Monday, 23 June 2008

Can we? or: read Lady V post below

According to this interesting site (a bit outdated, but less disregard that for a bit), while most Europeans tend to trust the police, the army and the media, their confidence in national Parliaments, national Governments and political parties is frighteningly low (as low as 16% in the case of the latter). I say frighteningly because, after all, we can’t vote for the police nor the media, but we can vote for our Parliament and our Government, and apparently we cannot find anyone amongst our panoply of politicians in whom we trust. Why? 'They're all shit' seems to be the most realistic answer, but it is also the easiest one to provide and it is clearly not enough.
Until recently, I was a very firm believer in political institutions. They are the symbols of our sovereignty. Without them we’re lost. Even if we made a mistake when voting, or if the party we wanted to win didn’t, our duty as citizens was to make sure the law and the Constitution were respected, and if that was the case, nothing could go wrong. I took particular pride in the Constitution of my country - written after the Revolution of 1974, it was a monument of civil rights and liberties. Reading it was a joy, studying it for any exam I took when I did Law was a renewal of my trust in democracy and in politics (and as you can see, because it is painfully obvious, I was only 18).
But alas, politicians have the power to change the Constitution and for that they don’t need your vote (strictly speaking, they do via a referendum, but they find clever ways around it). And alas, you grow up; you realize that people in political parties are just as bad (rarely just as good) as everybody else, very often so mediocre and brainwashed it makes you want to slap them; you realize that what is written on paper is abysmally different from what reality allows; and you’re left alone. Your ideals crash. You don’t believe in most things anymore, and certainly not in some more or less cheesy, more or less polished ‘yes we can’.
So, I read what Lady V wrote below and I’m also left wondering – what can we do? Can anything be done, even? My opinion is that not much can be done. I’ve written a comment preaching about the right/duty to vote, but sometimes I am convinced that voting is just an illusion that Coca-Cola allows us to have to keep us quietly collecting the dole without going any further in our protests. But then I think about the suffragettes, about the civil right movements in Europe and in the United States, and I compare all this with what the statistics tell me today, of people not voting, of people not trusting, and all I have left is sadness. So, and to conclude (my students would love this), I don’t have any answer to give Lady V, I don’t believe in any kind of activism, I don’t think anything can make a difference. But somehow, I still think that voting can help. And somehow, I still think that being polite to people and trying to be less mean can help. It’s all I have left, and I guess it’s better than nothing, so I’ll keep this till I find something better.

Freedom fighters

The partisan (Leonard Cohen)

When they poured across the boarder
I was cautioned to surrender
This, I could not do
I took my gun and vanished

I have changed my name so often
I have lost my wife and children
But I have many friends
And some of them are with me

And one woman gave us shelter
Kept us hidden in the garret
Then the soldiers came
She died without a whisper

There were three of us this morning
I am the only one this evening
But I must go on
The frontiers are my prison

Oh the wind, the wind is blowing
Through the graves the wind is blowing
Freedom soon will come
Then will come from the shadows

What does it mean to be revolutionary in our time and age? I know, this is another cliché question, but it torments me as I listen to this old Leonard Cohen song, redone by Noir Désir. What does it mean for someone of my age (roughly) to say ‘freedom soon will come’? What kind of freedom do we strive for? We are all so wise and disillusioned, nothing will ever change, everything is predetermined (by the powerful of this world, alas not by God). Rappers might believe in Barack Obama, and turn his ‘yes, we can’ speech into a song, but can we afford to believe? Can we afford to believe in him, when the first thing he did when he became the presumptive nominee is to address the Jewish-American association claiming that Jerusalem will be the eternal capital of Israel and claiming that Iran indeed is a threat? I mean, who are you, man, to vouch for the eternal anything?

Again, the Germans give an interesting take to all these questions, in the film ‘the edukators’. In that film, the young gang of modern communists, broke into houses of the rich and rearranged furniture in obscene manner, writing on the walls ‘your days of plenty are numbered’. A nice oxymoron, you must agree. It makes me think that activism is not dead. Perhaps, new ways of expressing our disagreement with the way things are at the moment should be attempted. Perhaps, we should stop thinking that our short-lived stint in a communist party when we were young can suffice. As Churchill noted ‘if you are 20 and you’re not a communist, you don’t have a heart, if you’re 40 and still a communist, you don’t have a brain’, it tells me nothing that we were all leftists, when we were young. What happens now though? Can voting for an obscure left party be enough to keep our conscience clear? Is it enough to make me sleep well at night? I don’t think so…

I haven’t decided what I need to do, in order to be happy with myself, but there must be something out there, some form of activism that will make me sing ‘the partisan’ in a loud and proud voice and not like now, feeling like a phoney: ‘I was cautioned to surrender, this, I couldn’t do. I took my gun and vanished’…
Oh my god, the horror, it makes me cringe…

Wednesday, 18 June 2008

One against all

Alcibiades is my favourite Greek of all times. He was an extraordinarily arrogant and ambitious man. He was born in Athens, adopted by Pericles and adored by Socrates. He was young, handsome and drank too much. Athens was in the middle of the Peloponnesian war against Sparta and the two sides were about to take their conflict to another level, in Greek colonies in Italy, supposedly protecting an Athenian colony against a Spartan one. People in Athens were not very convinced this was the right thing to do, but Alcibiades was sure of it. He was put in charge of the campaign and they all went off. Half way through their journey, the Athenians started having serious doubts, and they sent a fast boat to catch up with them and bring Alcibiades back, accusing him of some disrespectful conduct against the gods. It was at that particular moment that Alcibiades knew that he was too good for these people. He had no loyalty to a place that could disgrace him so and believe so little in him. He pretended to be going back with them, but instead he fled to Sparta. There, he fought against the Athenians until Spartans became too skeptical towards his as well. Then he went to Samos, then back to Athens (where he was welcomed back like a God only to be forced to leave shortly after). Then it was Persia's turn, he went from one satrap to the other, selling his 'loyalty' along with secrets against the Greeks. In the end, he ended up alone, hiding in a shed with his companion, an aging hooker from Athens. People were sent to kill him, I think historians can't agree by whom, perhaps the Spartan king, perhaps the Athenians, perhaps a satrap he crossed. They were many but the myth of this man was so much bigger than them. Although they knew he was there by himself, they didn't dare get in. Instead they fired arrows on fire at the shed, in order to force him to come out. The shed is on fire and the cowards are awaiting outside. Alcibiades at some point exits, with a sword in his hands. And at this sight, the sight of a lone man with sword, all the cowards in the world trembled. The myth says that they were too scared to approach him, despite outnumbering him. Instead they stayed afar and fired the arrows at him. Alcibiades died at the centre of a circle, alone against so many. This image has always haunted my thoughts, as I've always wondered how it must feel to die alone, being feared so much.

Last night, I saw the movie 'a bittersweet life'. Always trust the Koreans on a rainy day... The story is simplistic (as it always should be in tragedies) and evolved around a hitman who disobeys his boss and is forced to go after him, alone against all of his old gang. I didn't like the movie so much but it struck me because it was again this story of a man, alone against many, and it made me think of the story of Alcibiades again. Is it the fate of extraordinary people to be alone against the world? Is this the most natural feeling in the world? Brett Anderson once said in an interview that his definition of love is to find someone to team up against the world with. In a book that I love, it said on the breaking of a relationship: they looked at each other and realized that the world had beaten them.

Perhaps all the clichés are indeed true: we're born alone and we die alone and our biggest hope should be to find someone to share this loneliness with.

Tuesday, 17 June 2008

Birthday




In the days when my birthday was celebrated
I was happy and nobody was dead.
In the old house, even my birthday was a tradition of centuries
And everybody’s joy, and mine, was as certain as any religion.

In the days when my birthday was celebrated
I had the great health of not understanding anything
Of being intelligent amongst the family
And of not having the hopes that others had for me
When I came to have hope, I did not know how to have hope any longer
When I came to face life, I had lost the meaning of life.

Yes, what I supposedly was to myself
What I was of heart and relatives
What I was of evenings in the province
What I was of being loved and being a small boy
What I was – my God!, what I only know today that I was
So long ago!...
(I cannot even find it)
In the days when my birthday was celebrated.

What I am today is like humidity in the corridor at the end of the house
Causing mould on the walls…
What I am today (and the house of those who loved me trembles through my tears),
What I am today is selling the house,
Is everybody dead,
Is me surviving myself, like a cold match…

I see everything again with a clarity that blinds me to what is in front of me
The table set with extra seats, with better porcelain, with more glasses,
The sideboard with many things – sweets, fruit, all the rest in the shade, under the porch
The old aunts, the different cousins, and everything because of me,
In the days when my birthday was celebrated.

My heart, stop.
Do not think. Let the head think.
Oh my God, my God, my God
Today is not my birthday any more.
I last.
Days are added to my life.
I will become old when I become old.
Nothing else.
The anger of not having brought the past stolen in my pocket!
In the days when my birthday was celebrated.
Fernando Pessoa, 1888 - 1935
I'm so sorry I cannot provide an extraordinary English rendition of this poem. This is the best I could do. I felt I had to have this poem here. The only thing I can say when I read it is "sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in. " I wonder if Pessoa felt the same every time he finished writing one of his poems. Did he know that what he wrote would one day mean so much to so many? Does any poet know that? I hope they do, at some level.
Happy 120th birthday, Pessoa.

People with issues

My favourite blogger has been brought into a very ridiculous story. To cut a long story short, he wrote a post on an issue (that is not important) and people commented on it in various ways. At some point, some commentators insulted another commentator. The blog administrator reprimanded them on the comments, but the insulted commentator regarded the reprimand as inadequate and requested for the posts to be deleted because they were defaming him. The blog administrator responded in saying that he does not want to delete comments and the insulted commentator requested a comment moderator to be put in place in that blog. He threatened the blog administrator with legal action and he responded giving him his private details. As it turns out, this was just an 'experiment' in order to test the freedom of speech of the greek blog-o-sphere. Discussion ensues at this moment with comments to the original post reaching 106!!!

The situation might look ridiculous and it probably is, but the issue behind it is very important. It is the fundamental issue of freedom of speech, only now it has been transferred to the net. The analogy could be the following: I have a gathering at my place (blog) where people come and we have a chat. At some point one of my guests insults another one: what should my role be? Do I reprimand the guest and consider the matter closed? Do I kick the guest out? Do I hire bouncers to patrol all my parties from that point onwards? Whose is it to say what counts as an insult? One guest might be picky and consider anything an insult, while other people have thicker skin. More importantly though, can my insulted guest DEMAND that I hire a bouncer, otherwise he will sue me?

The answer the blogger in question gave, was that it is his blog and he wants to hold on to his right to deal with these issues the way he chooses to. A moderator is compromising freedom of speech and should in principle be avoided. The default should be that people should be free to say whatever they want, in a public place like a blog. Is the blog a public place though?

Monday, 16 June 2008

Why do I care?

Euro 2008 is on these days and even me, who never cared about football, is suddenly becoming intrigued by this analogy for life. This is the only way I can explain why I bother about who wins and who loses, who is disqualified and who goes through. My latest obsession (after group C and the fate of Italy and France) is the great comeback of Turkey in their match against the Czech Republic. I didn't even see the game but I then saw the replays and I was so touched by the force with which the Turks came back. I mean, they were losing 2-0 15 minutes before the end and they managed to turn it around, even with their goalie disqualified in the last minutes if the game (for a Zidane-style out of the blue push to a Czech player).

It seems to me that it is weird that I care about this. I have no particular feelings for Turkey, although they are the 'enemies' of my country ;-) and I definitely have no feelings whatsoever about the Czech Republic. I guess it is always fascinating to see an underdog story being unfolded in front of your eyes. Maybe that's why the win of Greece in Euro 2004 was so cool, because nobody believed in them. And that is exactly why football could be seen as an analogy to life: you could always have a safe bet on a person or on a situation and most of times you'll get it right, but underdogs do fight back and they do get their win once in a blue moon and make people believe in miracles.

Friday, 13 June 2008

The two faces of German cinema

Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck: the poet

As I have written before in this blog, 'the lives of others' was one one of my favourite movies of 2007. It is only recently however, that I bought the DVD and saw the director's interview that I finally understood how poetic this movie truly was. FHvD's idea for the film came apparently from a quote by Lenin that if he had to listen to Beethoven's Appassionata, he wouldn't be able to finish the revolution. This line features in the film but I had then misunderstood it: I thought then that it meant that if Lenin let himself be consumed by art, he would no longer be able to leave enough time in his life for politics. Apparently, this is not what he meant, apparently he meant that this music would humanize him so, that he wouldn't be able to do all the inhuman things that you are expected to do, if you want to make a revolution succeed. FHvD then said that his initial idea for the film was this image of this man with headphones, listening to the Appassionata and not being able to do his job, merely because art subconsciously turns him into a better person. This has been a criticism towards the movie, as a friend saw it: how does it happen, this change in Wiesler's mind? Does he read Brecht and everything changes inside him? Well, maybe music has a much more subconscious, powerful and lasting way to change you, because it is so abstract. Brecht can change you, sure, but perhaps only after you've listen to the Appassionata.

This, to me, is the essence of FHvD's lyricism: music can change the world, and perhaps it has to. And relating this to the previous post, and Youkali's comment, realism does have a place in our lives, but lyricism, abstract expressionism can lead us more directly to where we have to go.

Fatih Akin: the immigrant

Hallow Kitty adored this movie, compared Fatih Akin to Marcel Proust when writing about it here so I went to see it. I loved the movie so much myself, because it was so unpretentious and poignant. One thing I absolutely hate is pretension: movies that pretend to be important, intellectual and artistic and in the end they end up just slow and annoying. Fatih Akin's masterpiece, that is added to the long line of multi-character films that accentuate the role of fate in life, spanning from 'short-cuts' and 'amores perros' to 'talk to her' and 'crash', is beautiful and important yet it looks so normal, so simple.

But most of all Fatih Akin succeeds in being a director that depicts so well the loneliness of the immigrant with the nomadic soul. This is an idea that I hold too dearly, perhaps due to my narcissistic desire to be dramatic and deep. But there is some truth in the idea that these people, immigrants are in between two worlds, strangers in both. It is so difficult for these people to feel at home and when they do (like in the end of the film) they truly reach the edge of heaven.