Africa has many countries where parliaments are dominated by tribal groups who tend to put their own interests before that of the country as a whole. Ghana may fall foul in the same way but there is a realisation that it is a gross barrier to economic progress in the country and, one hopes, corruption will eventually be stamped out. However, unlike the UK where the populace are angry owing to the fall in the moral standards of their MPs, in Ghana the populace will be up in arms if their MPs adopted such a morality. They expect nests to be well feathered.
I was talking to someone yesterday who disburses grants from The World Bank. He visited a community outside Accra and was accosted by a businessman.
“You have not given me a loan.”
“We don’t make loans.”
“I receive nothing.”
“Your case was turned down.”
“But where is my money?”
Here, the expectation is that if you have a relationship with anyone who augments the passage of funds from one point to another, then you must become a beneficiary. It is a country of hand-outs that, sadly, relies upon western funding to manage its economy. As I have mentioned before, if the West reduced trade tariffs rather than gave funding to Ghana, the economy here would prosper far more. But the suspicion is that Western aid is a way of constraining growth and stalling competition, not encouraging it.
Since President Atta Mills seems to want to clean out the corruption in these Augean stables, there is hope. But he will be battling against the cultural tide, the exact reverse of what is happening in the UK.
Watching the UK expenses debate among a panel on Sky just now, an idea suggested by a historian seems worth recycling and beefing up. There are too many issues on which MPs follow party lines and vote like lemmings in the fearful company of their obsequious colleagues and beady-eyed Whips. Secret ballots, where every MP votes, guided only by his or her own moral compass and not party dogma, would truly enliven politics.
UK MPs of all persuasions live in a hothouse media village, a culture and tribe protecting its own feathered nest. No wonder the golden eggs have gone addled.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Members of Parliament
To most of us MPs seem to be missing links in the historical chain that connects us with primitive humans. They roar a great deal as they hunt for votes but once in parliament their calls are different. A lot more restrained, a lot more equivocal as they move into the self-enclosed world of law making and social engineering. They develop protectionist herd instincts to demarcate them from the main, later evolutionary strand of humankind which we call society. They use their new but rudimentary forebrains to fashion sound bytes, this being the maximum amount of information they can hold at any one time. Though communal, they retain the atavistic urge to kill and eat their own kind. Their binocular vision enables them to look straight ahead and ignore or simply not see what is going on around them. They use their opposable thumbs to grub for expenses.
They are, in fact like Ida, the much heralded missing link being publicised by some biological archeologists yesterday. Found in perfect condition despite being over 40 million years old (you can see her hair, you can see what she ate last) Ida will soon be displayed on a TV near you. She is, in fact a species of lemur. My screen was a bit wonky when I read this and I misread it at first as leper.
Hence my inspiration for this blog.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Having the heart for sex
The most clicked story on the BBC website today concerns a study comparing the emotional profiles of over two thousand female twins. The hypothesis from the study is that sex is largely governed by emotional intelligence. Apparently, a third of all women find orgasms difficult or impossible to achieve and this study suggests that the ones who gain most are those who have high emotional intelligence.
Now, in my reading of the primary texts, which cannot be regarded as comprehensive, emotional intelligence became faddish a few years back, with the work of Daniel Goleman and its application to the business world where women were often excluded for their lack of the cold reason prized by men. The men themselves proved often enough that they found it difficult to motivate staff and engender loyalty because they could not appeal to their emotional worlds. Goleman’s work stemmed from that of Howard Gardner’s publications on multiple intelligences which provided a critique of school systems that relied only on literacy and numeracy to grade pupils. Gardner proposed that we have a variety of intelligences which should be valued, equally. Gardner’s work was not validated by empirical studies but is still hugely influential.
Recently I watched a National Geographic travelogue treating the wombs of twins in much the same glossy style as a Michael Palin walkabout in foreign climes where people are funny because they act differently different from Brits. The main insight was that there are many variations between even ‘identical’ siblings. It raised scepticism regarding all research based on twins, in my mind at least, as, despite the scientists' beliefs, they are not actually comparing like with like.
Emotional intelligence is not so easily measured, and it may not even be a constant feature of personality. Some days empathy is high and others not. Women may have more of it than men but there are striking exemplars of either gender who can reach out to others and understand and help solve their problems. When it comes to sex, as usual we are in a murk. It is the old nurture nature debate. According to this research we have emotionally tuned orgasmic females on one side and, sadly, a deficient third who lead a less than fulfilled sexual existence. And where do the skilled purveyors of sexual engagement, who have learned their trade as geishas, gigolos, courtesans or prostitutes, stand in this heart-brain controversy? Are they more likely to employ emotional intelligence or are they cool and calculating and good at faking it?
The problem with concepts such as right and left brain, male and female behavioural traits and emotion versus reason is that they appear to have some validity at large population levels which are often confounded in the case of individuals. The third of women who appear to be missing out on the fruits of the heart and therefore the body are not served well by being told that their emotional intelligence is too low to secure them the rights to an orgasm. It sounds too Barbara Cartland to be scientific, doesn’t it?.
The most clicked story on the BBC website today concerns a study comparing the emotional profiles of over two thousand female twins. The hypothesis from the study is that sex is largely governed by emotional intelligence. Apparently, a third of all women find orgasms difficult or impossible to achieve and this study suggests that the ones who gain most are those who have high emotional intelligence.
Now, in my reading of the primary texts, which cannot be regarded as comprehensive, emotional intelligence became faddish a few years back, with the work of Daniel Goleman and its application to the business world where women were often excluded for their lack of the cold reason prized by men. The men themselves proved often enough that they found it difficult to motivate staff and engender loyalty because they could not appeal to their emotional worlds. Goleman’s work stemmed from that of Howard Gardner’s publications on multiple intelligences which provided a critique of school systems that relied only on literacy and numeracy to grade pupils. Gardner proposed that we have a variety of intelligences which should be valued, equally. Gardner’s work was not validated by empirical studies but is still hugely influential.
Recently I watched a National Geographic travelogue treating the wombs of twins in much the same glossy style as a Michael Palin walkabout in foreign climes where people are funny because they act differently different from Brits. The main insight was that there are many variations between even ‘identical’ siblings. It raised scepticism regarding all research based on twins, in my mind at least, as, despite the scientists' beliefs, they are not actually comparing like with like.
Emotional intelligence is not so easily measured, and it may not even be a constant feature of personality. Some days empathy is high and others not. Women may have more of it than men but there are striking exemplars of either gender who can reach out to others and understand and help solve their problems. When it comes to sex, as usual we are in a murk. It is the old nurture nature debate. According to this research we have emotionally tuned orgasmic females on one side and, sadly, a deficient third who lead a less than fulfilled sexual existence. And where do the skilled purveyors of sexual engagement, who have learned their trade as geishas, gigolos, courtesans or prostitutes, stand in this heart-brain controversy? Are they more likely to employ emotional intelligence or are they cool and calculating and good at faking it?
The problem with concepts such as right and left brain, male and female behavioural traits and emotion versus reason is that they appear to have some validity at large population levels which are often confounded in the case of individuals. The third of women who appear to be missing out on the fruits of the heart and therefore the body are not served well by being told that their emotional intelligence is too low to secure them the rights to an orgasm. It sounds too Barbara Cartland to be scientific, doesn’t it?.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Boys, toys and wish fulfilment
I watched a rather mediocre film last night called Jumper. The plot suggested that through time aberrational humans with the godly power to leap through wormholes to any point in the world they liked (fixed by a photograph from a brochure etc) were being hunted down by religious fanatics who were protecting God’s monopoly on said powers. The central characters were two young men, the subject of this demon hunting. Being young they could rob banks by appearing inside their strong rooms, drive cars at unbelievable speeds and get the girls, though the film stopped short of them appearing inside the underclothes of unsuspecting prey.
It was another example of the escape fantasy genre for the young adult, whose immortality seems more assured than the likelihood of death (the reason why boys should be kept off motor bikes until they are in their mid twenties and have developed a neuron or two of realism.). Anyway, whatever the value of films as aesthetic artifacts, even those that have little merit can provide instances of fulfilment for the craving viewer. The language of the medium is so advanced that even the most neanderthal director shoots within acceptable artistic limits, producing pleasing visual effects and juxtapositions. Turn the sound off when the dialogue is clunky and/or the sound track is a noisy interference and focus on light and shade, figures against landscapes, desert beauty or urban decay. Because it lasts ninety minutes plus, every film has something worthy to offer, if, like an inveterate Oxfam shop browser, you are willing to put up with the gungy crassness, the fetid smells and the acres of detritus in order to find a little treasure.
How we spend our time is important, unless we are nihilistic and have a value free journey through life that is completely devoid of meaning. We can easily embrace far more fulfilment in our lives than we do but curious counteractive, negative forces often prevail and we end up doing little of consequence. Zen teaches us to focus in depth on everything around us and by doing so we can draw new meaning from the every day. In qualitative research terms, the cliché is to make the every day exotic. See everything like a Martian just arrived on earth.
So, back to Jumper and wish fulfilment. The essence of its limited appeal is that it feeds on the desire to bend reality to an individual’s narcissistic tendencies.
Well, here in Accra, it can be an every day experience. As we sit in a line of traffic at a crossroads, we can roll down the window and drop twenty pence in the hands of a thin but lively youth carrying a flag, a tree branch or anything he can wave to look authoritative. Off he races to the crossroads and belligerently stops the cross flow, waving us through like royalty, yelling 'Bless you!". In Ghana, money bends reality like Uri Geller does with spoons or super heroes do in films.
I watched a rather mediocre film last night called Jumper. The plot suggested that through time aberrational humans with the godly power to leap through wormholes to any point in the world they liked (fixed by a photograph from a brochure etc) were being hunted down by religious fanatics who were protecting God’s monopoly on said powers. The central characters were two young men, the subject of this demon hunting. Being young they could rob banks by appearing inside their strong rooms, drive cars at unbelievable speeds and get the girls, though the film stopped short of them appearing inside the underclothes of unsuspecting prey.
It was another example of the escape fantasy genre for the young adult, whose immortality seems more assured than the likelihood of death (the reason why boys should be kept off motor bikes until they are in their mid twenties and have developed a neuron or two of realism.). Anyway, whatever the value of films as aesthetic artifacts, even those that have little merit can provide instances of fulfilment for the craving viewer. The language of the medium is so advanced that even the most neanderthal director shoots within acceptable artistic limits, producing pleasing visual effects and juxtapositions. Turn the sound off when the dialogue is clunky and/or the sound track is a noisy interference and focus on light and shade, figures against landscapes, desert beauty or urban decay. Because it lasts ninety minutes plus, every film has something worthy to offer, if, like an inveterate Oxfam shop browser, you are willing to put up with the gungy crassness, the fetid smells and the acres of detritus in order to find a little treasure.
How we spend our time is important, unless we are nihilistic and have a value free journey through life that is completely devoid of meaning. We can easily embrace far more fulfilment in our lives than we do but curious counteractive, negative forces often prevail and we end up doing little of consequence. Zen teaches us to focus in depth on everything around us and by doing so we can draw new meaning from the every day. In qualitative research terms, the cliché is to make the every day exotic. See everything like a Martian just arrived on earth.
So, back to Jumper and wish fulfilment. The essence of its limited appeal is that it feeds on the desire to bend reality to an individual’s narcissistic tendencies.
Well, here in Accra, it can be an every day experience. As we sit in a line of traffic at a crossroads, we can roll down the window and drop twenty pence in the hands of a thin but lively youth carrying a flag, a tree branch or anything he can wave to look authoritative. Off he races to the crossroads and belligerently stops the cross flow, waving us through like royalty, yelling 'Bless you!". In Ghana, money bends reality like Uri Geller does with spoons or super heroes do in films.
Labels: Ghana. Reality. Zen. Jumpers.