Short-Course Worlds, Istanbul

This piece originally appeared online at Guardian News and Media's Sport Blog on December 12, the opening day of the World Championships in Istanbul. It is reprinted here without permission and with minor changes, or rather, reversions to original copy in light of British editors, even at the most reputable of news outlets, being largely unlettered in sports besides football, cricket, and rugby.

Elite swimmers from all continents returned to competitive waters for the first time since the Summer Games today as the Short-Course World Championships got underway in Istanbul.

With so much emphasis placed upon the Olympic cycle, athletes may have been forgiven for taking a sabbatical, but the short-course contest offers a chance for swimmers to exchange 50-metres for 25 and race in the faster format.

While the distances remain the same, disciplines alter. Because competitors are allowed 15m underwater coming off each wall, the mindset of racing in a short-course pool differs so completely as to render the event almost a different sport altogether.

The dolphin-kick technique popularised by Michael Phelps means swimmers can achieve greater speeds by staying beneath the surface for as long as possible, so much so that rules were introduced in 1988 to ensure swimmers travel no further than 15m underwater on the dive and turns. Expect to see records broken throughout the week as competitors exploit the rules to their own advantage.

International eyes will turn toward Ryan Lochte to see if he can reproduce the success that garnered 13 gold medals in his last three outings in this competition. In so doing, he adopts the mantle of the United States' most decorated swimmer in the wake of Phelps, who retired after the 2012 Olympics. Unsurprisingly, Lochte is similarly renowned for his underwater kicking abilities, a trait that secured him countless titles on the American collegiate circuit, and will undoubtedly propel him into contention for each of his six individual events.

Competitors well-versed in the technicalities of short-course racing understand the value of their opposition. So often in the sport, where the margin between first and second place is rarely more than a fraction, swimmers race the clock. Not so in the 25m pool. Elite swimmers will talk of using the person in the lane next to them, hugging the lane-rope and surfing the rough water for his or her own gain.

The more experienced racers will conserve energy in the heats and semi-finals, feign illness or injury, get carried through on a literal wave of other competitors' speed, and secure an outside lane for the final, all with the view of passing undetected. Almost a thousand athletes from 162 participating nations are hoping to make the top eight of their respective specialty where the cat-and-mouse tactics of the prelims count for little.

Team USA look to dominate in the pool and yet again top the medal table. Swimming in 25-yard pools is commonplace in the US, where imperial measures still make up an uncomfortable marriage with the metric system, and competing in Olympic-size pools presents a break from the norm for Americans.

Hannah Miley and Olympic silver-medalist Michael Jamieson are among the 19-strong team representing Great Britain over the next five days, both of whom have lately enjoyed success in the shorter format. The Glaswegian came away victorious from the recent University and College Sport Championships in Sheffield with golds in all three of the breaststroke events. Elsewhere, Miley posted a new European record to win the 400m Individual Medley at the European Short Course Championships in Chartres last month.

'Split-second decisions'

This story first appeared in the Bucks Free Press, 26th October 2012, and is reproduced here without permission.

Five months ago I was a swimmer seeking to represent Team GB in London. But falling short by just four tenths of a second at the trials in June washed away my dreams of Olympic glory.

Although athletes learn to cope with disappointment, failure to take home a medal from the Olympic trials in June proved a pivotal moment in my life and forced me to confront a reality very different to the one I envisaged for so long.

How gratifying it would have been to fulfil the promises I made to so many: my coaches, my family, and those who sponsored me during my final months of preparation.

But the clock never lies.

In an instant, less than half a second, my future as an Olympic swimmer was no more. I had made no plans beyond the summer Games. Where I could enjoy funding and the recognition of achieving Olympic success, now I’m struggling to make ends meet and I’m forced to turn toward an alternative occupation.

After breaking junior records at the age of fifteen I competed internationally, and the past five years were totally committed to racing in the pool at the 2012 Games. I shirked university in Britain to attend college in the United States and train alongside some of the best swimmers and coaches in the world. For four years I lived as a professional athlete in Arizona away from friends and family, studying my sport rather than my books.

But last year I returned home to finalize my preparation for the biggest event of my life.

The Aquatics Centre in Stratford hosted the trials over six days, with the final of my main event, the 50m Freestyle, held on the last day.

As I sat in the call-room waiting for the final I looked around at the opposition: faces I recognized from a career in the sport, swimmers I raced against as a teenager. I sat alone, utterly self-absorbed.

We waited while Rebecca Addlington was interviewed. The pressure was palpable. I was first to walk to the starting blocks. Each name was met with a wall of noise as we were announced to the crowd.

And then we were away. My fingers buckled as I hit the wall in a time of 22.91secs, faster than I had ever swum before, placing me fourth overall. But it wasn’t enough.

The experience was bittersweet: clocking a personal-best time but missing my dream by a fraction.

Since then I have tried to reconcile that sense of failure with my athletic career. Were it not for my disappointment, I suspect I would still be training and competing today. Instead, I’m confronted with serious questions about my future.

Without swimming, for so long an anchor in my life, I’m faced with new uncertainties like paying for rent, groceries, or petrol.

I’m passionate about sport, and although I’ve hung up my Speedos, at least for now, I’ve resolved to remain in swimming through coaching.

Similarly, I’m trying to break into sports reporting by working for local newspapers and channel my previously devoted interest, with a view perhaps to returning to the States for a post-graduate degree in journalism.

As ever, though, I’ll be up for the challenge.

great tree of night

The problem is, even if there is a heaven, how can there be one we can stand forever? On Earth, when you look up from being bored, things have changed, you're that much closer to the grave, and that's exciting. Imagine climbing up and up into that great tree of night sky. Dizzying. Terrible. Rabbit didn't even like to get too high into these little Maples around town, though with the other kids as witnesses he pushed himself up, gripping tighter and tighter as the branches got smaller. From a certain angle the most terrifying thing in the world is your own life, the fact that it's yours and nobody else's. A loop is rising in his chest as in a rope when you keep twisting.

- John Updike, Rabbit is Rich.

Lana Del Rey's Ride

The other, his eyes merry at the thought of talking to an internationally famous writer, made a sound, 'R-r-r-r-rum, rrroom,' which Bech recognized as an allusion to the famous rubber-faced motorcyclists of Travel Light, with it's backseat rapes and desolate roadside cafes - Bech's homage, as a young West Side nobody, to the imaginary territory beyond the Hudson.

~ John Updike, Bech in Czech.

Roadside cafes, gas stations, camp-fires, fifths of scotch, tattooed men on leather seats on bikes on open road; the wilderness is America. Not only on the page, but on newsstands, the screen, in music and art, and without getting too wet, in the minds of every American.

With entrepreneurial guile in excess Lana Del Rey crawls over the American wilderness in her latest video, Ride, bluffing through poetry and song, cold-reading a cultural narrative full of lyrical and visual cliché.

Her narrative begins, “I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer,” a touching if paradoxical metaphor for prostitution, confirmed by the accompanying images, a past-time that few would pursue willingly let alone promote.

What's more, unfolding over nine long minutes, Del Rey makes clear her commitments in the war against cliché, and she’s fighting for the wrong side. “It takes getting everything you ever wanted,” she says, “and then losing it to know what true freedom is.” From Kerouac to Krakauer, Faulkner to McCarthy, the symbolism of the American outback is a land well-trod, and retracing the footprints of freedom is like pressing rewind and record at the same time.

Del Rey’s narrative voice artfully sidesteps nothing. She is a mystery, a paradox, walking with purpose atop fashion and feeling, regurgitating little poems that college freshman write on dorm-room walls: “Live fast, die young, be wild, and have fun.” Somehow capable of such profound inanity, she wraps herself in the Stars and Stripes, bites her lip, her nail, and sings like Stevie Nicks mixed with Marilyn Monroe.

Too talented to fail, too beautiful for the men she uses, too smart to convince, the fictional Del Rey dances with Alexander Supertramp, Mac McMurphy, and Holden Caulfield. She is anomalous, “born to be the other women, who belonged to no one” and, by implication, everyone.

That territory beyond the Hudson is the canvas upon which she paints a new image of feminism, squeezing the bikers with tattoos and heft tighter than they can squeeze back, rebuilding a proud and deliberate homage to female self-image from use and degradation, sand and saguaros.

Lana Del Rey is a phenomenon, and I forgive her contradictions. Her prose-poetic journey in Ride makes her intentions clear: to muddy the divide between art and artist. Securing one final paradox, she succeeds. "We had nothing to lose," she coos, "nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore, except to make our lives into a work of art."

Tie Game

Running for Senate in New York City, Matt Damon's character in George Nolfi's The Adjustment Bureau breaks away from lectern tradition and the better judgment of his advisers when he ad libs a concession speech to his supporters. "This tie was selected for me by a group of specialists," he says, "who chose it over fifty six other ties we tested. In fact, our data suggests that I have to stick to either a tie that is red or a tie that is blue."

Joe Biden wore blue. Paul Ryan wore red with blue American stripes. Their debate last night was the culmination of meticulous planning and choreography on both sides. Too much. Since Kennedy's polished chops sliced through a haggard Nixon in 1960 there's been little to explore in the fallout.

Without a motion besides 'who has the better policies', or 'who is more apt to govern', presidential and vice-presidential debates have little direction, the only purpose serving broadcasters, pollsters, and writers analysing tie colours.

At one stage, woefully sidestepping an opportunity to cement the party line on the value of free expression, Ryan decided instead to mount a charge for the current administrations "weak" reaction to the killings in Benghazi last month. I wrote at the time about the more disappointing aspects of Secretary of State Clinton and President Obama's responses, but the issue is not party-political, it is constitutional.

Today Mitt Romney bypassed a similar opportunity to rally support for the First Amendment and position his party behind the American constitution. The temptation to peer over the wire and take a snipe at his opposition proved too strong.

Reacting to Joe Biden's assurances that the defense department were not neglectful of their consular staff in Libya, Romney said: "The vice-president directly contradicted the sworn testimony of state department officials. He's doubling down on denial." His reasoning is fallacious. Contradiction does not necessitate denial. Again, the issue is not Biden, nor witness testimony, but rather whether or not the United States should have foreseen an attack of that kind, or indeed whether the official response was consummate or strong enough.

If Romney and Ryan refrain from pot-shots, and instead address the issues behind the political ticket, they could start wearing whatever colour ties they please.

Radiohead Review

I was hoping to write a review of Radiohead's performance at the O2 Arena on Monday but I get a terrible headache when writing about something I love. Constantly rephrasing, recrossing and treading on my own fingers, it's the same with literature; there are some books it's best to leave well alone. Besides, Alexis Petridis wrote a brilliant account for the Guardian, better than I could, so go there.

Infibulation

We live in a country where the law prohibiting genital mutilation has never been enforced; where the authorities go wild when a 15-year-old white girl runs off to France with her teacher but stay silent when Asian girls are yanked out of school and forced into marriage.

Nick Cohen writing for the Observer, 9.10.2012. 

Sledgehammer Censorship

Germany's censorship laws outdate the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the German government's continued attachment to bans on hate-speech, membership of neo-Nazi organizations, and Holocaust denial make a mockery of the fight for free speech.

While I recently used this blog as a platform to rave about the outrage of Muslim death-squads lining the streets, burning banners and terrorizing American consular workers for no reason besides a piddling video on YouTube, eyes were directed away from legislation that exists all across the enlightened world.

German mandates on censorship extend into constitutional decree. Baader-Meinhof or Nazi propaganda are both constitutionally outlawed, including any literature thereof, and likewise written or printed materials deemed to publicly express Volksverhetzung (Holocaust denial) are forbidden. Those refusing to tow the line face jail time.

Neo-Nazi German rock-band, Landser are forced to smuggle bootleg CDs from US printing houses and redirect traffic to their website through Canadian proxy servers.

Everywhere the laws are easily circumvented. Images akin to the swastika are banned, though far-right groups parade Nazi symbols all the same. The Reichskriegsflagge, images of sun crosses, and black crosses predate the swastika and are therefore legal.

Through their actions, Muslim's outraged by the depiction of the prophet Muhammad in the 'Innocence of Muslims' trailer, or by Charlie Hebdo's cartoon illustrated how not to advertise censorship. They gathered together under an umbrella of self-righteous umbrage and hoisted a giant sledgehammer above their heads.

Too bad they collapsed under its weight. We don't impose blanket bans on films when the content deserves certification. In the United States, and, for the main, in Britain we have a choice whether or not to watch a film, or whether to let our children watch a film, or indeed any other media for that matter, and we must fight for that choice.

When Germans force musicians out of their own country, forcibly disband political parties, and prosecute individuals for distributing leaflets, they are denying themselves that freedom. 

As Piers Morgan pressed Mahmoud Ahmedinejad on the topic of Holocaust denial for CNN, the grizzly Iranian theocrat said:

I pass no judgment about historic events. I say researchers and scholars must be free to conduct research and analysis about any historical events, and have contrary opinion, pro and con. Why should a researcher be put in jail, one question? Question number two. Let's assume your parameter is right, your question is right. Your assumption is that this event took place. Where did it take place? Who were the individuals responsible for this event? [...] The third question I have. If a historic event, if a historical event has indeed taken place, why so much sensitivity surrounding it by politicians?

His answers surrounding the Holocaust are shady and surreptitious to say the least, but on the point of free inquiry he cannot be ignored. Sensitivity is the wrong word; feelings of discomfort may account for vast ill-feeling toward neo-Nazi organizations in modern Germany, but they do not justify censorship.

In July last year Germany's federal intelligence bureau noted that while politically motivated crime has decreased over recent years, membership of neo-Nazi groups has increased, and so too has the potential for violence. Am I alone in arguing that these statistics correlate to the aging swamp of censorship from which they arise?

Germany's constitution wields a sledgehammer against free speech and it's high-time it were disarmed.

Slave and Queen

Strange that Dean and Stan also failed to approach her; her unimpeachable dignity was the thing that made her poor in a wild old whorehouse, and think of that. At one point I saw Dean leaning like a statue toward her, ready to fly, and befuddlement cross his face as she glanced coolly and imperiously his way and he stopped rubbing his belly and gaped and finally bowed his head. For she was the queen.

~ Jack Kerouac, On The Road.

Roberto Bolaño's Secret of Evil

Robert Bolaño writes as though describing a parallel world. If Stendhal walked the streets with a mirror on his back, Bolaño dropped the mirror from an aeroplane over a faraway place that only he could understand.

Anyone who has ever turned to writing will know the feeling of invalidity that comes from penning even a single sentence of fiction. Bolaño’s best short stories and greatest novels were composed with such utter simplicity they achieve nothing and everything.

Ignacio Echevarría, in his introduction to the latest collection of translations, The Secret of Evil, calls this phenomenon Bolaño’s “poetics of inconclusiveness”.

The second story in this collection is brief and describes a journalist meeting an anonymous source in the streets of Paris in the middle of the night. Bolaño addresses the reader directly, like he would a future self.

This story is very simple, although it would have been very complicated. Also, it’s incomplete, because stories like this don’t have an ending.

It opens thus, with structural awareness, apparently confronting the reality of his impending death. What the reader should take away is unclear, inconclusive. The remainder of the story offers little explanation.

The Parisian journalist was “a watcher with no one to watch him in turn” and had something “sad about his smile”. Paradox and cyclicality, so often traits of Bolaño’s stories, cavort with implosion and oxymoron whether through character or metaphor.

The Old Man of the Mountain reflects on the author’s lifelong friendship with Ulises Lima. Expressed vicariously through Bolaño’s alter-ego, Arturo Belano, the reader learns of “two young men sentenced to life”, somehow cursed to exist. In response they “both try in vain to find happiness or get themselves killed”; life propels them onward, yet their relationship has the circularity of a Beckett play.

In Scholars of Sodom Bolaño walks the tiles of Buenos Aires in the shoes of V.S. Naipul, who finds the practice of anal sex exasperating. In Argentina sodomy has become a byword for ownership.

If you haven’t fucked your lover or your girlfriend up the ass, you haven’t really taken possession of her.

Cultural insecurities are manifest in the act of violation thinly veiled by this superficial display of machismo. The author beats the drum of paradox to end the story by describing a lover as “queen and slave” to perfectly diagnose the problem in three words.

As the volume draws into its second half the stories are less complete. Besides contradiction and circularity, Bolaño introduces themes typical to his canon: sex, violence, and identity.

Perhaps his most autobiographical story, I Can’t Read portrays the author’s children and their dreams. His son, Lautoro is a dreamer who has developed a method of approaching automatic doors undetected. Bolaño, perpetually battling the loss of youthful idealism, tries in vain to mimic the boy by crawling up to doors only to be recognized, identified, exposed.

Sevilla Kills Me, the penultimate story of the collection continues Bolaño’s exploration of literature as an entity in itself. He once wrote that “poetry is braver than anyone”, and here he claims that “writing that plumbs the depths with open eyes doesn’t sell” while lamenting the readiness of young writers to sell and sell themselves.

No other has ever shown such determined commitment to the power of words. From his works we may conclude almost nothing, only that one’s idealism must never falter, nor the war for literature be ever lost.

Can It

In an unusual display of humour, the Millwall supporters sang "We can see you holding hands" to the presumably unimpressed Brighton faithful during Saturday's league fixture at the Den. One assumes they weren't directing their chants at the Lib Dem conference-goers, who seem wildly various in their non-support for Nick Clegg and the party lines.

BBC Radio 5 Live provided unstimulating coverage all day today, culminating in the Deputy Prime Minister's keynote address. One can always gauge the mood of a party not by how much or how often it applauds its leader, but rather by how abruptly the applause starts and stops. In the same way that the Football League show regularly overdubs furious cheering whenever a lower-league side scores to make it seem as though the game was well attended, Clegg was interrupted by what sounded like canned applause.

Clegg spoke as if narrating a children's book. Not only does he sounds more like David Cameron with every passing day, but he also seems to have adopted that management-speak PR guff that proves so popular with no one. And clapping in unison is not fooling anyone. The likelihood that this country faces the prospect of another coalition government, in one form or another, after the next general election is rather disheartening.

Taxi Driver

Martin Scorsese's 1976 classic, Taxi Driver explores the depths of delusion and degradation to which a man will descend before committing himself to the abyss. The script spreads thick a sub-story of political nuance, juxtaposed against the workingman's realities of sorrow and forgotten ambition.

During a catalytic scene, friend and fellow cabbie, Wizard, played by Peter Boyle, describes for Robert DeNiro's character how "a man takes a job, you know, and that job [...] becomes what he is".

The closing scenes, as they draw towards the movie's bloody conclusion, slice through Wizard's straightforward notion of identity. In the same way a politician goes home to a wife and family, a young girl pimped for sex isn't altogether a prostitute, and a taxi driver doesn't sit all day in a yellow box on wheels. Yet somehow we're left with this image. A man becomes his job.

I've struggled with this scene for a long time. How does it drive Travis under, into the void, into violence and psychological furor? Do we watch as he shoots his way through the walls of Wizard's theory? I can't help but feel that, for all his intent, Travis fires into the air. Maybe literature has the answer; a writer, after all, is a writer.

Insult

Today Pakistani Prime Minister Raja Pervaiz Ashraf said the following:

If denying the Holocaust is a crime, then is it not fair and legitimate for a Muslim to demand that denigrating and demeaning Islam's holiest personality is no less than a crime?

It would be an insult to you if I were to waste time by pulling that statement apart.

Confrontation and Contradiction

Over the course of the past week I've written about the protests as a phenomenon that used the 'Innocence of Muslims' trailer merely as a launchpad. Simultaneously, however, I've written about the need to defend freedom of expression, including the video, at all costs. Arguing that the riots and protests are about more than a clip on YouTube while defending the clip itself is not a contradiction.

In contrast, CNN asked the question on Wednesday, following the French magazine, Charlie Hebdo's publication of a cartoon satirizing the prophet Muhammad, whether it represented free speech or incitement.

Equally, but perhaps even more annoyingly (read the comments section if you really want to get wound up), the Guardian polls its readers about the Hebdo cartoon: "an important assertion of free speech or a senseless and dangerous provocation?" Failure to realize that the two are mutually exclusive needs to be addressed.

Likewise, the United States administration's attempt to cajole its way into Pakistani hearts with this rather frustrating advertisement spews up problems that go beyond oxymoron. The ad replays footage of President Obama's speech in which he condemned the violent attackers. The message runs:

Since our founding the United States has been a nation that respects all faiths. We reject all efforts to denigrate the religious beliefs of others.

At the time I noted how irritating and unnecessary that second sentence was and is. What's more, on this occassion, the all-important corollary has been left on the cutting-room floor:

But there is absolutely no justification to this type of senseless violence. None. The world must stand together to unequivocally reject these brutal acts.

Instead, the ad cuts to a shot of Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and we watch as the marbles fall out of her mouth. Speaking of the video, she states:

The United States government had absolutely nothing to do with this video. We absolutely reject its content and message. American's commitment to religious tolerance goes back to the very beginning of our nation. [Italics mine]

Of course, drawing distance between the filmmakers and the government is important, but to say they "absolutely reject its content", like a jury condemning a suspect on account not only of his actions but also for his dress-sense, is besides the point. This is not a foray into film criticism.

It's unknown how much or how little influence Obama and Clinton had in piecing together the advertisement; it was edited and distributed by the US embassy in Islamabad. I suspect, as a PR exercise, it may have a marginal impact, but the shameful redaction of key statements pertaining to the egregious overreaction of many protestors, far outweighs any short-term gain.

Confrontations of this nature, whether we like it or not, take place in our own backyard, because it attacks our society at the core. And it's personal.

On Monday in Beirut Hezbollah's secretary general, Hassan Nasrallah said, "the U.S. should understand that if it broadcasts the film in full it will face very dangerous repercussions around the world." Hezbollah repeatedly stirs unrest in Lebanon and elsewhere. They are exactly the sort of organization intent on manipulating anger towards the west for their own ends. They should not be taken lightly. As Michael Totten writes:

Nasrallah knows perfectly well that when an individual uploads a video to YouTube, it doesn’t count as 'the United States broadcasting a film.' That’s actually his point. He’s not threatening the United States in the abstract. He’s threatening you. If you insult Hassan Nasrallah’s religion on the Internet, terrorists may come after you.

Stand Together

After my stab yesterday at reconciling freedom of speech with Muslim reprisal, I realize there's a hole in my propositions. In some instances, stating the obvious carries a long way.

Confronting the enemy on the battleground of religious censorship is essential, especially when the lines are drawn on pages of scripture than oftentimes themselves deserve our contempt. Besides refusing to capitulate, and furnishing ourselves with a greater understanding not necessarily of what our aggressors thinks, but rather how they think, it is also imperative that we unite behind those accused.

Having kept abreast of this issue since the first riot outside the US embassy in Cairo last week, not once in online reports have I seen a hyperlink to the clip, 'The Innocence of Muslims', from any of the major news outlets such as the BBC, the Guardian, or CNN. This is shameful and a stark display of capitulation and cowardice. There is no legal conflict. I have linked to the video three times from this blog. Given the western media's utter reliance upon the tenets of free speech, one would expect a greater show of solidarity.

The internet has revolutionized the ways we access information, and that information frequently becomes news in itself. Regardless of the sensitivity or nature of the subject matter, reporters and newsgroups have a responsibility, if only for their audience, to reproduce that information.

I experienced this problem myself in 2008 when the campus newspaper in Arizona, the Daily Wildcat printed a cartoon satirizing American perceptions in the run-in to the presidential elections that depicted a man telling a neighbor: "We're voting for the nigger". The letters department in the newsroom was inundated with messages of disgust from students seemingly ignorant to the nuances of the piece. Despite my letter of complaint, the paper never reprinted the cartoons.

Similarly, in 2005 when a Danish magazine published 9 cartoons of the prophet Muhammad, the only magazine to print the images in the United States was Free Inquiry. Borders bookstores summarily removed the magazine from its shelves.

A day or two ago I was directed to this piece in The Onion that, in their words, features "cherished figures from multiple religious faiths [...] depicted engaging in a lascivious sex act of considerable depravity." That's a start, but I can't remove from my mind the image of a man laughing at his own joke, showing-off a toothless grin in an ecstasy of bravado and self-congratulation. You'll note the inclusion of all figureheads of all the major religions with one telling omission.

Now is the time to reprint the cartoons, broadcast the films and documentaries on television, buy a Salman Rushdie novel, and keep reprinting and rebroadcasting until the Islamic militants and murderers lose count of targets to avenge.

Comments

I've somehow managed to integrate comments on blog posts with Facebook. I have no idea how this works or how reciprocal the system is, but feel free to try it. Who knows, it may bring a wider audience.

Solving the Problem

In the comments to my last post JP asks, "how do we solve the problem?". It's a good question, a very good question. As I've thought about a possible answer I've found myself reaching for the language of parenthood, as though telling a teenager not to stay out too late or drive too fast. You're in with a bad crowd.

First, we've learned throughout this past week that appeasement is not the solution. In the interests of those involved, including the United States' administration, every effort should be made to recall how Salman Rushdie issued a full and candid apology in 1989 for any offense he may have caused in publishing The Satanic Verses, which did nothing to curtail the rioters and assassins from spiraling into a rage. There are those to whom one cannot appeal in this way.

Likewise, are we still foolish enough to consider these current acts of aggression a direct response to a video on YouTube? Leaders of Islamist sects rely on aggression and bitterness, however deluded, to stir their supporters into a frenzy lest they see their power come to naught. This is evidenced by the burning of the Israeli and British flags, the protests at the German, British, and Dutch embassies, and not least of all the attacks on the American embassies, wherein those responsible for the video itself have never stepped.

There is little to which one can turn besides fixing the onus firmly on the side of Muslims worldwide. Without wishing to seem frivolous, they have a lot of growing up to do. William Saletan writes in Slate: "Dear Muslims, Christians, Hindus, and Jews, you’re living in the age of the Internet. Your religion will be mocked, and the mockery will find its way to you. Get over it." Sadly, just as the US embassy workers in Libya, Hillary and Bill Clinton, Susan Rice, and some dissenters in the media fail to realize how their statements align all too well with the views of the violent mobs, the violent mobs similarly don't realize how perfectly their actions fit the narrative intended by those they seek to revenge.

As I noted on Wednesday, Milton's speech on religious censorship in 1644 highlighted a paradox; those seeking to silence others often appeal to texts that themselves warrant censoring. The sooner Muslim demonstrators recognize that they are unwittingly playing out a huge false antithesis, the sooner they can start exercising their minds without one hand strapped behind their backs.

If we are to solve the problem it is absolutely imperative we furnish ourselves with a better understanding of the forces we defy. Tarek Masoud, an associate professor of public policy at Harvard, notes that the protests, as is frequently the case, are "organizedby political actors with agendas to advance". Successive to the overthrow of Hosni Mubarak in Egypt, the military junta was replaced by an elected government, an arm of the Muslim Brotherhood. Masoud writes:

Though it’s not clear yet who choreographed the current moment of excitement, there are lots of people who stand to benefit from it. First, and most obviously, are other Islamists who wish to usurp the Brotherhood’s throne as the principal defender of Islam. Staging protests against the United States isn’t just a way of casting stones at the Great Satan, it’s also a way of showing up the Brotherhood, of saying that the group is too weak or corrupted by power to do anything to protect Islam’s honor.

The Brotherhood in Egypt, alongside many of its neighboring nations, have a constitutionally Islamic regime. On the one hand, were their leaders to condemn the protests, they appear to undercut their values and court western favor, whereas on the other, by damning the US they invite the strongest opposition.

Lastly, those of us intent on maintaining our freedoms, faced with confronting this problem, ought to stick up for ourselves. No, we won't rewrite our founding principles because you've killed our representatives abroad, terrorized our civilians, and burned our flags. To the contrary, we will stand by them, and we won't relinquish them to our dying breath.

A Note in Time

People who are utterly secure in their God should be above taking physical revenge when offended.

~ Ian McEwan writing for the Guardian, reflecting on Salman Rushdie's fatwa, 14.9.2012.

The Violence, Delusion and Denial of Muslims

Every now and then, whether they appear to realize it or not, the BBC throws up a phrase or sentence that invites redistribution. Yesterday an anonymous staff reporter for the World News page, in response to the film, The Innocence of Muslims, wrote: "The film depicts the Prophet Muhammad as a womaniser and leader of a group of men who enjoy killing." Hilarious.

Not so funny however, were the comments of Egypt's current Prime Minister Hisham Qandil, who claimed it is "unacceptable to insult our prophet". Here, his use of the possessive pronoun, 'our', is rather jarring as it suggests he acknowledges that the prophet Muhammad is not everyone's prophet.

His statement also comes after President Obama, on Egypt, declared: "I don't think we would consider them an ally, but we don't consider them an enemy." This is significant. Although one would be hard-pressed to think of Egypt in its present manifestation as an ally, for the President of the United States to say so is telling.

Qandil goes on, grinding his teeth, squirming in his suit, walking the PR line when he should have stayed silent:

Egyptians, Arabs, Muslims - we need to reflect the true identity of Muslims, how peaceful they are, and talk to the Western media about the true heart of the Muslims, that they condemn violence. At the same time we need to reach a balance between freedom of expression and to maintain respect for other peoples' beliefs.

He would do well to turn the volume up with regard to condemning the violence. There is a direct, linear relationship between Islam and the mobs who have killed civilians, marines, embassy workers and an ambassador. For Qandil to label Muslims "peaceful" is laughable at best, and deluded at worst. I'm in danger of repeating myself, but again, this is unacceptable.

Dissatisfied with a bullet in one foot, Qandil shoots himself in the other when asked about the First Amendment. He says:

I think we need to work out something around this because we cannot wait and see this happen again. [The United States should] take the necessary measures to ensure insulting billions of people, one-and-a-half billion people and their beliefs, does not happen.

Never has the pack mentality been better illustrated than during Muslim protests. Appealing in such a way to the supposed representation of Muslims across the world is sinister, threatening, and pathetic. Whether I insult one person or a billion persons, freedom of speech, and freedom of expression are both non-negotiable foundations to our principles.

Lastly, supporting my thesis that it's not about a movie, Lee Smith writes in the Weekly Standard:

To debate the right of an American to criticize religion does not indicate sophisticated sensitivity to the feelings of others but a willingness to turn tail and abandon our principles at the first sign of a fight. And to take seriously the notion that all those riots and attacks are about a video, not about American principles and power and policy, is silly

I strongly recommend reading his whole piece, here.

It's not about a movie

Khomeini's fatwa against Salman Rushdie was not about a book. The Danish cartoon fiasco was not about a cartoon. Nor are the protests engulfing nations across the Arabian continent about a film. Were it not for the fourteen minute clip on YouTube, the Muslim demonstrators and attackers would have found their reasons.

All of which makes Secretary of State Hillary Clinton's declaration that she finds the film to be "disgusting and reprehensible" even less palatable. I remember how debate about the Danish cartoons was regularly introduced in 2006 with the meaningless annotation: 'they're not funny, but...'.

This is unacceptable. Does it not trouble Clinton, and other derisive voices in the media, that they in fact share the opinion of the murderous mobs and Islamist goons? Perhaps their chants of "Obama, we are all Osama" should prod the ribs if nothing else. Displays of appeasement and contrition seldom satisfy a child, so why would they halt the thugs intent on erasing American and Western liberty? It's worth repeating, with these people there is no common ground.

Michael Totten, a good ally during such times, raises an interesting point; so often in these countries where Islam is the dominant religion, what one sees on the television and reads in the newspapers is controlled by the state. For the attackers to accept, therefore, that the United States government has absolutely nothing to do with the film or its distribution is unlikely and presents a major hurdle.

Moreover, reports from Khartoum detail how British and German embassies have also been attacked, as though further evidence were required to prove that, no, these people weren't whipped from their peaceful and broad-minded slumber into a justifiable frenzy. Protestors have also set fire the Israeli flag in Bangladesh. Returning to the matter of the First Amendment, Totten writes:

The West will not, cannot, change its laws to accommodate anybody’s emotions, especially not people on the other side of the planet who replace our flag with the Al-Qaeda flag and murder our diplomats.

Black banners and flags bearing the symbol of Al-Qaeda are not household items. These people are dangerous, scratching the itch to start a fight, and intent on destroying the one pillar upon which we ought most proudly base our society: the freedom of speech. 

Newsnight and the Naked Prince

I recently applied for a work experience position on Newsnight's production team. During the online application they invited me to write a critique of a recent episode. I took it upon myself to liberally slag them off. I'll let you know how it goes.

In responding to your prompt I feel compelled to address the issue of the naked photographs of Prince Harry, a discussion about which was broadcast on 22nd August.

The issue here was threefold. First, what are the general implications of Prince Harry’s actions in Las Vegas with regard to the monarchy’s domestic and international reputation? Second, further to the public’s perception, do media outlets like the BBC, alongside tabloid and broadsheet newspapers have a responsibility to reprint the pictures not only as a public interest piece, but also given the constitutional relationship between the British citizen and the royal family. Third, what ramifications has the Leveson Inquiry into Press standards had for newspapers and publishing groups?

A roundtable debate of the topic was introduced by a video link narrated by Kirsty Wark. Markedly, the BBC on this occasion elected not to show the photos of Prince Harry. Indeed, not only did they choose not to broadcast the images, which, I will argue, they had a responsibility to do, but they similarly failed to acknowledge or explain their decision.

And so, while the viewing audience was challenged by the vocal swipes of Vanessa Feltz and Max Clifford (in sandals and Bermuda shorts), over the table hung the essential problem of not having actually seen the images of which the guests spoke.

At the core of the BBC’s values stands the proud declaration of honesty, independence, and impartiality. In this case, the Newsnight team demonstrated an inexcusable lack of courage and conviction in failing to show the images; impartial and independent they were not. What’s more, by ignoring the matter, and remaining silent about their decision, they showed inexcusable dishonesty, totally averse to the values, guidelines, and reputation of the organization.

Prince Harry, a member of the royal family, to which the general public pay a not inconsiderable amount in taxation, is potentially a future king of the British Commonwealth. In so doing, he would become the head of the state, the head of the armed forces, and the head of the church. Newsnight were right to question their guests about the rather irresponsible actions of the prince, but they would do well to question their own actions concerning their obligations to the fee-paying audience.

To conclude I would argue strongly that whether the decision to withhold the photographs was borne out of reverence towards the prince, a reaction against the scrutiny of the Leveson Enquiry, a choice taken in light of the ready availability of the images online, or simply a show of respect for Harry’s privacy, the decision ought to have been expounded and opened for discussion to the guests on the show.

Censorship from East to West

In 1644 John Milton concluded Areopagitica, his polemical exploration of censorship and freedom of speech by noting that those who most seek to silence the voice of others often turn, without noticing the irony, to the license of texts that arguably most deserve censorship themselves.

And so, four centuries later, when Islamic fascists appeal to the teachings of their scriptures in order to justify scaling the walls of buildings, terrorizing diplomats and consular workers, burning flags, and killing innocent civilians, why is so little criticism leveled against the profoundly sinister belief system that they maintain?

Before the US ambassador to Libya was killed, the American embassy in Cairo was similarly attacked. Nauseatingly however, the staff there issued a statement in the subsequent hours, presumably while still dusting themselves down, that ran: "We firmly reject the actions by those who abuse the universal right of free speech to hurt the religious beliefs of others."

I'll wait while you wipe the vomit from your mouth. Excuse me, but that's precisely what it's for. As Michael Totten writes, "free speech doesn't mean anything unless offensive speech is protected." Whoever wishes to make a video and upload it to YouTube, just as Sam Bacile has done (link here), should and must be shielded by the United States government.

By recoiling as though the attackers, not only in Libya and Egypt, but also in Nigeria, Tunisia, Morocco, Afghanistan, Sudan, and Gaza, have cause for their reaction and warrant our allowances is utterly inexcusable. "Let's not pretend", continues Totten, "that they're just overreacting to a reasonable grievance and that there's room for common ground."

Bacile has gone into hiding. Multiple US embassies around the world are heightening their security. Meanwhile, cosmopolitan nations like Britain and India are twisting and contorting, fearful of similar attacks. Channel 4 pulls the documentary, Islam: The Untold Story, from its schedule. Likewise, distributors in India are so spineless as to shun Salman Rushdie's movie adaptation of his most reputable novel, Midnight's Children for fear of an Islamic uprising and for reasons so invisible they defy description.

This will not do. Indeed, President Obama would do well to recognize the significance of every nuance of every word when giving speeches like the one today. His primary message ran as follows:

Since our founding the United States has been a nation that respects all faiths. We reject all efforts to denigrate the religious beliefs of others. But there is absolutely no justification to this type of senseless violence. None. The world must stand together to unequivocally reject these brutal acts.

If the foundations upon which the First Amendment was built are to resist the acid rain of apologists, contortionists, and the spineless commentators who direct their gaze away from the Islamic mobs in Libya and elsewhere, then statements like President Obama's require a simple but telling omission; we no longer reject the ridicule and denigration of religious belief, but rather we welcome it, and we protect it.

Immortality

I wish that he could have written a different book with a different ending, and I wish that he was the one answering these questions for you. And though it wouldn’t have been titled Immortality, Christopher would at least have been on the scene to explain his odyssey himself.

Carol Blue talks to Amazon about her husband, 10.9.2012.

Peter Bradshaw

Yesterday morning I saw Peter Bradshaw, the Guardian's chief film critic walking down Great Malborough Street. He looked markedly less old than he often does in their roundtable discussions, but he wore these strangely cobbled heavyset shoes, the sort of things of which Thom Yorke would be proud. He was muttering to himself and gesturing to no one in particular with his idle hand, something that men of a certain age and disposition seem to do when formulating arguments in their head. Admittedly, for all his ticks and mannerisms, I seldom find myself disagreeing with his opinions on cinema and films, which I find quite interesting given what one assumes is a vast social and cultural expanse separating us. His review of Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master was published a day or two ago. Five stars. Bradshaw calls the two hour and fifteen minute journey through the origins of Scientology "something special" and, for the poster, labels it "simply unmissable". Need I remind you that it also boasts a score by Jonny Greenwood? (I know) And from the trailer, perhaps one of the best trailers I've ever seen, I'm happy to wager that the man talking to himself on Great Malborough Street with orthopedic shoes ain't wrong.

Stoked On Life

Why did I ever leave?

Pedro Pinto and Me

Subsequent to a succession of several strokes of fortune, on Monday I have been invited to shadow CNN's chief sports anchor and all-round nice guy, Pedro Pinto, a viral sensation for this, and already famous for having made Roger Federer cry like a girl, as he researches, writes, presents, and interviews Ali Al-Habsi. The Wigan goalkeeper is notable not only by virtue of hailing from Oman, but also for being one of the Premier League's most consistent, unsung, and consistently unsung goalkeepers. If I'm afforded the opportunity however, do not fear, dear reader, I'll lambast him for touching Adam Lallana's 25 yard wonder-strike onto the crossbar in Saints' loss two-weeks ago. That would have changed the whole complexion of the game.

Default

We called it: Stanley Donwood's revival of the London Views linocut technique for his recent artwork, entitled Lost Angeles, comes to the fore of the first official video from Thom Yorke's Atoms for Peace. Six years ago, just as The Eraser channeled haunted tones and stretched electro chords on the website before the full release, Default, the first single warmly welcomes aficionados into the A4P club. Having seen them in Santa Barbara two years ago, proudly witnessing and admiring the chemistry of a Yorke-led-super-group, many of us have been excited about this for a long time. Now it comes. The video is underwhelming but the track is not.

Afterlife

My dear friend, JP develops an argument about faith, pertaining to the (non)existence of god in the following way: my brother has studied civil engineering and can therefore analyse the specs of a bridge and conclude that the bridge will stand; while I have studied philosophy and can likewise look at the evidence and conclude that there is no god. Neat. Similarly, we may conclude that there is no afterlife (which almost came out as afterlie) in the following way:

The proof that there is no afterlife is that Christopher Hitchens is not sending us columns, essays, books, perversities, aperçus and polemics from it.

~ Henry Allen 31.8.2012.

UPDATE: The man himself (not the Hitch) has outfleshed things for us in the comments to this post. Go there.

The World's Local Wank

A broken hand and nigh-on four thousand rubs later, Thom and I returned from our holiday (!) in Marbs last night. Fortunately, the blaze went too hard too early and cashed all its chips after a day or so. It was a stint of many lessons, none of which are suitable for broadcast, suffice to say (what an awful expression) that questionable women and fraud departments don't really gel.

No Carbs before Marbs

Dear reader, so soon, but alas I must leave you, albeit temporarily. I fly to sunny Spain in the morning to test myself in Marbella against Essex slutes and forest-fires. Obviously, I won't be able to post while I'm away but usual service will resume when I return on Thursday. I head off with Thom, a fairly unsuitable partner, but he tells me he's eaten no carbohydrates since I invited him. Fairwell.

Marikana Injustice

I appreciate the two share different weights on the scales of consequence, but further to learning that this country still kicks ministers out through a revolving door made of old and forgotten legal papers, South Africa's government is still using theirs to kick the poorest and most vulnerable members of their society into jail. The Marikana miners are to be collectively charged with the murder not only of the two police officers and two security guards that were killed outside the mine on August 16th, but also for the murder of six of their fellow protesters. That seems to me to represent the first injustice. The second, and most alarming, is the doctrine of "common purpose" that adds a steel cap to the boot of the backward and discredited justice system. One hopes that, thanks in part to the availability of video footage of the clash on the internet, South Africa is able to unite against the policemen responsible for applying unreasonable force, none of whom are currently held in custody, and the pathetically retrograde doctrine of "common purpose".

Making Friends Is Easy

Seldom am I reduced to screaming at the box. Not even the Olympics, for example, elicited as much volume out of me as you might suspect. Indeed, what's the point? Last Friday however, John Humphrys took aim at a chap called Roland (yes) on Mastermind and fired twelve or so questions about Radiohead at him. In fairness to the contestant it must be rather shaky under the bright lights and he did fairly well, maybe better than I did at home, albeit without a few hours to swot up. For a long time I've wondered how hard the questions actually are on specialist subjects, but now I know, sort of. Then again, how are they gauged against other specialist subjects? Some seemed laughably easy, such as the question about Radiohead's 2007 album blah blah, while others were impossible, like the question about the 'Rhinestone Cowboy' session. I realize I'm writing for a distinct minority at present, but they know who they are.

James Wood

And that is why, I think, Knausgaard finds it necessary to see his father’s corpse twice. The first time, he goes with his brother to the undertaker’s chapel. His father seems still to be alive. Outside, someone is mowing the lawn, and the expectation that the noise will waken the corpse is so strong that he can’t help recoiling. The second time, he is alone, and his father is becoming a thing, an object.

~ James Wood reviews Knausgaard's My Struggle for The New Yorker 13.8.2012.

A minor and (un)important correction

Alarmingly I was in error when I described Louise Mensch as an ex-minister. Only now has she been appointed "steward and bailiff of the Manor of Northstead" in some sort of absurd parliamentary tradition, employed only when a minister wants to step down, that would be better remedied by rewriting the law instead of ritually circumventing it and exposing the frayed and decaying pages of the document on which it was written.

Hitch in Passing

It's been a while but now we imbibe. The Hitch is back on the radar after a hiatus, which was never going to last, brought about by his death. Drawn from the afterword to the upcoming Mortality, Carol Blue reflects on what life was like before and after her husband's passing, and she reveals that, while he was in hospital more or less permanently, he did expect to "be home soon", which runs a broken nail down the chalkboard. Similarly, Martin Amis talks to Slate about his relationship with the Hitch and anticipates the depression that lies ahead subsequent to an episode of finding Christopher's "love of life" bequeathed to him. Amis runs another hand down the chalkboard when he admits continuing dialogues and jokes with the Hitch in his head, jokes that were never tempered or restrained but rather proudly obscene, and unknowingly evoking the simple thought-experiment: with whom can I share an equally unbridled conversation?

Perversions

Newsnight devoted almost its entire run-time last Thursday to broadcast a discussion about Prince Harry's naked bod, which I'll get onto later. And so, besides watching Max Clifford in sandals and Bermuda shorts face off against Vanessa Feltz no less, we were introduced to former feminist-twitter-Nazi turned transcendent-matriarch-goddess, Louise Mensch discussing the finer points of Ken Clarke waffling on about proper and improper rape. I almost fell off my beanbag when, coming to his defense, Mensch used the term "mis-speak" as though that were perfectly acceptable. Not only that but it also went completely unchecked by the presenter. One can't help but feel that were Mensch to have used that sort of language a month or two ago when she was still a minister Kirsty Wark would have made her eat her cheeks.

Which reminds me, I was hit with another kind of lingual perversion last week when my mate Thom and I attempted entry into the VIP campsite at V Festival; the organizers wanted a compulsory donation of twenty rubs for charity. Now, call me a square, but a "compulsory donation" not only sounded like an oxymoron but it also felt a bit red, so we gave the girl on the desk an earful of jip and she wound up giving us purple wristbands instead of silver, which worked all the same. The only problem of course arose at the end of the night when we wanted to bring a couple of totties wearing those licious high-waisted shorts back to our tent. They however were not VIP while we were so the only damp we got was from the morning dew.

Ian McEwan on the Hitch

He's made a big hole in our lives.

McEwan before an audience in Edinburgh - Front Row 22.8.2012.

announced death

What man couldn't be said to expend altogether too much energy on fending off prematurity? Nothing I've done in the past five or six weeks could be described as premature. Quite the opposite. It's nine months since the Hitch lifted his pen for the last time (premature), and today on Slate David Plotz motioned towards the one year anniversary (premature).

It strikes me only now that I wasn't writing at the time and so never took the time to note my sorrow properly. I still visit the sites every day for news on the Hitch. Long ago I realized that, no, what was written has been written and what was broadcast on YouTube is multiplying no more. But it's a ritual, a mourning, an homage.

So prolific was the Hitch, writing constantly for Slate, the Atlantic, Vanity Fair, Free Inquiry, his next book, his latest exchange, speaking publicly at debates, on television, at signings and in interviews. December 16th 2011 was a doorstop. I honoured him in my own way, a gesture undoubtedly shared by many, by reading and toasting a glass of Johnnie Walker Black with friends, "the greatest blended Scotch in the history of the world...breakfast of champions".

More than once I heard the Hitch talk about the pillars of free thought: logic, reason, and irony. I struggled with this last one. Certainly a good trait to cultivate, but a pillar of one's life? Those close to the Hitch have surfaced a selection of his notes that will appear in his final book, Mortality, which has been on pre-order since the morning of its announcement. Perhaps my favourite is the following:

Misery of seeing oneself on old videos or YouTubes…

Here it is, Hitch yearning for forgotten pride; the constant assessment and reassessment of the self, his indefatigable attack on hypocrisy, his pursuit of self-awareness and irony. And pluralising YouTube, pre-empting all of us, something melts inside me.

Dry Dentist

I've watched enough ice hockey (which almost came out ice hokey) to know that a man, certainly a man without facial hair should always get his teeth fixed at the earliest opportunity. The dentist seemed somewhat peeved that I hadn't proffered him my open mouth for about five years on account of my stint Stateside, and when I explained my swimming background, concluding with a solemn reflection on my Olympic failure, he held my gaze and said yeah I just missed qualification too as though that were an acceptable thing to say. Even after he lapsed and said that I had probably worked a lot harder than he I still felt unduly faced. Once he'd finished rounding off the bottom of my now less pronounced canine and offered me the green swill-juice I deliberately aimed and spat the stuff on his midget sink, gratuitously spraying the vicinity with green splashback. At reception they didn't charge me a penny on account of still being a student (?) so I've felt guilty all day.

Paint

My unyieldingly helpful mother has let me allone in her home no less and taken brothers two and three with her on the express condition that I paint the porch and garage skirting before they return. It sounded easy and pleasant and worthwhile while the sun was shining but then someone said something about sanding and undercoating and priming and of a sudden it seemed rather an undertaking. My hands are covered in the white stuff and it's fast transferring itself to the already abuggered keyboard and the effect is embarrassing. Earlier I noticed while crouched in the garage that I'd positioned the door in such a way that I had in fact painted myself into a corner and I burst into tears.

The Dark Blost Rises

I have arisen from the ashes, been reborn, and from the dust shall I grow wings again. I've clung to the bottle for a long while now as though in a dream and meanwhile the simple realities of day-to-day life have left me without a home, without a beloved, without a career, without money, without half a front tooth, without a laptop, and even without sport during Olympic sanctum no less. I am bashing away on an old Sony that someone kindly donated to me, however the c and f keys take some thumping. So too, I'm discovering, does the spacebar, so if you see any fors come out as ors you'll have to bare with me. I suspect I'm not alone in feeling summarily kicked in the rear by the Olympics, not only to dive back in the pool, but to get on and do something with my life, which almost came out as do something with my lie, which also works. On that point I'd like once again to publicly thank all those who sent me messages of support before, during, and after my competition in Sheffield. At the time I billed that swim as my last, but I can't let it fall; it's too great a part of my life, which nearly came out as too great a part of my lie, which again also works. While I'm still getting wiser, faster, bring it on. Courtesy of JP I bagged a ticket for the Aquatic Center to watch Addlington barely let the 400m freestyle title fall from her around her neck, and see one of the sport's greatest races, the 4x100 freestyle relay play out as though for a fairytale. I saw Ryan Lochte a couple of times in London nightclubs after the event and his shoulders slumped like the heads of new-born babies. Incidentally, as a rule they didn't let me in. Welcome home.

New Swimming Website

I now have a new site dedicated to my swimming. Go here and prosper:
www.robertiddiols.com