tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55282167828569587472024-03-08T03:33:32.142-08:00note booksandrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-58912874188417805502024-02-29T08:53:00.000-08:002024-03-04T12:26:06.050-08:00Freshwater Fish: The Miner’s Canary in the Aquatic Realm.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3z2YT0i18EfLwPawaFq9SEWj7sopdqjx39MUuwy7AaOEvUHuuhBfSGodhcLMsSCv1zMuEmc6nud6zOJmi_oMeGo37eDyaxTAzkwGvgM_27slIfzKmYYQL7R41WC-RFBgjlnBGX8mB4B39CfEomuRGZCv5HA63AX27JOqqMHQ0R5ulK_A6xvx-fYzMyXj9/s4032/IMG_4753.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3z2YT0i18EfLwPawaFq9SEWj7sopdqjx39MUuwy7AaOEvUHuuhBfSGodhcLMsSCv1zMuEmc6nud6zOJmi_oMeGo37eDyaxTAzkwGvgM_27slIfzKmYYQL7R41WC-RFBgjlnBGX8mB4B39CfEomuRGZCv5HA63AX27JOqqMHQ0R5ulK_A6xvx-fYzMyXj9/s320/IMG_4753.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">An interview with Melanie Stiassny, Associate Curator, Department of Ichthyology, American Museum of Natural History, 1995. Andrew Leslie Phillips.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I’m an evolutionary biologist. I have a particular interest in fish. I’m also very interested in conservation biology simply because of the way things are going. When you start working with animals in the field you very quickly realize that you have to save the field first so there will be animals to study</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px;">.”</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iUI0Z052DxdcB3SdsvcoCytnkdEljdUYeH8WE3vZWWiS8Tvse9lnZnW1cKYB_AVMfvn9-BPIya_P0bdfRfQMMlgN3Xh7y5HI673k85elMMQC7bf75utuCd7SqKQ_nRCIFbxhyf-msy4M-h7-LJ_UqzypUCmDHWFoScAD6OjbNc_OUX33vScZuaFSHsYQ/s1792/IMG_4765.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="828" data-original-width="1792" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iUI0Z052DxdcB3SdsvcoCytnkdEljdUYeH8WE3vZWWiS8Tvse9lnZnW1cKYB_AVMfvn9-BPIya_P0bdfRfQMMlgN3Xh7y5HI673k85elMMQC7bf75utuCd7SqKQ_nRCIFbxhyf-msy4M-h7-LJ_UqzypUCmDHWFoScAD6OjbNc_OUX33vScZuaFSHsYQ/w400-h185/IMG_4765.png" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Dr. Stiassy’s research focuses on the systemics of fresh water and fauna in Madagascar and Africa. Her interests include conservation biology of freshwater fish and she is a member of the museum’s current bio-diversity initiative in Tanzania. </p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I found Dr. Melanie Stiassny in her office in the cavernous corridors inside New York’s Museum of Natural History. It is a large spacious room and yellow sunlight streams in through the large ornate windows across her large untidy desk. Huge stuffed fish hang from the walls with charts and anatomical drawings. There’s a Walkman on her desk and a pair of yellow roller blades tossed in one corner – she blade around Central Park at lunchtime.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“My specialty is fish so I’m an ictholologist and I have really grown to love fish tremendously. They are a fabulous model to examine evolutionary principles. They are an incredibly important indicator organism that tells you the health of aquatic systems. In my case I work primarily with freshwater fish which are like the miner’s canary in the aquatic realm.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“You can learn about the health of fresh water by understanding what’s happening to fish that live in fresh water.”</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Dr. Stiassny pulles her slick blond hair back and turns to a nearby fish tank bubbling on her work table. I was there to interview her after attending a conference on theories of evolutionary extinction. Where people settled, the animals disappeared in a dreadful syncopation. Some at the conference postulated humans were a kind of pathogen.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Take this aquarium here – its housing two very interesting residents that have become pets to me – they are very rare species called Parotalatier Polanai – cyclic fish, from Madagascar.”</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">She goes on field trips to Madagascar, an enormous island in the Indian Ocean off the coast of Mozambique on the east-central African coast. It’s the fourth largest island in the world.</p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtVbmyOMGa4yMlFAA_Cyj_ZUC2jVMqBoc1s72BGxKdqKLRRbls_VzjJcanr5qGPDHhgknJ0RT7KnD40bj3DPrAkYo01wCeXD0dsl5r2HgGj8SroHdERM_tjG6uMzqkGptP7wruUMXvq920nT7dpURYCxcliAUhBUI8vzX6Bqomd-BinFYQSHf1rTU0Mpk/s1792/IMG_4781.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="828" data-original-width="1792" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtVbmyOMGa4yMlFAA_Cyj_ZUC2jVMqBoc1s72BGxKdqKLRRbls_VzjJcanr5qGPDHhgknJ0RT7KnD40bj3DPrAkYo01wCeXD0dsl5r2HgGj8SroHdERM_tjG6uMzqkGptP7wruUMXvq920nT7dpURYCxcliAUhBUI8vzX6Bqomd-BinFYQSHf1rTU0Mpk/w400-h185/IMG_4781.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Historically Madagascar has been isolated in the Indian Ocean for about 60 million years. It broke off Africa at about the same time India did - about 180 million years ago. It drifted into its present position about 120 million years ago.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">India broke off between 80 and 60 million years and opened up the Indian ocean and pushed up the Himalayas so the end result of this story is that Madagascar is this enormous island that has been in isolation for all these millions of years so all the organisms that you find on that island – both the plants and the animals. </p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Madagascar has been likened to a naturalist wonderland – it’s a place where evolution has just gone on its own and it’s a place that provides very special insights into the evolutionary process. Its also a place that in recent times – when I say recent I mean the last 2,000 years, which is when we think people first came to Madagascar -since then we’ve seen the most incredible perturbations and degradations of its land and forests – rain forests and dry forests. Its undergone the most extreme environmental pressure as people have cleared the land basically to graze cattle, clear land for growing rice so cattle and rice are really what people of the island are most interested in eating.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">You cannot fill the Aral Sea with tears.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">An Uzbek poet wrote “you cannot fill the Aral Sea with tears” when he realized the Aral sea was disappearing. It’s a massive body of water, the fourth largest inland sea or lake in the world, located in the former Soviet Union in Uzbekistan – north of Afghanistan, east of Iran in the bottom southern region of what used to be the Soviet Union.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The Aral Sea is a landlocked endorpheic sea. Since the 1960’s the Aral Sea has berry shrinking as rivers that feed it were diverted by the Soviet Union for irrigation. The Aral Sea is heavily polluted largely as a result of weapons testing, industrial projects and fertilizer runoff which continues. </p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">How blue is our planet?</span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We are familiar with those satellite images of earth and we see “the blue planet” but it should be called “the water” planet. Three-quarters of the planet is covered with water but 97.5 percent is marine – salt water. Just 2.5 percent is actually fresh water. </p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTmPESvJutgyvZKnT1XYvj5CInD-CnkWkGlsd-WSrD61W8u1v6vfiXKhHIegE8A_fkkwOHRTd4XlgAcD4IPa1317Inc_xDw4bSRoamWbRo9rWkZG6sYSVHijAlfYwu26J88AWhrlnCrrAuRx92UI2yzaJ6H3EXVdHw7HmE40USApKwwIW6U6GE4v7S0LK/s4032/IMG_4773.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">If you took a bottle of coke to represent the earth’s water probably three of four capfuls may represents the amount of fresh water on the planet. But it much more dire than that because most of that fresh water isn’t available for humans, animals, agriculture and industry.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">69 percent of fresh water is has been locked in the solar poles until recently. Of course now the poles are melting into the sea so we are losing fresh water this way.</p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu43p8dhnZh-jqXn7TthvRZqoVTCdGBAQL8OQ_kDlrZze0v9yLH4dL4BTE7Y5kbkSiMG524XB_aXfWsrmWT6kofK7Gy6boks5bauMwTy-0m52beP8SEMCCjWNRvgJuD0L8dZbVuBF6Gxt3Xk9RCmu5nfmdr5B3UwjiPHflV5kYlhRTkmpZkts4_ssCyS_Y/s4032/IMG_4776.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu43p8dhnZh-jqXn7TthvRZqoVTCdGBAQL8OQ_kDlrZze0v9yLH4dL4BTE7Y5kbkSiMG524XB_aXfWsrmWT6kofK7Gy6boks5bauMwTy-0m52beP8SEMCCjWNRvgJuD0L8dZbVuBF6Gxt3Xk9RCmu5nfmdr5B3UwjiPHflV5kYlhRTkmpZkts4_ssCyS_Y/w400-h300/IMG_4776.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Thirty percent of fresh water is stored underground in deep water aquifers and less than one percent is soil moisture as permafrost and ground ice. This leaves a tiny percentage available on the planet for things to live in, for us to drink and use – that’s all the rivers and lakes on the planet. We’re talking about less than one-hundredth of a percent (.001%) of the planet’s water is actually available for things to live in and for us to use.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">”</span></div>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">The hydrological cycle.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“But I want to make a quick point about that because what we really have to bear in mind when we start talking about how we are going to sustain that tiny amount of water – really what we need to be talking about is the rate at which fresh water is replenished on the planet through the hydrological cycle coming down as rain and snow and being recycled – that’s the water we dip into to use.”</p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZVWkLSRXT25ujcnVFTNj7UqB2gdaI2kb-yLe8FTXToRX0OGzc5v1HO3fLSSpzZ2caJvFgtrDBdchh5ZbzJbpsEORiT-KKW462QGg4PYEOWi2tknNRYT-RIGwxL1HG2AUp-p9DLUkKyIzgLtQQgPj5glVIPKFxyX9rAbS-XR37VX3WvEYgi7bxrd_DJXm/s4032/IMG_4782.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZVWkLSRXT25ujcnVFTNj7UqB2gdaI2kb-yLe8FTXToRX0OGzc5v1HO3fLSSpzZ2caJvFgtrDBdchh5ZbzJbpsEORiT-KKW462QGg4PYEOWi2tknNRYT-RIGwxL1HG2AUp-p9DLUkKyIzgLtQQgPj5glVIPKFxyX9rAbS-XR37VX3WvEYgi7bxrd_DJXm/w400-h300/IMG_4782.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The water cycle, technically known as the hydrologic cycle, is the continuous circulation of water in our hydrosphere and is driven by solar radiation. It includes our atmosphere, man’s and surface water, groundwater. As water moves through the cycle it changes state between liquid, solid and gas. It moves form “compartment” to “compartment” as rivers down to the oceans and by physical processes of evaporation, precipitation, infiltration, runoff, sub- surface flow. The movement of water within this cycle is the subject of hydrology. </p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Some people have said that if the world’s water could fit in a bath tub, the portion that could be used sustainably in any given year is less than one-teaspoon. That teaspoon of water is all we’ve got to support human populations, agriculture and industry plus all the water needed to sustain the natural water. </p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTmPESvJutgyvZKnT1XYvj5CInD-CnkWkGlsd-WSrD61W8u1v6vfiXKhHIegE8A_fkkwOHRTd4XlgAcD4IPa1317Inc_xDw4bSRoamWbRo9rWkZG6sYSVHijAlfYwu26J88AWhrlnCrrAuRx92UI2yzaJ6H3EXVdHw7HmE40USApKwwIW6U6GE4v7S0LK/s4032/IMG_4773.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTmPESvJutgyvZKnT1XYvj5CInD-CnkWkGlsd-WSrD61W8u1v6vfiXKhHIegE8A_fkkwOHRTd4XlgAcD4IPa1317Inc_xDw4bSRoamWbRo9rWkZG6sYSVHijAlfYwu26J88AWhrlnCrrAuRx92UI2yzaJ6H3EXVdHw7HmE40USApKwwIW6U6GE4v7S0LK/w150-h200/IMG_4773.jpeg" width="150" /></a></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;">That teaspoon of available fresh water is the same size today as it was 2,000 years ago when the planet’s population was about three-percent of the current size. So we are still dipping into the same teaspoon and we will continue dipping into the future.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Since 1940 the world population has doubled and water consumption has quadrupled. We need to irrigate more and more land to produce enough food to support the rising population and frankly, we are very quickly reaching the upper limits of sustainability – water is fast becoming a limiting factor.”</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">The main drain on water is in agricultural systems, irrigation and industry. Domestic usage is really a very small component.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“One of the indices used to look at the so called development of a nation or a region is to look at how much of water usage is industrial and how much agricultural – generally about two-thirds of all water is for agriculture, mainly irrigation. About twenty-three percent is for industry, leaving eight percent for domestic use and of course these numbers vary tremendously in different regions.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So the state of water is precarious. I large proportion of our fresh water is underground in aquifers and some are very deep and actually contain fossil water that’s been there for a very long time – perhaps thousands of years of storage. Pulling this water out of the ground is unsustainable. We are killing the goose that laid the golden egg – it’s a very short-term perspective – we’ve begun to plunder subterranean water reserves.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">Concentration of species in fresh water.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I am a specialist in fish so I t end to look at things from a fish’s perspective. Of the 22,000 species of fishes alive on the planet today, about half are found in fresh water. That means nearly half of all living species of fish actually live in less than one-hundredth of a percent (.001%) of the earth’s water. That’s a tremendous concentration of biodiversity. </p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Put another way – fish comprise nearly half of all vertebrates alive on the planet today – animals with backbones. When you add them all together you have about half on land and half in water. Half of all living vertebrates are fish. Therefore I can rephrase that statistic about concentrations of species in water.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We have about 44,000 known species of vertebrates on the planet including fish. So about one-quarter of all vertebrate bio-diversity is concentrated into less than one-hundredth of one percent (.001%) of earth’s water. And it’s not just fish, it’s all the other organism essential to life in water too.</p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAxJbLwU7yzHwNyUDuqWo9HywUOpjk7wBZIDxnU4sKoQ0aC890yaNzL9tl3frUUu_DUBZswOEfEHwYKsSfOuXfQmlRuzWSd3SdVfSxTjgyB7L5nedKr34JKB4jIseHX2MVuxuJ4ZT1NTr9LnjcwZGtqthkHH3i8G-74dGjEL8Jyzov_eUiqEIrs74uS6GF/s4032/IMG_4755.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAxJbLwU7yzHwNyUDuqWo9HywUOpjk7wBZIDxnU4sKoQ0aC890yaNzL9tl3frUUu_DUBZswOEfEHwYKsSfOuXfQmlRuzWSd3SdVfSxTjgyB7L5nedKr34JKB4jIseHX2MVuxuJ4ZT1NTr9LnjcwZGtqthkHH3i8G-74dGjEL8Jyzov_eUiqEIrs74uS6GF/w400-h300/IMG_4755.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We think of the sea as being so tremendously rich and in many respects it is. But in terms of actual living numbers of plants and animals its been estimated that on a percentage basis, fresh water is probably about sixty times richer. So we are talking about a fantastically rich biological medium and ecosystem in fresh water systems.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The other aspect of fresh water that I think make it so vulnerable is simply you can look at these fresh waters of the world – these lakes and rivers, just like islands – I mean they make a perfect analogy – instead of being islands of land surrounded by water, these are islands of water surrounded by land and just like all of the animals that live on islands – their vulnerable because if something happens there is no escape – its exactly the same in fresh water. We are talking about extremely vulnerable habitats and that’s exactly what we see in our environment as we cut down forests, alter water flow patterns in rivers and lakes, we build dams, we divert for irrigation – all of those changes have a tremendous cascading effect on the animals living in those water systems. Bottom line is that there is no way out – there is sea at one end and land at the other.”</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">Wetlands</span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“What we have done to wetlands throughout the globe is quiet tragic. Over a period of about 200 years, the lower 48 states have lost more than half of their original wetlands mainly through drainage to provide land for agriculture. That’s like losing 60 acres of wetlands for every hour that passed since the </p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">US was established. </p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8fqtOk_EoXeLqNQnJcqKVjl5GcRogfaRcCQHgSqFpK6U9GalpO18Cxk8XR1gL97aGLyDrUWehuxPD7r61YJv2Oe3ehV8tJvquEE5XHB_T-LINxylpcZu8CUq1p1otC27EJy_Fy5-LOKdJUvxeO4yofXWU_f9MyrorYlYarWsU8SSDlwHnfyxtsn5q4SSA/s1792/IMG_4786.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8fqtOk_EoXeLqNQnJcqKVjl5GcRogfaRcCQHgSqFpK6U9GalpO18Cxk8XR1gL97aGLyDrUWehuxPD7r61YJv2Oe3ehV8tJvquEE5XHB_T-LINxylpcZu8CUq1p1otC27EJy_Fy5-LOKdJUvxeO4yofXWU_f9MyrorYlYarWsU8SSDlwHnfyxtsn5q4SSA/s320/IMG_4786.png" width="148" /><span style="text-align: left;">U.Swas </span></a></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">There is a tendency to look at swamps and marshes as prime candidates to be drained and turned into pasture but wetlands are far more valuable than pasture.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It is estimated that 60 percent of the world’s total stream flow is regulated. And here is one last sorry statistic: there was a nationwide river inventory in the U.S. which estimated that of more than five million kilometers of streams and rivers in the nation, most have been so radically altered that just two-percent are of sufficiently high quality to be worthy of federal protection.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Its one of those things – you don’t realize what you’ve got until its gone. I think now we are beginning to reach a point where what we’ve lost is really becoming understood and we have a cascading effect through our ecology.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br />
We need new ways of thinking about water and about natural resources generally. It is amazing that governments spend vast amounts of money to support environmentally destructive behavior like draining wetlands.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Much of the water overuse is in industry and agriculture. Water is actually subsidized for industry and agriculture. Irrigation systems are inefficient (37% efficient) and are often built and managed by public agencies at minimal charge.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The return on these irrigation programs probably average no more than about ten to twenty percent of the true cost of delivering water.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We need to rethink this false economy.”</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">How important was the Green Revolution?</span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“The Green Revolution was tremendously important. To feed our expanding population we’ve had to employ tremendous increase in irrigation – land was reclaimed from desert to be irrigated and farmed. Water provided the crops to feed the growing population. And genetic modification of existing crops produced very high yields but very thirsty crops creating even more demand for water.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Agriculture is the biggest drain on water consumption – it uses more than two-thirds of our supply and it is very inefficient so if we can improve efficiency we can save enormous amounts.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">If governments stopped subsidizing and under pricing water it would help a lot. Water costs less in Arizona than it does in Wisconsin. This is a false economy. We need to recycle more water. It’s insane to be tapping into aquifers of pure high quality fossil water and squiring it on the land that will be salinated. We need to redesign agriculture. </p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">They grew cotton around the Aral Sea, a semi-arid region and cotton is one of the thirstiest crops – sugar is the thirstiest. We should not be growing these crops in arid regions. I think we are going to be forced to really start looking at how we are using water and why we are using it in the way we are – why we are subsidizing certain practices in the way we are.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">How much is water worth.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Water is worth everything. You can’t have anything without water. Water is central to life </p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiaUMMal2pdDEiZyCsYA-AWsdBSTZHJ4kUZd5zhiSLgxRHFWp8MkGhvVOI5khUKT7XKV8uDVy5AT-MjqXeuShfKTYdsacsZO6uMKRgqkUhHppRRfHg1p7qCQObxJBgmXjnSqN55tcNEBbzYJq5vlH1WQJw2ujxR4IakxFlhRu6FJNDZw-LUCDNCBlL3OSz/s4032/IMG_4756.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiaUMMal2pdDEiZyCsYA-AWsdBSTZHJ4kUZd5zhiSLgxRHFWp8MkGhvVOI5khUKT7XKV8uDVy5AT-MjqXeuShfKTYdsacsZO6uMKRgqkUhHppRRfHg1p7qCQObxJBgmXjnSqN55tcNEBbzYJq5vlH1WQJw2ujxR4IakxFlhRu6FJNDZw-LUCDNCBlL3OSz/w400-h300/IMG_4756.jpeg" width="400" /></a></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Edges, margins and niches encourage opportunities - and there are many</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">. </span></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2i7lWSHbUjSMEp-s8n2mi9VN-VAQl5_h_Mp8dQlXD2uKmbvPrKFTCkw_n3176oOaQN9vsfwTzeaLt1msiR_XiUhD9NLyYx9ArRrBqygIjY6DltsExkPxaHjsZeyfq8JU80u_uOHy02hH_0Sqd3ZJI1ZfAfUpgp9lE4uMSOj69ZFf8Eo_x_n_Vcgk08bK/s4032/IMG_4757.jpeg" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2i7lWSHbUjSMEp-s8n2mi9VN-VAQl5_h_Mp8dQlXD2uKmbvPrKFTCkw_n3176oOaQN9vsfwTzeaLt1msiR_XiUhD9NLyYx9ArRrBqygIjY6DltsExkPxaHjsZeyfq8JU80u_uOHy02hH_0Sqd3ZJI1ZfAfUpgp9lE4uMSOj69ZFf8Eo_x_n_Vcgk08bK/w400-h300/IMG_4757.jpeg" width="400" /></a></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16.1px;"><br /></p>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-55562936812455264872024-02-29T08:41:00.000-08:002024-03-04T15:33:10.889-08:00Nodes of Permanence <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp0eR6B9ytHc-GMjm0Bx5OlWSYxbSqB3A5rCQSGlaG4p37rVgAn3u38-CFzF4jLFYD6ShTQXnDxRx2lnofIBkXA-8QEkWCSns6DCFfySr1iX4FVM50g_vwVsgJ16XFARFR4hu-2KpCTOsfzzbAQPw76XFxguo3y5OcokpT4Ob9U7sPXUjmALNxvE6JRAZI/s3531/IMG_4759.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2648" data-original-width="3531" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp0eR6B9ytHc-GMjm0Bx5OlWSYxbSqB3A5rCQSGlaG4p37rVgAn3u38-CFzF4jLFYD6ShTQXnDxRx2lnofIBkXA-8QEkWCSns6DCFfySr1iX4FVM50g_vwVsgJ16XFARFR4hu-2KpCTOsfzzbAQPw76XFxguo3y5OcokpT4Ob9U7sPXUjmALNxvE6JRAZI/w400-h300/IMG_4759.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">NOFA - January 20, 2017</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">(Northeast Organic Farmers Association)</span></div></span></div>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span face="Arial-BoldMT" style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">(PC) Nodes of Permanence: Applying Patterns in Nature to Build Diverse Communities (Beg)</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-style: italic;">Andrew Philips, Hancock Permaculture Center; Laurie Shoeman, Program Director of Green & Resilient for Enterprise Community Partners</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-style: italic;"> </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Australian <span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">Andrew Leslie Phillips </span>studied Permaculture with Bill Mollison, the father of Permaculture and Geoff Lawton. Phillips will discuss his experiences learning to recognize patterns in nature to create diverse, resilient communities using permaculture principles. <span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">Laurie Schoeman</span>, Program Director of Green & Resilient for Enterprise Community Partners, will discuss innovative applications of permaculture principles to develop climate-change, resilient low-income housing in New York City. Both Andrew and Laurie have spent decades nationally and internationally working on projects in agriculture, off-grid infrastructure and building resilient communities from New Guinea to New York. Planners, architects and anyone concerned with the effects of climate change will not want to miss this presentation.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span face="Arial-BoldMT" style="font-weight: bold;">Part One: </span><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">Andrew Leslie Phillips.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">This paper is more observational than instructional and includes the roots of permaculture, a synopsis of principles, pattern recognition, mimicking, fractals and scale. Permaculture is more than gardening. There are constants amid chaos in nature. Universal, applicable principles and directives. Systems thinking. I discuss the idea of nodes of permanence and the patterns.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-y4D94ewjfX103KDzkcvj0R5alZqBVD5ifxHNxpb3CZvdRk9wOTxfdbQw7DGrfGt8PsXffmfW6EpcRmKGFkrXSS2PaSW7H8u4W58dtCeubd9gacQR8VmYYtuMHCdhgxnl-jrYdbxE5utBb-W1CfLU7k45AQkRrPDpRWgGpXVaw4DDmchA3EnkuZ1a9-Rd/s4032/IMG_4760.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-y4D94ewjfX103KDzkcvj0R5alZqBVD5ifxHNxpb3CZvdRk9wOTxfdbQw7DGrfGt8PsXffmfW6EpcRmKGFkrXSS2PaSW7H8u4W58dtCeubd9gacQR8VmYYtuMHCdhgxnl-jrYdbxE5utBb-W1CfLU7k45AQkRrPDpRWgGpXVaw4DDmchA3EnkuZ1a9-Rd/w400-h300/IMG_4760.jpeg" width="400" /></a></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">When Bill Mollison came up with the idea of permanency in culture back in the early seventies, he was dissatisfied with academia, the raging Vietnam War and the momentum of society. He and others were already warning of climate change, food and population pressures and he retreated to the forest. Bill Mollison observed the forest as a self-sustaining system, a closed self-sustaining system. He observed constants, patterns and general principles that might apply in wider contexts. A system of thinking.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-rRhYpHcZHe3cmyjucxQizhtW19sCxtdX1JwAW1kH9UasWBTz5IuUGCHXkbmic0q0oVD-TONMswh0EYbst1OjQgwIGKyMX4mOTYR4dx3R2z7reVMuPojA_-Jfrewv-V9j9bCe8DnPvN9sZnz9BzNhzhsUiqiSXJ2zRAh8hQAKzPGwdFhsD5wCjj0TtJGO/s1792/IMG_4804.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="828" data-original-width="1792" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-rRhYpHcZHe3cmyjucxQizhtW19sCxtdX1JwAW1kH9UasWBTz5IuUGCHXkbmic0q0oVD-TONMswh0EYbst1OjQgwIGKyMX4mOTYR4dx3R2z7reVMuPojA_-Jfrewv-V9j9bCe8DnPvN9sZnz9BzNhzhsUiqiSXJ2zRAh8hQAKzPGwdFhsD5wCjj0TtJGO/w640-h296/IMG_4804.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I think many here will be familiar with permaculture. There are many definitions for what permaculture is but I like to call it systems thinking. It’s a system of thinking that follows patterns we find in nature. And it’s not just about gardening. The principles of permaculture can be applied much more widely. So let me introduce you to the central principles of permaculture. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">1: PROTRACTED AND CAREFUL OBSERVATION</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The first thing to do is understand evidence and context - to understand where we are today - a base line to work from to design the future - <span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">careful and protracted observation</span> is a principle. Good design depends on thoughtful and protracted observation of nature and people. It is not generated in isolation, but through continuous and reciprocal interaction with the subject.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">2: CATCH AND STORE ENERGY</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The second principle is to catch and store energy. Conservation creates energy. It is based on the<span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;"> Laws of Thermodynamics</span>:</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span face="Arial-BoldItalicMT" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">First Law of Thermodynamics:</span><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;"> The law of conservation of energy</span>. Energy is neither created nor destroyed. The energy entering a system must be accounted for as either stored or leaking (entropy - as energy moves cycles through a system it loses force.) </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span face="Arial-BoldItalicMT" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Second Law of Thermodynamics:</span><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;"> </span>The law of degradation of energy<span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">.</span> In all processes energy loses its ability to do work and is degraded in quality over time. The tendency of potential energy to be consumed and degraded is described as <span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">entropy</span>, which is a measure of disorder, which always increases. (But in chaos is opportunity). When we conserve energy we are “creating” it for use in the future. We are slowing it down. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We design systems to provide self-reliance at all levels (including ourselves). Mollison writes that the prime directive of permaculture is the ethical decision to take responsibility for your own existence and that of your children - and by extension your community - to the seventh generation. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Captured and stored energy maintains the system and has potential to capture more energy. A sustainable system is one that produces more energy than it consumes over its lifetime - including energy used to create the system. In a sense we are manipulating entropy - slowing energy dissipation, an aikido move - rubbing water against more edges - more curves and dimension in design. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">3: OBTAIN A YIELD</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">There is no point planting a forest for the grandchildren if we don’t have enough food today. Without immediate and useful yields designs will tend to wither. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span face="Arial-BoldMT" style="font-weight: bold;">4:</span> <span face="Arial-BoldMT" style="font-weight: bold;">APPLY SELF-REGULATION AND ACCEPT FEEDBACK</span></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Creatively use and respond to change. This principle deals with self-regulatory aspects of permaculture that limit inappropriate growth, scale or behavior. Understanding how positive and negative feedback works in nature, we design systems that are self-regulating, thus reducing the work involved in repeated, harsh corrective management. The objective is self-managed systems. Permaculture is about the durability of natural living systems and human culture. Durability depends on flexibility and change.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">5: USE AND VALUE RENEWABLE RESOURCES AND SERVICES</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">When we use a tree for wood we use a renewable resource. When we use a tree for shade food and shelter we gain non-consuming benefits from the living tree that require no harvesting of energy. Water and wind are renewables, sunlight and wind and perennial plants are renewables. Soil as compost build soil and disposes waste. This simple understanding is obvious and powerful in redesigning systems. Understanding cycles and pulses in time and space as renewables. Where many simple functions are dependent on non-renewable and unsustainable, “cheap” energy”, it is unsustainable.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">6: PRODUCE NO WASTE</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Permaculture views waste as a resource and an opportunity. Apply traditional values of frugality and care to material goods. The earthworm lives by consuming plant litter (wastes) converting it to humus improving the soil for itself, soil microorganisms and plants. Thus the earthworm, like all living things, is a part of a web where the outputs of one are the inputs for another. This principle harkens back to <span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">energy, entropy and feedback</span> - to slow entropy and cycle energy back into the system on its journey through inevitable dissipation. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">7: DESIGN FROM PATTERN TO DETAILS</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In some ways this principle is the core of permaculture reveaed in the forest. The model of the forest provides opportunites to apply universal ecosystemic solutions for human land use. We <span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">mimic</span> nature. It includes stacking functions, vertical zones, polyculture, forest garden, edge-thinking and niches, water sheds and rivers, diversity, constants, resilience, redundancy, cycles, pulses and yields. It remains a powerful example of patterns which inform permaculture.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">For instance, there are constants and repeating patterns in nature like the branching pattern common to many systems; a tree has nine, seven or five branches and so do river systems (ie: a rill, a runnel, a crik, stream, river, delta, ocean), mountain ranges and sand dunes, waves and leaves and even our capillaries, our human skeletons follow similar scales, cycles, pulses and patterns. It helps us understand, repetition, scale and ratios in nature. Fibonacci, fractals and Mandelbrot inform pattern understand. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">8: INTEGRATE RATHER THAN SEGREGATE</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In every aspect of nature, from internal workings of organisms to whole ecosystems, we find connections between things are as important as the things themselves. Functional and self-regulating design accepts and interacts with other elements - a web of connections and biofeedback, symbiosis - diversity and redundancy. Correct placement of structures and habitats, plants, animals, earthworks and other infrastructure encourages a higher degree of integration and regulation without need for constant human input and corrective management. Allowing gravity to work for you - free energy to permeate design - provides elegant and cost-free solutions. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">9: USE SMALL AND SLOW SOLUTIONS</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Systems should be designed to perform many functions at the smallest scale practical and energy-efficiency for that function. The principal of sustainability applies - that of creating more energy than the system uses over the lifetime of the system. Human scale and capacity should be the yardstick for a humane, democratic and sustainable society.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span face="Arial-BoldMT" style="font-weight: bold;">10:</span> <span face="Arial-BoldMT" style="font-weight: bold;">USE AND VALUE DIVERSITY</span></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The great diversity of forms, functions and interactions in nature and humanity are the source of evolving systemic speciation and complexity. And diversity builds resiliency. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">11: USE EDGES AND VALUE MARGINS</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Tidal estuaries are complex interfaces between land and sea - a great ecological exchange between two great domains of life. One system meeting the other creates a third and different system comprising both. Edges are at minimum three dimensional. The shallow water allows penetration of sunlight for algae and plant growth providing forage areas for wading and other birds. Fresh water from catchment streams rides over the heavier saline water pulsing back and forth with the daily tides, redistributing nutrients and food for the teeming life. There are obvious societal implications to edges and margins - Spanish Harlem </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12k9Gyj0qXtGQ8hDxIrryexAw3KxgupOyCIrKB0k-OGeRyaPVId4wjuDvJBk4oXD7Vx_AKswfGlGZhoHUywlLxfQARXABCvh5tdH0tdxbnGeKTNBQXYMSWcPyJz5bH1oj5OGA6th2L9xDI4Tlsf9uLglzhu4ET2Sx4F_QCcZ8Vp3HQp8GWggrh6lVARY4/s1792/IMG_4806.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="828" data-original-width="1792" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12k9Gyj0qXtGQ8hDxIrryexAw3KxgupOyCIrKB0k-OGeRyaPVId4wjuDvJBk4oXD7Vx_AKswfGlGZhoHUywlLxfQARXABCvh5tdH0tdxbnGeKTNBQXYMSWcPyJz5bH1oj5OGA6th2L9xDI4Tlsf9uLglzhu4ET2Sx4F_QCcZ8Vp3HQp8GWggrh6lVARY4/w200-h93/IMG_4806.png" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12k9Gyj0qXtGQ8hDxIrryexAw3KxgupOyCIrKB0k-OGeRyaPVId4wjuDvJBk4oXD7Vx_AKswfGlGZhoHUywlLxfQARXABCvh5tdH0tdxbnGeKTNBQXYMSWcPyJz5bH1oj5OGA6th2L9xDI4Tlsf9uLglzhu4ET2Sx4F_QCcZ8Vp3HQp8GWggrh6lVARY4/s1792/IMG_4806.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">David Holmgren, </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxrZ8J4TcQqUA_aOrCU953E2xLMrNcah9-ekBd7WhyphenhyphenxtBR1foy91MBZEmdSzJ6fk9aqJDM4qR_Hb5DHbGyskN_gG4d7P2mzWaRKZ42XsXZgbiwlxdjecWZbvfR4_ic0v5tqXDJ7bV1BOnLkg37GmFuBqveiwNZydWMJe3C_8E30ei9hbzs77cjtwnxuVQc/s4032/IMG_4756.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxrZ8J4TcQqUA_aOrCU953E2xLMrNcah9-ekBd7WhyphenhyphenxtBR1foy91MBZEmdSzJ6fk9aqJDM4qR_Hb5DHbGyskN_gG4d7P2mzWaRKZ42XsXZgbiwlxdjecWZbvfR4_ic0v5tqXDJ7bV1BOnLkg37GmFuBqveiwNZydWMJe3C_8E30ei9hbzs77cjtwnxuVQc/w400-h300/IMG_4756.jpeg" width="400" /></a></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><blockquote style="border: medium; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQmLsbQt08YeZBFdXpbUAqsyd_ofbes3Pw3YH-L122IrWzi_IYSAktw0W0mvLCwQSL4mWxd7W3DvFE6tivFl37pkj35uU6TUuRNg-vhs0AiIws7HhrcuT0_xc6Gokw1yeCNzU36dtN0pfQXyzTN-HvdYD7s_EHYnoy2orOUFZznztIlx2GxVZDCw287SZ/s4032/IMG_4761.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><br /></a></p></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">CREATING NODES OF PERMANENCE.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">Andrew Leslie Phillips. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;"> </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I suggest society is in a constant state of annihilation anxiety and has been since the end of the Second World War. It is an undeniable part of our collective unconscious. In the same way, AIDS, the idea of terrorism, and the existential fear we are killing our planet are now part of the zeitgeist and the world in which we live. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In <span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">Bill Mollison’s</span> encyclopedic <span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">Permaculture: A Designer’s Manual </span>there are fourteen chapters. One deals with the problems and the remaining thirteen with what to do.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY0di6Jh6xVLyI-q4_7kgMNCg72NkdJXVY6yrUOifMk-gh2BICYC1_vN8Q4NE69d3UXWkYygz0xD3DLa15C4N8hK6EcUe8uLhHNsK9c5sRQqwLu-b49dpxYTu8po0VJXqnZzbMWV34bnnNlMkeozHmFyQmR9AtR56IGC0CtfAa4cNVFFZCAD_uuzMk6V9p/s1792/IMG_4808.png" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large; font-weight: bold; text-align: left;">From Pattern to detail - mycelium as a model. </span></a></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">When one side of a forest is attacked by pestilence, the other side begins to move away and leaf-out in an act of resistance and survival. We believe trees communicate through the mycelium fungus web which stretches through thousands of acres and covers areas as large as states beneath the ground.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The mycelium network is a membrane of interweaving, continuously branching cell chains just one cell wall thick. We believe it to be the neurological network of nature. Mycelium stays in constant molecular communications with its environment, devising diverse enzymatic and chemical responses to complex challenges. The mycologist <span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="font-style: italic;">Paul Stamets</span> was an early adopters of this idea. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The more we learn about these underground networks the more our ideas about plants have changed. They aren't just sitting there quietly growing. By linking to the fungal network they can help out their neighbors sharing nutrients and information – or sabotage unwelcome plants by spreading toxic chemicals through the network.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Around 90% of land plants are in mutually-beneficial relationships with fungi. Fungi have been called 'Earth's natural internet'</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 12px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In mycorrhizal associations, plants provide fungi with food in the form of carbohydrates. In exchange, the fungi help the plants suck up water, and provide nutrients like phosphorus and nitrogen, via their mycelia. </span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 12px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Fungal networks also boost their host plants' immune systems. That's because, when a fungus colonizes the roots of a plant, it triggers the production of defense-related chemicals. These make later immune system responses quicker and more efficient, a phenomenon called "priming". Simply <a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s10886-012-0134-6%20"><span style="color: #000099;">plugging in to mycelial networks</span></a> makes plants more resistant to disease.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 12px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">But that's not all. We now know that mycorrhizae also connect plants that may be widely separated. Fungus expert <a href="http://www.fungi.com/about-paul-stamets.html"><span style="color: #000099;">Paul Stamets</span></a> called them "Earth's natural internet" in <a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/paul_stamets_on_6_ways_mushrooms_can_save_the_world"><span style="color: #000099;">a 2008 TED talk</span></a>. He first had the idea in the 1970s when he was studying fungi using an electron microscope. Stamets noticed similarities between mycelia and ARPANET, the US Department of Defense's early version of the internet.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 12px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Film fans might be reminded of James Cameron's 2009 blockbuster <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0499549/"><span face="Arial-ItalicMT" style="color: #000099; font-style: italic;">Avatar</span></a>. On the forest moon where the movie takes place, all the organisms are connected. They can communicate and collectively manage resources, thanks to "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0499549/quotes?item=qt1131653"><span style="color: #000099;">some kind of electrochemical communication between the roots of trees</span></a>". Back in the real world, it seems there is some truth to this.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">And so as the forest responds, so should we. In permaculture we design by moving from pattern to detail. Nature teaches a survival tactic. By creating nodes of permanence, starting at home with our families, we create conditions for sharing, exchange and support, reliable and resilient connections on a softer and greener energy descent path.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We are part of nature and if we follow nature’s patterns we can regain harmony and recognize that our prime ethic and directive should be to our children, family and community and that nutritious food, clean air and water security are our birthright and the essential ingredients to organizing our lives.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">If we are to survive and prosper we need ways to protect ourselves from the inevitable devolution of the current system. It is unlikely the solution will come from governments, quite the opposite, since most governments rely on a growth economic model. That model has proven disastrous to our long-term future. We are going to have to learn to live with less fossil fuel energy, adapt and change and permaculture provides a proven model to help move to a new and sustainable model.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">But this need not be a return to agrarian oppression or the cave. In fact permaculture seeks to design systems of abundance not based on the conventional growth-depletion model but sustainable systems replicated many times, resilient and redundant fractals, self-repeating patterns described in the Mandelbrot set. The Mandelbrot set is a mathematical theorem describing an infinitely repeating pattern that shows up in nature. The Mandelbrot set is a superb and wondrous example of patterning and can be used to “pattern” what I call “nodes of permanence”.<span><sup> </sup></span></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Creating systems that mimic nature’s examples, tuning them to use less energy than they consume, feeding the energy back into the system as many times as possible until we create a web of outputs and inputs – one system feeding another - is a design imperative. A diagram of such a system has the appearance of a spider’s web, a resilient and redundant system of nodes and connections still working even when most of the web is broken. It can still catch a fly to feed the spider.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Some see a crash and burn descent curve, others a softer, greener descent. I think we have a choice and that change begins at home. The possibility of permanent culture spread far and wide inspires me despite the bleakness of the big picture. In permaculture we talk about “edge thinking” – we understand there is more life on the edge – where the field meets the forest and the sea meets the land<span>. Some say if you’re not on the edge, you’re taking too much room. </span></span></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBcYgjpa1nHEJNG2B5ux6Sw77m51G4DUjpOj4ISo83b-QJ23PWiSKn3RoyUlHQ8F1KXSifdqRxJBO3b_Tmpz5pp93XvSGFgqEpRN2ZH2Q5hRheVz_uaMsLDFPE0wu2LHwlC52VixN9F46sraAJQdT8C4saV34_-wlxgIw8Xf1fLSwZuIRKxJht2bSdzlN/s4032/IMG_4756.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBcYgjpa1nHEJNG2B5ux6Sw77m51G4DUjpOj4ISo83b-QJ23PWiSKn3RoyUlHQ8F1KXSifdqRxJBO3b_Tmpz5pp93XvSGFgqEpRN2ZH2Q5hRheVz_uaMsLDFPE0wu2LHwlC52VixN9F46sraAJQdT8C4saV34_-wlxgIw8Xf1fLSwZuIRKxJht2bSdzlN/s320/IMG_4756.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; 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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"> </p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.9px;"><br /></p>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-41968551715877420172024-02-28T08:05:00.000-08:002024-03-03T08:56:59.932-08:00Snaps and photos <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHRCNPsDWVXgl5YZEQI_8zTOIp7ywhVl-qZ6d3kzDFDnAPv_hMXjy3NcD9rc0tlOeBASn79uDHX1EJDNidj5F5xyhIXrGNaxhSYP_jkRv6uvIyfJ1W22LoRFjDsUyxWmQFa_JU_V2eGPVOGwwY2p-ORB5n5GTfASjCQX5XcFq_zgOKl9PyFOieeyN5Qmg/s4032/IMG_4673.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHRCNPsDWVXgl5YZEQI_8zTOIp7ywhVl-qZ6d3kzDFDnAPv_hMXjy3NcD9rc0tlOeBASn79uDHX1EJDNidj5F5xyhIXrGNaxhSYP_jkRv6uvIyfJ1W22LoRFjDsUyxWmQFa_JU_V2eGPVOGwwY2p-ORB5n5GTfASjCQX5XcFq_zgOKl9PyFOieeyN5Qmg/w400-h300/IMG_4673.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheAG3GSDH_XZLN2Vt-oPjLaxRfieNXAaW4jGhVH7P-V8-89FZ8u_QIiZspp6kCJKqWT__bD_N4rEqiLnaa3uODKVNGfoo1ltYKhRB71T5Z4JQKHDVYHE5L1qZEs_jfhUMTCDbcd4sAIa2OxGBk1hnd-oxWPHsVnZt7d_r_0t6tVs0wGVwekoIR9oVMpPHu/s4032/IMG_4668.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheAG3GSDH_XZLN2Vt-oPjLaxRfieNXAaW4jGhVH7P-V8-89FZ8u_QIiZspp6kCJKqWT__bD_N4rEqiLnaa3uODKVNGfoo1ltYKhRB71T5Z4JQKHDVYHE5L1qZEs_jfhUMTCDbcd4sAIa2OxGBk1hnd-oxWPHsVnZt7d_r_0t6tVs0wGVwekoIR9oVMpPHu/w400-h300/IMG_4668.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <span style="font-family: arial;">With David Brill, American Southwest. </span></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDysm0lz5IiYEh5Kq6iS3RBeF9xmszHj4MjsBx9qiNAxGccNu-0pe_2ktSFocdmNuGMogYpbPhu-fRx6w0tsPR4wObam7MtrcEa09BxzxZYl8QtfZ7h4jZFu2XcP0GthfBJ3UD4LF1ypSDnkkkxAYep3MAqDoPbtHVTPJOFKTciBzGv8vQ9t54uGINcPxf/s4032/IMG_4795.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDysm0lz5IiYEh5Kq6iS3RBeF9xmszHj4MjsBx9qiNAxGccNu-0pe_2ktSFocdmNuGMogYpbPhu-fRx6w0tsPR4wObam7MtrcEa09BxzxZYl8QtfZ7h4jZFu2XcP0GthfBJ3UD4LF1ypSDnkkkxAYep3MAqDoPbtHVTPJOFKTciBzGv8vQ9t54uGINcPxf/w400-h300/IMG_4795.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> Transcripts old school</span>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLPn0tKbFRwv5uwLrjU-auLK8uOEpCPZVRJF0nH9u0SzX_9Ju7Z40NRetHpgc0UzqP96NUNB_lt5N07T6kv_GWqvTLTO9jG1uqPoZUh4I5d1XFD_XhOIrwj72AK8KDIc_Kck1YYK7BqVplWOf4bR5aEA2tpZKXq-nXaWPiWhyphenhyphenzyHxJtS5IcequhxgmSlYw/s4032/IMG_4751.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLPn0tKbFRwv5uwLrjU-auLK8uOEpCPZVRJF0nH9u0SzX_9Ju7Z40NRetHpgc0UzqP96NUNB_lt5N07T6kv_GWqvTLTO9jG1uqPoZUh4I5d1XFD_XhOIrwj72AK8KDIc_Kck1YYK7BqVplWOf4bR5aEA2tpZKXq-nXaWPiWhyphenhyphenzyHxJtS5IcequhxgmSlYw/w400-h300/IMG_4751.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> Helen Caldicott in Nashville, Tennessee. 1978. </span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtfuqYQUIVJp8emxh9JncinvxkQjU6nH1L1RE2K3juvARXzlmV0obFfQYrvva3_EoGwchGQHvpTggUFufrQ-gC4t4ALmEjX7QkR80JNz721OrajkWOM7mB35P0GdhATe8VML27l4C3XjOeCTRmXnLHXIB2bFm3kp-3qDEgDO1ZJWp8IQLAZZEHu0QOcaeB/s4032/IMG_4662.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtfuqYQUIVJp8emxh9JncinvxkQjU6nH1L1RE2K3juvARXzlmV0obFfQYrvva3_EoGwchGQHvpTggUFufrQ-gC4t4ALmEjX7QkR80JNz721OrajkWOM7mB35P0GdhATe8VML27l4C3XjOeCTRmXnLHXIB2bFm3kp-3qDEgDO1ZJWp8IQLAZZEHu0QOcaeB/w400-h300/IMG_4662.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> Flores, coast road to Tikal and the Jaguar Inn. Guatemala. 1987</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgvHL2VBbsGzff_sFeS3v-GiuW1F3D9EzVnNq45XWaJPJTlWP1TW-CTwcux2RWW3eHyYoc3hI2kdqtDqecXTfcVw8GEar3UNFG5cxw2cHYx08St68zD7f1ROnI1ioDiWTOknpD9uFPCvRtxdTGakA6PPiJlTIDW6tKwoq3ZtHZ3qG0KEPILEKs72vqcBVq/s4032/IMG_4677.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgvHL2VBbsGzff_sFeS3v-GiuW1F3D9EzVnNq45XWaJPJTlWP1TW-CTwcux2RWW3eHyYoc3hI2kdqtDqecXTfcVw8GEar3UNFG5cxw2cHYx08St68zD7f1ROnI1ioDiWTOknpD9uFPCvRtxdTGakA6PPiJlTIDW6tKwoq3ZtHZ3qG0KEPILEKs72vqcBVq/w400-h300/IMG_4677.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: left;"> Morgan V8, Bonaire, Dutch Caribbean. </div></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeeP3IGHRlY3zzFJXh7fS2QgSLLG38yfX8gTir7r80DGua8fFC4K5L11lFMVRVPYQQ_Jsf3GtnkVFFK7k-eQbt7XZ-aq2LiBUuh7f9kASbUywM4oY_Vju4YtVovbr3HMVCexq5eLnvBGf2jVcLJhi3NH2pR6mce0TJKbvl-cNEixELK1P7wZFcgOYw7ig/s4032/IMG_4681.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeeP3IGHRlY3zzFJXh7fS2QgSLLG38yfX8gTir7r80DGua8fFC4K5L11lFMVRVPYQQ_Jsf3GtnkVFFK7k-eQbt7XZ-aq2LiBUuh7f9kASbUywM4oY_Vju4YtVovbr3HMVCexq5eLnvBGf2jVcLJhi3NH2pR6mce0TJKbvl-cNEixELK1P7wZFcgOYw7ig/w400-h300/IMG_4681.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></div><span style="font-family: arial;"> Leo Phillips. my father and me. Miss Moon’s cottage, Mt. Dandenong,</span> <span style="font-family: arial;">Victoria. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1rP1HftfOx9gIWqYjEzXJExBkDgsx_1M-UbLHCKJhMcu0aKAPaLzgE3O3cd8kJGN2GIIaoAuBukyeuh8LvcgjGvZiQTXSDQs4HLamiX1shskTHiSPEOchEW_gdwTnSenfOTnFjX7RAWhdWOU-CvSgVqN-nxMJ5PI6OICDuSyCHyN8Xrep6Kol6icGbfb/s4032/IMG_4792.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1rP1HftfOx9gIWqYjEzXJExBkDgsx_1M-UbLHCKJhMcu0aKAPaLzgE3O3cd8kJGN2GIIaoAuBukyeuh8LvcgjGvZiQTXSDQs4HLamiX1shskTHiSPEOchEW_gdwTnSenfOTnFjX7RAWhdWOU-CvSgVqN-nxMJ5PI6OICDuSyCHyN8Xrep6Kol6icGbfb/w400-h300/IMG_4792.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <span style="font-family: arial;">Mapping a journey, lay of the land</span>. </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyV798XAc7HLHlzhFTX_352NKMybiHZQKY9hHDTqy088KLDZJZhxucG5GD7JXtNoSkfohNmYLGvK68P9xySbG8ZIYJnTl7qas55xZujOi4ABeHEdgElY8hN-tmaSz-08QA0Z4LqeJbp-q9bMaj3hIQdqQm34WgfG7Jb0XSmBPQ7slhzeW3rPv7fkQIHs9w/s4032/IMG_4793.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyV798XAc7HLHlzhFTX_352NKMybiHZQKY9hHDTqy088KLDZJZhxucG5GD7JXtNoSkfohNmYLGvK68P9xySbG8ZIYJnTl7qas55xZujOi4ABeHEdgElY8hN-tmaSz-08QA0Z4LqeJbp-q9bMaj3hIQdqQm34WgfG7Jb0XSmBPQ7slhzeW3rPv7fkQIHs9w/w400-h300/IMG_4793.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvk2yIduim_IzezXqf6Eq9TO3EEIVnC_RDVrrIe_afNVzGzTb5B2vJmceVG0CzDGkGD0tIVk7mHkrSQIMWZS7LSN-RrVz_k3uj8Yn2HRSEKM0GSyoVnQoeyIshBfv500y1bHyTb6Ruoj1vj4Ga75Jd2_RygAGhhFMlcalihxhnofFdQMhw4iy2GItpxd_/s4032/IMG_4794.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvk2yIduim_IzezXqf6Eq9TO3EEIVnC_RDVrrIe_afNVzGzTb5B2vJmceVG0CzDGkGD0tIVk7mHkrSQIMWZS7LSN-RrVz_k3uj8Yn2HRSEKM0GSyoVnQoeyIshBfv500y1bHyTb6Ruoj1vj4Ga75Jd2_RygAGhhFMlcalihxhnofFdQMhw4iy2GItpxd_/w400-h300/IMG_4794.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> Melbourne Age, Saturday Review. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqtTGHrWpbM9Pd-uYtKKpewVHXr_KkaFKY6bZ_NqfJM88dNlLcnVyMHOnLN5-giEiql_Pz3VviADiWRCpeKhy7FDEaBRdjbXKx_WBRjas-xcVRHQYPu9040URsL9trr0yJAD1bsLYooYYWZx0Q7Grp7h_EBmI7__ZAWBwbxFFZ5RiWAx1vU838vjsR87b/s4032/IMG_4796.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqtTGHrWpbM9Pd-uYtKKpewVHXr_KkaFKY6bZ_NqfJM88dNlLcnVyMHOnLN5-giEiql_Pz3VviADiWRCpeKhy7FDEaBRdjbXKx_WBRjas-xcVRHQYPu9040URsL9trr0yJAD1bsLYooYYWZx0Q7Grp7h_EBmI7__ZAWBwbxFFZ5RiWAx1vU838vjsR87b/w400-h300/IMG_4796.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Office picnic with Geoffrey Wild and wife-to-be Libby mid sixties.</span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_c8tUzLRO1qgRRqzp8YG0lJVw5UuaL3wiLUYry27puF8_ifbfSpUXsAE-zrjhAol1Ua9F2wNa1ydCwATLBqmAdKauOf2OM5CpDssRKrCHz6lIAvKr51zkHK52J_fl8gIVHs2puhs80pYZGspciIYJjp-4u_tXZ6ltjHwvCSVSOfYPwKNceQ1P_18_AND/s4032/IMG_4797.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_c8tUzLRO1qgRRqzp8YG0lJVw5UuaL3wiLUYry27puF8_ifbfSpUXsAE-zrjhAol1Ua9F2wNa1ydCwATLBqmAdKauOf2OM5CpDssRKrCHz6lIAvKr51zkHK52J_fl8gIVHs2puhs80pYZGspciIYJjp-4u_tXZ6ltjHwvCSVSOfYPwKNceQ1P_18_AND/w400-h300/IMG_4797.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> On location Nevada chasing the atomic bomb. </span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoeihq4ajDYvvMlRZ-kAN0j56IGBMQjWw0QkZIr0a_648k49_zATW-hgrBLIDmbBYHVG4oCOYYFqPcOwZtVnjXjgD2NgW-SzIKgc6SiqEvU88sXNnR3yyTb6-GZvbjo49Qzbh9Mj1Tky1n1knTI98khyvLwGl05H_fmmJNEJ-i9eMSBH9G3egfYXbJ8vZ/s4032/IMG_4798.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoeihq4ajDYvvMlRZ-kAN0j56IGBMQjWw0QkZIr0a_648k49_zATW-hgrBLIDmbBYHVG4oCOYYFqPcOwZtVnjXjgD2NgW-SzIKgc6SiqEvU88sXNnR3yyTb6-GZvbjo49Qzbh9Mj1Tky1n1knTI98khyvLwGl05H_fmmJNEJ-i9eMSBH9G3egfYXbJ8vZ/s320/IMG_4798.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: left;"> Gone feral. </div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ECMbT7FLShddfhTh6w37reg7BCWb-tnZhh4dnSM5T81h3REm2aJ9N3sSS0boRwZ9URyrv5AaIGo5mcZQqp78YebapETi5Xpajjf36lgZITlUQLjDNdNTPTWpIo4CHPobakn4Mi1H38NlhHuiYp-cNQxxcoYZsPNrsX768JGgRplE-MNn_jtxCDuGiKnT/s4032/IMG_4799.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ECMbT7FLShddfhTh6w37reg7BCWb-tnZhh4dnSM5T81h3REm2aJ9N3sSS0boRwZ9URyrv5AaIGo5mcZQqp78YebapETi5Xpajjf36lgZITlUQLjDNdNTPTWpIo4CHPobakn4Mi1H38NlhHuiYp-cNQxxcoYZsPNrsX768JGgRplE-MNn_jtxCDuGiKnT/s320/IMG_4799.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> Papua New Guinea highlands late sixties. </span> </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_zDwuKvdeXX26LQzet6_D1I5x3XU0NpElgKKR4yXGFYrYkJzlDJhj4OeEsF1ttTlNcACqNLvhgSS_WWUyc6DaC2ONL8YTvCVjw7Ma49Er2Ufg7oNjAySb8lq_UAlKxlEGP458N4c7f3NZTgU_H8W1QhAzfQDTsGc6QceMkzm9WRYKKT-Hco6_5kHUkVc/s4032/IMG_4800.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_zDwuKvdeXX26LQzet6_D1I5x3XU0NpElgKKR4yXGFYrYkJzlDJhj4OeEsF1ttTlNcACqNLvhgSS_WWUyc6DaC2ONL8YTvCVjw7Ma49Er2Ufg7oNjAySb8lq_UAlKxlEGP458N4c7f3NZTgU_H8W1QhAzfQDTsGc6QceMkzm9WRYKKT-Hco6_5kHUkVc/w400-h300/IMG_4800.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Hinch and Laurie - late 90’s</span></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu7ArYMkcD2mFRQ1tvBXZUuqYlBGCodKPj3pVoBP5M_hoxAuEet9tdfYbDlgWFxHRBDtKpuelkZ0ETt5otn4Vq-WC0qXxYrH6LFS3QGoEFP9vuE-x-ETetZ5aT-AUpUffnMlByCsX0aWZmzcmjCFFv_Z9CU8r4A1n5P2yEiZXhtUHHnHA-08jpmZz7jOQV/s4032/IMG_4766.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu7ArYMkcD2mFRQ1tvBXZUuqYlBGCodKPj3pVoBP5M_hoxAuEet9tdfYbDlgWFxHRBDtKpuelkZ0ETt5otn4Vq-WC0qXxYrH6LFS3QGoEFP9vuE-x-ETetZ5aT-AUpUffnMlByCsX0aWZmzcmjCFFv_Z9CU8r4A1n5P2yEiZXhtUHHnHA-08jpmZz7jOQV/w400-h300/IMG_4766.jpeg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">Gordon “Mr. Bear” Bennett and his lovely Eclair -‘a single-magazine-always-in-focus wonder and me with Sennheiser 804 shotgun and Nagra in PNG. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEy69tnvA-WDVDlzxxEu7pk4NTsE7IEDkHFnhYm-chjs14xFbVIsUjt6Pxbz2qve6Owm-_MIIEOaZoycak9w-d8Bz1XdsRWcDQdp-LdIaRhlk4lQLTZvg8VfayHfyutKPncYtDScz69NbImpzfFWVTvbqC5qHb06QeVsp-p5WAnVcmz6_j1URk8f9t8zH/s4032/IMG_4768.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEy69tnvA-WDVDlzxxEu7pk4NTsE7IEDkHFnhYm-chjs14xFbVIsUjt6Pxbz2qve6Owm-_MIIEOaZoycak9w-d8Bz1XdsRWcDQdp-LdIaRhlk4lQLTZvg8VfayHfyutKPncYtDScz69NbImpzfFWVTvbqC5qHb06QeVsp-p5WAnVcmz6_j1URk8f9t8zH/w400-h300/IMG_4768.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: left;"> David Brill and his CP16, me with Bolex and</div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> Angenieux zoom lens contraption, ABC soundman leaning in with Sennheiser to Josephine Abaijah, Papaun Separatist in Port Moresby</span>. 1970’s. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqabFmaIGoI1FZ0fLpl2Bqnax3nWc95qtM3Wpw9Fqxmhrk3_Y_23FuJnS3OfjsYy_39s6snR7a_T1TMyg7yt3kx-SbQFk0EKxElKtxFb75SrIkqLXd3mfa1P2fgrgEmMakTtgxTEhaghgwdAgdXzVMpKUoBf0ITLf0S0BZeU1Dy1pG-SahAAeEoxbQr7Kq/s4032/IMG_4769.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqabFmaIGoI1FZ0fLpl2Bqnax3nWc95qtM3Wpw9Fqxmhrk3_Y_23FuJnS3OfjsYy_39s6snR7a_T1TMyg7yt3kx-SbQFk0EKxElKtxFb75SrIkqLXd3mfa1P2fgrgEmMakTtgxTEhaghgwdAgdXzVMpKUoBf0ITLf0S0BZeU1Dy1pG-SahAAeEoxbQr7Kq/w400-h300/IMG_4769.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div> With Ian Macintosh ABC at launch of space shuttle, Florida. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Qm9fii4kPcVph_8F8BKHFKzs4e0jj4gVVU61i8r7fxRWDxZ6IdgckmZdtYbBGgKROD9Rtsd3X2ce3jRaGT23tvJ9eOAtTBczCE_polwdyCeM55pmpm-WW7zlRUOkCa3nFnc7KuIuPGOTw_ViLUvrmaGILWteqeeUulwG2DKwSTz17ldVTp6xwida_r9J/s4032/IMG_4770.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Qm9fii4kPcVph_8F8BKHFKzs4e0jj4gVVU61i8r7fxRWDxZ6IdgckmZdtYbBGgKROD9Rtsd3X2ce3jRaGT23tvJ9eOAtTBczCE_polwdyCeM55pmpm-WW7zlRUOkCa3nFnc7KuIuPGOTw_ViLUvrmaGILWteqeeUulwG2DKwSTz17ldVTp6xwida_r9J/w400-h300/IMG_4770.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Bedford Stone yards outside NYC. Excellent bluestone and other varieties pricey but good. I preferred going to the source in Hancock. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdGrDAeXAvIi4jGc8A2WiHH01v6IzNT9pCTaZcPYUC-jyfW3WbafB5n2dYkWv-tc1zf2avnx2UhZT0M7dkDbwzeXglQ5nGYtFFz7OyZu648azeAQWEXbk05LGIpZhKrNW4H9BP-vWTQgBrkkHxgLde3PQrhA8Swc-7bM2v3cYpom-CUU0iJcs2OHg_mbt/s4032/IMG_4771.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdGrDAeXAvIi4jGc8A2WiHH01v6IzNT9pCTaZcPYUC-jyfW3WbafB5n2dYkWv-tc1zf2avnx2UhZT0M7dkDbwzeXglQ5nGYtFFz7OyZu648azeAQWEXbk05LGIpZhKrNW4H9BP-vWTQgBrkkHxgLde3PQrhA8Swc-7bM2v3cYpom-CUU0iJcs2OHg_mbt/w400-h300/IMG_4771.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc60XkIOZZ6oakxBAjORi0uiPKOzZ7oVjNim2jhRA0W_-pXV5mBy4nrYFup9cpWk6mFULZVDcTHwl_xz56OANizmmYTpah9MxrDpLMqqESkccMWbG3hejPnWwe887bY68_sKTPDHfEbHrsvkTYy6YC_KckU2CTIe-95Rx0SECOzIQ1PeTNMSP34qrW2f74/s4032/IMG_4744.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc60XkIOZZ6oakxBAjORi0uiPKOzZ7oVjNim2jhRA0W_-pXV5mBy4nrYFup9cpWk6mFULZVDcTHwl_xz56OANizmmYTpah9MxrDpLMqqESkccMWbG3hejPnWwe887bY68_sKTPDHfEbHrsvkTYy6YC_KckU2CTIe-95Rx0SECOzIQ1PeTNMSP34qrW2f74/w300-h400/IMG_4744.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> Jeannine Honicker at home</span>. Filming for “Nuclear Nashville”. </div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI02uf5gKSRI24lJ-aC-DJFlN_c9Yk_OXt21mTN66gkpY8YxpVJdrWCaX9GSBzsmNh3t86MgvmK1QvMoaVbzJt77rzwC-9U-ypB1tFNro2UuC7tRcORHG2ASVuAN3DgJY1l5moK95cYYKb-TLuspVZsU2HqBY4TlH7V_GLoMPBiZI_hCYOyr1_7uTtg2ap/s4032/IMG_4746.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI02uf5gKSRI24lJ-aC-DJFlN_c9Yk_OXt21mTN66gkpY8YxpVJdrWCaX9GSBzsmNh3t86MgvmK1QvMoaVbzJt77rzwC-9U-ypB1tFNro2UuC7tRcORHG2ASVuAN3DgJY1l5moK95cYYKb-TLuspVZsU2HqBY4TlH7V_GLoMPBiZI_hCYOyr1_7uTtg2ap/w300-h400/IMG_4746.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB7hMPLiawPdb6DiAl_WheSWl3J3WJthggFKtGdo_Spo8uNj7qLffqVm67K-yJ_k7_jo865tswWto5twptV9-sb8BuFkYNQMhYQyfyNAtgl0sjaciVNj1wxKr31a_EAC-5bmGy34TZUgYysB0SZXj9RJCOpHyaAebbmNaGoAF6xSPUBKcd6C9DmIejiopg/s4032/IMG_4748.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB7hMPLiawPdb6DiAl_WheSWl3J3WJthggFKtGdo_Spo8uNj7qLffqVm67K-yJ_k7_jo865tswWto5twptV9-sb8BuFkYNQMhYQyfyNAtgl0sjaciVNj1wxKr31a_EAC-5bmGy34TZUgYysB0SZXj9RJCOpHyaAebbmNaGoAF6xSPUBKcd6C9DmIejiopg/w300-h400/IMG_4748.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> Arlene and me in Brooklyn 1980’s</span>. </div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjckHGw0FJvotW2WpRBpnCXJtf8U5hbYm_mAn88OiHFYNX6Trq_CgnHjrv-LFtfGDrFKv5rDNI09sV0qyILF3UYg1AJV7dfio-qTvjUzONk4BdkWzhYJbAdF8rlsKtMrW26mrimGERGZs86FTaLs9y_2IahYESYSUcnYVDo5G8wILCv9BjsjsZaRsTo9EwM/s4032/IMG_4645.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjckHGw0FJvotW2WpRBpnCXJtf8U5hbYm_mAn88OiHFYNX6Trq_CgnHjrv-LFtfGDrFKv5rDNI09sV0qyILF3UYg1AJV7dfio-qTvjUzONk4BdkWzhYJbAdF8rlsKtMrW26mrimGERGZs86FTaLs9y_2IahYESYSUcnYVDo5G8wILCv9BjsjsZaRsTo9EwM/w400-h300/IMG_4645.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The Unheeded Message of the Holocaust. Poster for Jan Karsk interview.</span> </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnBKfm3qv7ZmQqAvgrXmOSXXBWnliNBomliIsXnlmyVehq-8mw53A0V3hRoxD3jjG_k22gLo13RMJWrCRKqLvypSJ4zzgPmuiVSyBv_CfXIm5LaeDDvq8eZhsD-5JXHkQOyNt1BGDr_Gks8hxQ3UvsgKkmpf_VjrsP6NQ9hXhhHu8Cdoqv287JvV0_x8i-/s1792/IMG_4656.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnBKfm3qv7ZmQqAvgrXmOSXXBWnliNBomliIsXnlmyVehq-8mw53A0V3hRoxD3jjG_k22gLo13RMJWrCRKqLvypSJ4zzgPmuiVSyBv_CfXIm5LaeDDvq8eZhsD-5JXHkQOyNt1BGDr_Gks8hxQ3UvsgKkmpf_VjrsP6NQ9hXhhHu8Cdoqv287JvV0_x8i-/w185-h400/IMG_4656.png" width="185" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">WBAI studio in the eighties- 39th St. , NYC. <br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSB_j2etlDegkbczeTW7lq-2NfZprGkt3XUtk4eWaxFzlr3Zl38T9SHz_oJwqtKuHVBrUUFpgv2vGIukckdHpORRrqBv-Faoy37h1L-g7rpjy4A5pXlgaX-hKKpeA-XGtO3VjoXbV4QWHsuSDQQgd93wEIi1jYZ2rUIcpkjDczxbRtwMHiR5q7IO19Snmx/s4032/IMG_4675.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSB_j2etlDegkbczeTW7lq-2NfZprGkt3XUtk4eWaxFzlr3Zl38T9SHz_oJwqtKuHVBrUUFpgv2vGIukckdHpORRrqBv-Faoy37h1L-g7rpjy4A5pXlgaX-hKKpeA-XGtO3VjoXbV4QWHsuSDQQgd93wEIi1jYZ2rUIcpkjDczxbRtwMHiR5q7IO19Snmx/w300-h400/IMG_4675.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: left;"> Havana, Cuba</div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpnY8Y9Dx8NXZcwITZrgQSDwVKl-jLu_P9_uGFCZ5CiyKErWMPhlczMolZkKmVHA5Vw-IamEQxtFK4edvj26xhnzjBJ-VSfeY-RHHrXz1fyMZVX8MdMnaDqxQIDo289xBhhq1ynF8dM5iCfWqqD2u3TSbHLrd6VgbnXNb_80Aj1KBvktHDSHfuV2SBUrmq/s4032/IMG_4678.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpnY8Y9Dx8NXZcwITZrgQSDwVKl-jLu_P9_uGFCZ5CiyKErWMPhlczMolZkKmVHA5Vw-IamEQxtFK4edvj26xhnzjBJ-VSfeY-RHHrXz1fyMZVX8MdMnaDqxQIDo289xBhhq1ynF8dM5iCfWqqD2u3TSbHLrd6VgbnXNb_80Aj1KBvktHDSHfuV2SBUrmq/w400-h300/IMG_4678.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> St Petersburg, Russia. 1986. </span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikaYUHhtPUw8shBTyR66wJ_X8IOsFjKLehFStRqwOBh86-4rU1NJP54rczxMMLr14g9__h84D-2iAYFJDW095ybI8bzI5_kvg5P5O-wxF1Qxnh3_8O5qp4x1onAT0lo07DEUSKbcZwspS2NVKWtO8zQCIylTFRNuh_fBPuP9jBlWcA65pZ2q18qbQbnOjM/s4032/IMG_4680.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikaYUHhtPUw8shBTyR66wJ_X8IOsFjKLehFStRqwOBh86-4rU1NJP54rczxMMLr14g9__h84D-2iAYFJDW095ybI8bzI5_kvg5P5O-wxF1Qxnh3_8O5qp4x1onAT0lo07DEUSKbcZwspS2NVKWtO8zQCIylTFRNuh_fBPuP9jBlWcA65pZ2q18qbQbnOjM/w400-h300/IMG_4680.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: left;"> Ian Macintosh (ABC), Hotel Nacional, Havana, Cuba. </div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM0ITZ4otVNE2YJCxGKMojCnCcln2zEZsPnk0KzUk4UXWMdvQG-h422bigGnI5-4fdC1n3CIHjeX6YsVuTXU2tUBG2K8CN5vQ6_SivtzsRDWPfX8_OIEWdkX8GkBwrDu0CU2BQRSfq2XHmoi0PiCKEs4V24M2SB-DkGt4Jexs8A_hXVVI2Y16aOG-5vl-B/s4032/IMG_4684.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM0ITZ4otVNE2YJCxGKMojCnCcln2zEZsPnk0KzUk4UXWMdvQG-h422bigGnI5-4fdC1n3CIHjeX6YsVuTXU2tUBG2K8CN5vQ6_SivtzsRDWPfX8_OIEWdkX8GkBwrDu0CU2BQRSfq2XHmoi0PiCKEs4V24M2SB-DkGt4Jexs8A_hXVVI2Y16aOG-5vl-B/w400-h300/IMG_4684.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Honicker V. Henry, Supreme Court challenge - Village Voice photo by Russell Honicker of his mother and lawyers </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Albert Bates and Joel Kosinski from The Farm in Tennessee - the spark for “Nuclear Nashville</span>”. <span style="font-family: arial;">1978</span>. </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixC_lsaK56TldPIQnSVfm9VPxgfoNtbcuuTv5QCIu6b_lsie-7L2LzgpHr-cxMnIFImc9CQ7X3y3FxPyXObbdlyb9tVnvep_17RTraMjhafV2VnePCKReE8fu2lzSfcbIp08Go3-IMX_8CEXi0DrmHj9kai5VxwZQKGOGjRebJn_mn-fSWN7tltEHx_3jE/s4032/IMG_4686.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixC_lsaK56TldPIQnSVfm9VPxgfoNtbcuuTv5QCIu6b_lsie-7L2LzgpHr-cxMnIFImc9CQ7X3y3FxPyXObbdlyb9tVnvep_17RTraMjhafV2VnePCKReE8fu2lzSfcbIp08Go3-IMX_8CEXi0DrmHj9kai5VxwZQKGOGjRebJn_mn-fSWN7tltEHx_3jE/w400-h300/IMG_4686.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHRCNPsDWVXgl5YZEQI_8zTOIp7ywhVl-qZ6d3kzDFDnAPv_hMXjy3NcD9rc0tlOeBASn79uDHX1EJDNidj5F5xyhIXrGNaxhSYP_jkRv6uvIyfJ1W22LoRFjDsUyxWmQFa_JU_V2eGPVOGwwY2p-ORB5n5GTfASjCQX5XcFq_zgOKl9PyFOieeyN5Qmg/s4032/IMG_4673.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHRCNPsDWVXgl5YZEQI_8zTOIp7ywhVl-qZ6d3kzDFDnAPv_hMXjy3NcD9rc0tlOeBASn79uDHX1EJDNidj5F5xyhIXrGNaxhSYP_jkRv6uvIyfJ1W22LoRFjDsUyxWmQFa_JU_V2eGPVOGwwY2p-ORB5n5GTfASjCQX5XcFq_zgOKl9PyFOieeyN5Qmg/w400-h300/IMG_4673.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>On the road <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjiT1B5vKU6R5DUosZeTq54paFeTuryi_tAbU1XhHdHsyIFBzS8FweiGZgrluzfwMdOIVSPUNYpelC_QCU7z0K2Htgzj90mEyPSRKWGM_e1D0646dJ7MYGJ-7t-81UFjrrZgE5ThpePai541weNSva3fQq0vM4Ky0pt7e4SvZh5XRDER7EBaBqPNABHgl-/s4032/IMG_4730.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjiT1B5vKU6R5DUosZeTq54paFeTuryi_tAbU1XhHdHsyIFBzS8FweiGZgrluzfwMdOIVSPUNYpelC_QCU7z0K2Htgzj90mEyPSRKWGM_e1D0646dJ7MYGJ-7t-81UFjrrZgE5ThpePai541weNSva3fQq0vM4Ky0pt7e4SvZh5XRDER7EBaBqPNABHgl-/w400-h300/IMG_4730.jpeg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Jeanine Honicker and David S..Freeman (TVA) Knoxville, Tennessee</span><span style="text-align: left;">. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqgiVOUNp_r_WTxHSSzAgn8Z_T6I0zD8gpdT2XEzqhUfTORAJXPnwJPNjxvIts-XkFye-xtVz56nBYDMwEUF0leddYSsR8kYqHKdA0fSz1hrq8nptjc-8F3GSunOjzMb8h3v0vjIdAos85VjhCXhGZiYnQUMqtscqJwz1JIqrhyu5g1eTkiJiGePu6guaR/s4032/IMG_4731.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqgiVOUNp_r_WTxHSSzAgn8Z_T6I0zD8gpdT2XEzqhUfTORAJXPnwJPNjxvIts-XkFye-xtVz56nBYDMwEUF0leddYSsR8kYqHKdA0fSz1hrq8nptjc-8F3GSunOjzMb8h3v0vjIdAos85VjhCXhGZiYnQUMqtscqJwz1JIqrhyu5g1eTkiJiGePu6guaR/w400-h300/IMG_4731.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP9Z16fD-JtishGpOnjiHyF7h1FCUKUSwi4VtjvVGTD1IZr1FRaxtEp6W2I2vKj2IQeMKhsJq9drsrLAWiTJo8A_5WfJUeAAFyhl7RaOjWnVfb6pDtW-u5F0M2bm0NmlyTQdWY0RCIDugVBYZ6YYCTC86JFcdaCIeJmWF32FjW0dTBK4akiwPTUouw-xdW/s4032/IMG_4733.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP9Z16fD-JtishGpOnjiHyF7h1FCUKUSwi4VtjvVGTD1IZr1FRaxtEp6W2I2vKj2IQeMKhsJq9drsrLAWiTJo8A_5WfJUeAAFyhl7RaOjWnVfb6pDtW-u5F0M2bm0NmlyTQdWY0RCIDugVBYZ6YYCTC86JFcdaCIeJmWF32FjW0dTBK4akiwPTUouw-xdW/w400-h300/IMG_4733.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> With Jeff McMullen on on the road in the southwest. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVKnJShDYEd-WJ_4GaR1Ip-rlq-iINjii_VLjhK1EP1XG1K03aTfvfVNk0K0FhYjITMTBFdYpAGmgEM8MLf8zhsMH8xPrMTEIJXeEtJeQxkXyznqIroEA4eUD2fTy8CmuPuvxjFZk35sDboKyeCkUcQe48cA9D1DVjpytQ92fVma7oU_WVj2JRBrof1hXk/s4032/IMG_4738.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVKnJShDYEd-WJ_4GaR1Ip-rlq-iINjii_VLjhK1EP1XG1K03aTfvfVNk0K0FhYjITMTBFdYpAGmgEM8MLf8zhsMH8xPrMTEIJXeEtJeQxkXyznqIroEA4eUD2fTy8CmuPuvxjFZk35sDboKyeCkUcQe48cA9D1DVjpytQ92fVma7oU_WVj2JRBrof1hXk/w400-h300/IMG_4738.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggnRtgQ7Jpqz9uqpsxMvtY6wBRiuy8tV-wUBNe5vSeTnu7i3N8lzk2wjqtCmtu00gJ6BjbdwXR3fpw3_YKVKK3zpPgCGaH59pKsU9TDJnfWsgGTOt7FA5Tl9RSRIQYOa6Z6hvuyRoooqCsM9wfaCvDPYIMB_tqOpyEm18_noErv6RjXj0cuYUKZCg7aoEq/s4032/IMG_4739.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggnRtgQ7Jpqz9uqpsxMvtY6wBRiuy8tV-wUBNe5vSeTnu7i3N8lzk2wjqtCmtu00gJ6BjbdwXR3fpw3_YKVKK3zpPgCGaH59pKsU9TDJnfWsgGTOt7FA5Tl9RSRIQYOa6Z6hvuyRoooqCsM9wfaCvDPYIMB_tqOpyEm18_noErv6RjXj0cuYUKZCg7aoEq/w400-h300/IMG_4739.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKBoyi62y7ZAkRImj0KVAqRsfihZEtOqgAQYdIjuoap2fBL4dkhu_lTqNBMXxLGYsNUA5tbhpax_CdS-hhB9NY4-ScHDXTBzxd8NPDKwFwdCzrkyr4-Qqsz9dhmkuHsaYOIABs9hywB-LVKsTO4EBMoIE-xvdjRWjp8GGGeepjNxzhXnR3spsD-ALrIx4S/s4032/IMG_4740.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKBoyi62y7ZAkRImj0KVAqRsfihZEtOqgAQYdIjuoap2fBL4dkhu_lTqNBMXxLGYsNUA5tbhpax_CdS-hhB9NY4-ScHDXTBzxd8NPDKwFwdCzrkyr4-Qqsz9dhmkuHsaYOIABs9hywB-LVKsTO4EBMoIE-xvdjRWjp8GGGeepjNxzhXnR3spsD-ALrIx4S/w400-h300/IMG_4740.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3F_Iw2n87muk1m7_IGHqQSoSI8C6gZCkBCP2kQDR0HBetjbWrDCKyPkYEvPoHD1bfpwJWedUCu99C0VdnJuajWsSIjcxKxDuDgKrAPr-CgPCbYDFBv1pM-dwoj77wSnJ8l1QOX2-YRm6-jRmsCQSRhEbwZM2NJiHdYeCCBhv5taMCTWvXsReBAal3dBTt/s4032/IMG_4669.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3F_Iw2n87muk1m7_IGHqQSoSI8C6gZCkBCP2kQDR0HBetjbWrDCKyPkYEvPoHD1bfpwJWedUCu99C0VdnJuajWsSIjcxKxDuDgKrAPr-CgPCbYDFBv1pM-dwoj77wSnJ8l1QOX2-YRm6-jRmsCQSRhEbwZM2NJiHdYeCCBhv5taMCTWvXsReBAal3dBTt/w400-h300/IMG_4669.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> With Richie Havens and Capt. Mike in the Caribbean. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-50790275723190950422024-02-27T14:18:00.000-08:002024-02-27T14:18:52.853-08:00Camino Real, San Salvador<p> </p><p><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">El San Salvador. Circa 1988 WPP notes</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The Camino Real Hot.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Saturday night. Two blocks from El Salvador’s Camino Real Hotel in the capital. Mariachi musicians in tight yellow pants and jackets cinched at the waist - guitars,violins and curvaceous bass fiddle. On the Boulevard los Heroes soliciting work.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">In the hotel entrance the attendant bows and clicks open the door of the shining Mercedes. A dark skinned Indian maid carries a small child in a ruffled white shirt to the limousine. The elegantly dressed couple slide in and the door clicks shut and they drive off into the night. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The affluent elite is cloistered from the war. They live in high-walled mansions with full-time, heavily armed body guards. There are said to be fourteen families that run El Salvador and this is the pattern throughout the Americas. If you have money and influence it is unlikely you’ll be drafted into the army. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">La Libertad</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">That afternoon at the seaside town of La Liberdad we find a restaurant with a few tables outside overlooking the ocean. It’s a relief to leave the oppressiveness of the capital. The air by the sea is cooler and there are families in small groups, lying on the gray sand. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">As we order a drink, three musicians approach and smiling broadly stand in a semi-circle around us and begin playing. The guitar is scratched and worn but the melody is sweet and he sings from his chest in a loud baritone. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>His teeth glint with the gold in his mouth and his dark eyes shine. The bass fiddle thumps and the musician pulls and plucks at the thick amber strings and the fiddle man sways with the music.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The sea is brown like weak milk coffee and as warm. It slaps on the coarse gray sand and the volcanic rocks at the base of a cliff. I can smell raw sewage and the brine of the sea and lobster that now rests on my plate. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And white gulls are floating overhead and the palm trees bend and there are green nylon nets drying in the sun. Three black pelicans stand in a shallow pool in the rocks and a dog runs through the waves as they crash on the rocks and there’s a boy climbing high on the cliff face.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">We leave the restaurant and find a taxi back to the capital. It’s a half hour drive. It’s dusk and we climb the steep road inland from the coast. We pass a straining bus belching stinking blue diesel pulling up the hill. It’s dry as dead bones and black leafless branches twisted and skeletal. Birds float like ashes in the sky.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">As the sun goes down the Pacific Ocean stretches in a purple sheet behind us. We pass a man sprawled unconscious on the roadside in the gravel. He has no shirt. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There’s a bird for sale in a cage close by. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And now the sky is turning green like a wound and smells of rain. And the clouds sag and seep across the mountains and one leaden drops explodes on the windscreen, a mercury hole in the dust and then a torrent and suddenly it’s dark. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Approaching the capital in the steaming night, blazing blue lights ignite the darkness - razor wire rolling in silver coils along the high concrete wall. A soldier in tight camouflage-pants with black silver-studded holster holding his machete, black leather leggings. An M16. He’s standing at the entrance gate.</span></p>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-71431898939853465842024-02-27T07:32:00.000-08:002024-02-29T06:15:41.920-08:00Traveling to America first stopTahiti<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jVTizlGAjLJIPMTyLdKxoIka0oDVwQb3YQLCVODgJQN0tS8DiFaSf1MbkZN7FsaT5iL2lNqrBvdkGP_VtXqDKnWRLP8Vw3dZe4N2blPi0k8T1oXBM2N5NGwcJ1tu24I9VvSjxe0_o9PM4SyTRonKM8Pv9wGq1qgK84ZOmfYy860Eo8eUYnMfUS_k1iMH/s4032/IMG_4715.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="429" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jVTizlGAjLJIPMTyLdKxoIka0oDVwQb3YQLCVODgJQN0tS8DiFaSf1MbkZN7FsaT5iL2lNqrBvdkGP_VtXqDKnWRLP8Vw3dZe4N2blPi0k8T1oXBM2N5NGwcJ1tu24I9VvSjxe0_o9PM4SyTRonKM8Pv9wGq1qgK84ZOmfYy860Eo8eUYnMfUS_k1iMH/w572-h429/IMG_4715.jpeg" width="572" /></a></div><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span>I was on the road again and </span><span>the feeling of leaving was intoxicating. I’d rented my small house to a friend I’d known in Port Moresby. I had money in the bank. A fistful of traveler’s checks. My cameras. A documentary film proposal. And a reel of my film to show potential backers. I felt ready for another adventure. </span><span>I was flying away, escaping, rising into the clouds</span><span> fortunate and relieved to be alone and in another world. Melbourne’s Tullamarine airport faded into the hazy distance and the blue Pacific Ocean glinted </span>in the harsh Australian light as I headed for America. I wondered when I might return. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: arial;">My plans were open ended, </span><span style="font-family: arial;">to travel to San Francisco, and then south to Los Angeles, keep traveling into Mexico and South America and then make my way back to New York City. I hoped money and support for my film projects would ensue</span></span><span style="font-family: arial;">. </span></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It’s a long flight to America from the other side of the world, almost twenty-four hours and I decided to break the journey in Tahiti. The Tahitian Islands are a French protectorate. The French invaded in 1842 and they still occupied French Polynesia when I landed at Tahiti’s Faa'a International Airport in November, 1976.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgf5M_16KVhPZZaGpgchgMBJwzdiTnhCQSJdJplHo5Lj5rgrDUIkmHBQOTzJpv_XKK_LpTjxctT9yfSxb9v9dd-6fNQ2yeFl3HcWeRxF1Jp_ltPog1wES9EH8tjGa53Zqf4amQCMD2yccOhrB4AEqKogkH-6B4poWXvB9f58J6kawIz9rXLjuhPsXyjh1n/s1792/IMG_4711.png" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="828" data-original-width="1792" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgf5M_16KVhPZZaGpgchgMBJwzdiTnhCQSJdJplHo5Lj5rgrDUIkmHBQOTzJpv_XKK_LpTjxctT9yfSxb9v9dd-6fNQ2yeFl3HcWeRxF1Jp_ltPog1wES9EH8tjGa53Zqf4amQCMD2yccOhrB4AEqKogkH-6B4poWXvB9f58J6kawIz9rXLjuhPsXyjh1n/w400-h185/IMG_4711.png" width="400" /></a></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><br /></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Oh Tahiti, such a spoiled and beautiful creature.The French colonialists came and tourists with pockets full of money followed. Your women, beautiful vahine, dusky and hair flowing to your shoulders and skin like honey and eyes that dance and shine. I smell pungent frangipani and tiare the national flower of the island, precious jewels resting in dazzling settings in shiny, dark, green foliage, blossoms tucked behind your ears. Hibiscus blooms are shining in the shadows. </span></p><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I take a cab into town. Women perch on pinion seats of Vesper motor cycles which sputter, zoom and swerve. Lithe arms wrapped around the waist of their drivers. Legs delicately displayed, knees clasped tight their modesty beguiling. The streets are lined with small shops full of tourist curios and beads strung on display on the sidewalk. The pluck and strum of ukuleles floats from bars and cafes, windows are flung wide open and crowded buses push and bully their way through the traffic.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In the harbor I see expensive ocean-going yachts and, in the distance, gray French war ships. The military vessels remind me that Tahiti is where the French test nuclear bombs. Between 1966 and 1974 Tahiti was subjected to fallout from 41 atmospheric nuclear tests conducted 720 miles away at Moruroa Atoll and Fangataufa, in the Tuamotu archipelago. And then between 1975 and 1996 came 140 underground nuclear tests at the same sites.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Herman Melville was imprisoned in Tahiti in 1842 and his experiences became the basis for his novel Omoo. Robert Louis Stevenson spent time in Papeete in 1888 and French artist, Paul Gauguin journeyed here in 1891 and stayed until his death.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I was to visit the Musée Gauguin on the other side of the island one rainy afternoon. I drove my rented jeep, hood down, feeling the spiced air and the warm rain on my skin, marveling at the beauty. The buildings and hotels were not tall pretentious monoliths, but sat low, obscured by coconut trees as the government had legislated. Everything was green and wet, the undergrowth tumbling down to the roadside and the local people, self-contained and diffident, going about their business as I left the bustle of Papeete and headed into the countryside. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Gauguin was frustrated by lack of recognition in France and financially destitute when he arrived on the island in the late eighteen hundreds. He sailed to the tropics to escape European civilization and "everything that is artificial and conventional". He made several attempts to find a tropical paradise where he might live on fish and fruit and paint in his increasingly primitive style. There were short stays in Martinique and before he found Tahiti he worked as a laborer on the Panama Canal.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">His works of the period are full of quasi-religious symbolism and an eroticized view of the inhabitants of Polynesia. He sided with the native peoples and made love to the women, clashed often with the colonial authorities and the Catholic Church. He died of syphilis, his body weakened by alcohol and his dissipated life. It was 1903 and he was 54 years old.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTunEiyuCVwL6OsD5Mlu852uGtqI_U8ivL7Fsb2lkLvJcrOQJmbiiR3KlrSZnmKTk-jRk5LRYqw68MzuQLiw6pTqWb2P7osIZHCvo6trPYQ5JebDsKxt754I7j_zjB1WsZbhBHmlF6qSKGgplYDqx6fC79wthjF8J5E69_W1Wi7V_zlJQPypB2U3ESMAa/s1792/IMG_4710.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTunEiyuCVwL6OsD5Mlu852uGtqI_U8ivL7Fsb2lkLvJcrOQJmbiiR3KlrSZnmKTk-jRk5LRYqw68MzuQLiw6pTqWb2P7osIZHCvo6trPYQ5JebDsKxt754I7j_zjB1WsZbhBHmlF6qSKGgplYDqx6fC79wthjF8J5E69_W1Wi7V_zlJQPypB2U3ESMAa/w185-h400/IMG_4710.png" width="185" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I stay for two weeks in Tahiti. I take deck space on a tramp steamer with the natives and their chickens to visit the islands of Raiatea and Huahina, eight hours steaming time from the capital. In the distance I see the clouded peaks of Bora Bora jutting out of the sea. I feel like a shipwrecked sailor, alone on a journey, meeting the flotsam and jetsam who live in beach huts under coconut trees amid tropic spender, runaways from the civilized life,</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">There is a young French couple on the beach. She is lovely to look and her voice is like music. He is just beautiful; slim, tanned with curling hair to his shoulders. They’ve worked at Club Med around the world but now they’ve dropped out and live in this small shack near the sea. We talk for a while in fractured English and then I leave them. It’s a bit strange to just leave like this because nobody else is here – just us - and it’s rare in this French colony to find people who speak English. But I reckon they’ve come to get away and I don’t want to destroy their privacy. I return to Papeete to prepare for the last leg of my journey to America.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Zj0HoOqjPLbdJBsqgjBLIxwEn9_O0bZ9kQ-KuBR68Urb4UNFIopRtNL0P7YXmKeTRUcHQCNKBUraEd77CW-hM85TpyAuCkdHIIfFPK8Wz_vM7E6i-WJ7sjeaKRO3RBTxA4R6gumqLedWk3xfE4q6bBH6sA3uv2h6RXffB_X1ey96YCC3e9F0IZOIZP8f/s4032/IMG_4712.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Zj0HoOqjPLbdJBsqgjBLIxwEn9_O0bZ9kQ-KuBR68Urb4UNFIopRtNL0P7YXmKeTRUcHQCNKBUraEd77CW-hM85TpyAuCkdHIIfFPK8Wz_vM7E6i-WJ7sjeaKRO3RBTxA4R6gumqLedWk3xfE4q6bBH6sA3uv2h6RXffB_X1ey96YCC3e9F0IZOIZP8f/w400-h300/IMG_4712.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I was in love with Tahiti and wondered if I should leave at all. Life was so easy here. Sitting at outdoor cafés in the cool of early mornings. Sipping café au lait and breaking freshly baked crusty French bread slathered with creamy beurre. Watching the locals, their floral patterned sarongs and colored shirts, hair shinning, moving slowly and quietly smiling At dusk near the wharf, eating ceviche, the briny taste of fresh raw fish marinated in lime juice with hot spices, sipping Hinano beer. One evening I met a local journalist interested in my film and he invited me to show it on the local television station. And then he invited me to the local yacht club’s annual ball.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I remember the last day, attending a church service at the LMS church. The London Missionary Society spread their gospel throughout the Pacific and though I was leery of their proselytizing and zeal to interfere and change what seemed the perfect life, I loved the old familiar hymns. Sitting in the midst of those lovely people, listening to their music struck a strong chord somewhere deep inside. I began to weep. It was like weeping with a woman you love, weeping because you are leaving but still loving her. A fruitless weeping that makes you feel no better at all – just terribly sad.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The women’s choir seemed from another time and place, dressed in flowing white cassocks with small black hats perched atop their flowing black hair. No longer were they the beauteous, idealized goddesses I’d seen on the beaches, in the bars and on the streets. There was an innocence and transparent splendor in their simple harmonies that warmed my soul. I wished I had their belief and trust but could not find it in my dark heart. My sweet and bitter tears flowed and I shuddered with gratitude to feel and connect with their simple faith. The music penetrated my very essence. After the service I went outside into the bright sunlight, smelt the clean fresh air and walked back to my hotel feeling uplifted and sublime.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I was staying in a hotel straight out of a Graham Greene novel. The paint was peeling, the windows were shuttered, the overhead fans slowly circling and the fragrance of sweet frangipani drifting in the air. It was my last night in Tahiti and I jumped into my rented jeep and headed for the yacht club ball.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">As I turned a corner that night and stopped at one of the few traffic lights in town, I heard the familiar strum of ukuleles flowing from a bar across the street. The windows and doors were flung wide open and soft yellow light spilled out onto the sidewalk. I could see the patrons inside, tall, beautiful Tahitian women, dressed stylishly, sitting on stools or standing talking and sipping their drinks. As I entered the bar they turned as one and smiled and invited me to join them.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I was in a kind of paradise, sipping strong liquor, surrounded by exotic creatures who might easily have slipped off a Gauguin canvas. I could have stayed all night but had my appointment at the yacht club ball. I invited two of my new friends to join me. By now I was well primed for the party and we clambered into the jeep, one beauty beside me, the other crammed in the back and soon we arrived at the yacht club.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The party was in full swing and the champagne was flowing. I sat with my two companions and noted the furtive glances aimed in my direction by some at the table. I was a stranger in town and I’d had a couple of drinks – I was firing on all cylinders - I didn’t care and I took to the dance floor with gusto.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">As the night drew longer and the party wound down, I held my partner closer and kissed her hard mouth without reservation. She was tall and languorous in my arms and I felt an urgent need to return to my hotel. It was late now and the streets deserted as we left. We were drunk and aroused and we rubbed against the dew-laden shrubs and decorous bushes that lined the entrance to the hotel as we swayed down the narrow path to my room.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I shut the door behind us and reached for her as she threw her head back in supplication as my hand found her crotch. But what was this? I felt the swelling of her sex and suddenly realized this was no vahine, no woman of the night, no analog to the paintings I’d admired in the Musée Gauguin, this was a man dressed as woman, a Tahitian transvestite. “Il a homme,” I exclaimed in excitement and shock. But alas, is was too late for discrimination. My lust knew neither man nor woman. My desire was such that I forewent convention and plunged in – fools walk in where angels fear to tread.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">As dawn broke my two companions left leaving me with head thumping and a kind of virginity broken. I smiled at my naiveté and realized why the Tahitians at the ball had watched with such interest and knowing smiles as I’d danced and held my partner close that night. I felt a kind or elation and pride at my performance for I had done as I felt, without judgment. Soon I was to pay the price.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjffyaccjah9tXlo0d3c-GeNfUjWszGPoZrcADQ0G8ff_Iw88CNy5S5GaUaPIpjWigb7gt2YuqMUkt3DtLOpMBcpflCUpQmV7nJp7yL1X42p4SerYI7QoRPOrrNT3iQxn8E5PQQa0Eupy45ffH1bDBTUHmUOFXO5PglizOkxNCYqAP_aCSglTWuHBjGyqFX/s1792/IMG_4716.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="828" data-original-width="1792" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjffyaccjah9tXlo0d3c-GeNfUjWszGPoZrcADQ0G8ff_Iw88CNy5S5GaUaPIpjWigb7gt2YuqMUkt3DtLOpMBcpflCUpQmV7nJp7yL1X42p4SerYI7QoRPOrrNT3iQxn8E5PQQa0Eupy45ffH1bDBTUHmUOFXO5PglizOkxNCYqAP_aCSglTWuHBjGyqFX/w640-h296/IMG_4716.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;"><br /></p>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-77946705662348370072024-02-24T12:28:00.000-08:002024-02-27T12:32:01.958-08:00Percy Cerutty<p></p><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2BKEApdKR4Lcl8yBT7UEA4M1dnhdlUuTKrJDWZIwq87dbVLa366WQMcztS184fclrj-TEIvqb_ShSbxjzZSLLXT-MQtxmmGbBjPfwINsbMHWqyz5vvQ5HYTUUSrJ_HdEJSfWMYeRyT5-x_wSwn8eMaT8NF0RyxTqSx69ZaZFJAi-DP4vcercJEmDfyMV/s484/percy%20cerutty.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="484" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2BKEApdKR4Lcl8yBT7UEA4M1dnhdlUuTKrJDWZIwq87dbVLa366WQMcztS184fclrj-TEIvqb_ShSbxjzZSLLXT-MQtxmmGbBjPfwINsbMHWqyz5vvQ5HYTUUSrJ_HdEJSfWMYeRyT5-x_wSwn8eMaT8NF0RyxTqSx69ZaZFJAi-DP4vcercJEmDfyMV/w400-h301/percy%20cerutty.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">One day my father sat me down and told me he’d booked me into a physical training camp not far from where we lived. I’d heard of Percy Cerutty and sometimes seen a small, gnome-like man with wispy snow-white hair and white whiskers in the dimple on his chin driving slowly through our small seaside village in his big old black Daimler.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></div><div><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">As a young man Percy worked in the Australian post office. He suffered from a weak chest and general malaise. In his forties he started running and he ran himself into good health as an extreme marathon exponent. Now athletes came to Portsea to learn and he began teaching running clinics.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The camp was in the sand dunes near the Portsea back beach. You could hear the mighty Bass Straight waves booming. Great athletes trained here, men who ran in Olympic games and broke world records, and football players from first grade Australian League football clubs.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Percy and his wife Nancy set up their training camp in these scrubby dunes. It was a simple affair - flywire screened dinning room where we crowded together for breakfast eating raw oats, nuts, sliced banana, raisins and honey with hot tea. Afterwards we rested on our bunks till the 11am lecture or <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>pushed weight around - the hunk of railway steel we’d deadlift. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We’d already been up early for our first work out. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4B6CNaHmtTbDNRAqfvVOMtO-z_4q28h1MwO6O1dmRmwyDTTBgGfV5RDu4zl1DXgFX8P4-yghireQmRazOU9nshxAQlq8-tBdRjtKhJJlyPkUtOgq-OLc0ygCEXS2Wo7AlPUuJgwAGNYT8Gjwi7boIIf_LdhXqVZ-2I1_3bL89aZ3x6FZLLwLW_pmD1nYp/s1792/IMG_4522.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4B6CNaHmtTbDNRAqfvVOMtO-z_4q28h1MwO6O1dmRmwyDTTBgGfV5RDu4zl1DXgFX8P4-yghireQmRazOU9nshxAQlq8-tBdRjtKhJJlyPkUtOgq-OLc0ygCEXS2Wo7AlPUuJgwAGNYT8Gjwi7boIIf_LdhXqVZ-2I1_3bL89aZ3x6FZLLwLW_pmD1nYp/s320/IMG_4522.png" width="148" /></a></div><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">We ran through the sand dunes and Percy showed us how to stiffen our arms like levers and pistons to accelerate pumping legs in the soft warm sand </span> <span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">climbing the dunes ankle deep pumping brown arms pulling at the air then racing down to the surf flinging off our running shorts and diving into the cold green sea. </span><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><br /><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GT5kzr76MrtMlA5eE7W1P03XoRdADT6XRkHAQ8HFPWhfKuEqJZv_GAq7Rj255rORHre043BOvOtbeoSll2bmFem3WOLNfu7QFW3yo1vJ12Rw6yEfe5G-ED_gZB5Re3DSiCE2cKImJytGG4azN9TP-29QoHs6XUTDXh4pyAH6QgoU4DhoAJ1TtEBIBwzc/s1792/IMG_4521.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GT5kzr76MrtMlA5eE7W1P03XoRdADT6XRkHAQ8HFPWhfKuEqJZv_GAq7Rj255rORHre043BOvOtbeoSll2bmFem3WOLNfu7QFW3yo1vJ12Rw6yEfe5G-ED_gZB5Re3DSiCE2cKImJytGG4azN9TP-29QoHs6XUTDXh4pyAH6QgoU4DhoAJ1TtEBIBwzc/s320/IMG_4521.png" width="148" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GT5kzr76MrtMlA5eE7W1P03XoRdADT6XRkHAQ8HFPWhfKuEqJZv_GAq7Rj255rORHre043BOvOtbeoSll2bmFem3WOLNfu7QFW3yo1vJ12Rw6yEfe5G-ED_gZB5Re3DSiCE2cKImJytGG4azN9TP-29QoHs6XUTDXh4pyAH6QgoU4DhoAJ1TtEBIBwzc/s1792/IMG_4521.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GT5kzr76MrtMlA5eE7W1P03XoRdADT6XRkHAQ8HFPWhfKuEqJZv_GAq7Rj255rORHre043BOvOtbeoSll2bmFem3WOLNfu7QFW3yo1vJ12Rw6yEfe5G-ED_gZB5Re3DSiCE2cKImJytGG4azN9TP-29QoHs6XUTDXh4pyAH6QgoU4DhoAJ1TtEBIBwzc/s1792/IMG_4521.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">On one such morning I remember reaching the top of the final dune, the fresh ocean wind struck my face and I saw the broad yellow beach stretched out wide as two football fields. In the watery haze of foam and spray I detected two horses, two girls riding towards us as we stripped to begin the final dash to the beach. Percy found a great swathe of brown kelp seaweed and draped it over his shiny fish body. He bound towards the girls and the horses reared up and turned and galloped off into the early morning sun and Percy galloping like the horses then returned like King Neptune and plunged into the Pacific.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Sometimes we went to the oval, a large green sea of grass set in a natural amphitheater opposite the one room Portsea State School I’d attended as a first grader circa 1949. Stately pine trees grew along the steep banks of the oval and the long grass was great to slide on; like sliding on snow all the way down the hill to the soft green playing field.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 26px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Percy ran like a cat, like an animal and taught us how to stretch from the core to elevate our center of gravity and increase our stride and he stood with his stop-watch as we ran bare foot floating in graceful arcs of movement and symmetry and the world’s greatest running coach watching and teaching.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimF-QV5KTenZJ_UO7BupxBrbmx0nT766rMGKyuTj-jS8oagwrD049KW-VmwuWqYJeLcRW8zWIVw_MBfBMsw5mjaVeBgB3ZPK7oIKxepMTX2VLTGvFQIl10_HVNzzQmBt0-VW6PDjW-lntmjTTt9_vv9wDW9QVmGF0rN3XXK4-dfD85askva6SHnJf6Mpgz/s1792/IMG_4523.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimF-QV5KTenZJ_UO7BupxBrbmx0nT766rMGKyuTj-jS8oagwrD049KW-VmwuWqYJeLcRW8zWIVw_MBfBMsw5mjaVeBgB3ZPK7oIKxepMTX2VLTGvFQIl10_HVNzzQmBt0-VW6PDjW-lntmjTTt9_vv9wDW9QVmGF0rN3XXK4-dfD85askva6SHnJf6Mpgz/w185-h400/IMG_4523.png" width="185" /></a></div><br /><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-21918314886227635022021-03-26T05:26:00.012-07:002024-02-27T14:48:10.196-08:00Aussie & Squeaker <p> <span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">R.I.P. Aussie and Squeaker</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzUKq81LAlAHhxvg7qKyivslMX8RlBefCFSihh-yyoQFms3AXKTzR7Ha3HYhbenOjn1IJywiRXRNbnDgxc84mZH0i2_8Hou3RnI1tghaWwh9bRADogoe9ALW7HAsrrGOGRGIJQ82XCgEkD/s2048/Aussie+and+Squeaker+vanderbilt+ave.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzUKq81LAlAHhxvg7qKyivslMX8RlBefCFSihh-yyoQFms3AXKTzR7Ha3HYhbenOjn1IJywiRXRNbnDgxc84mZH0i2_8Hou3RnI1tghaWwh9bRADogoe9ALW7HAsrrGOGRGIJQ82XCgEkD/w640-h480/Aussie+and+Squeaker+vanderbilt+ave.JPG" width="640" /></a><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Vanderbilt Avenue storefront backyard, 2000 </span><br /></i></div>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-83967779097392932272019-06-18T15:51:00.014-07:002024-02-27T14:46:49.464-08:00Unheeded Message of the Holocaust Jan Karski<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQuJs_WHaYNCzKNruwVvHp4SJDkL0HrTLsSHrNlVjXmzjOuqPEFRdA9h1S28MhhkTV4to0hNwGXa7IJJj43DMShRwB4gTc1c7Vl8JVcOl6N0QPjSD4TmKr-YpLZJeCVVLWjEHHNuOuQCY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-20+at+10.28.31+AM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQuJs_WHaYNCzKNruwVvHp4SJDkL0HrTLsSHrNlVjXmzjOuqPEFRdA9h1S28MhhkTV4to0hNwGXa7IJJj43DMShRwB4gTc1c7Vl8JVcOl6N0QPjSD4TmKr-YpLZJeCVVLWjEHHNuOuQCY/w580-h343/Screen+Shot+2015-03-20+at+10.28.31+AM.png" width="580" /></a></i></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: x-large;"><span><span><span>The Unheeded Message of the Holocaust</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="color: #b45f06;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span> </span></span>An </span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span>interview with Polish underground courier, Jan Karski.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lidHfTKnMY" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Audio</b></span></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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</span></span></span><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span>Jan Karski, Polish
underground worker, Catholic – he wrote a book called “Story of a Secret State” (Houghton Mifflin, 1944) after the war - describes his experiences - visit Warsaw Ghetto - invited by the Jews - and
to a concentration camp to see for himself - an eyewitness - not a Jew but
a Catholic - to take back word of the Holocaust to Britain and America. </span></span></span>
<span><span><span>Claude Lanzman’s ground-breaking film Shoah, explores Polish communities' passive participation and complicity in the Jewish holocaust. Jan Karski appeared and </span><span><span>initially</span>
refused to be interviewed by Lanzman and stalked out of the
room. The filmmaker finally persuaded Karski to return and sit for his
first interview following the war. </span></span></span></span></span></span></i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><i>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><i><span><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzxVB_6TdEFuX-yWz2_3OYCJdUynj7f0FnTBjTZd94eggu2GxXODt5NN0orEaT7sKYTMlrbf1Cm7p6JjSMEiSO5LmlA5Z-cxcfR8YlZQqLnFkRt0qQ1GF0aMudT2SklWo5u7_QuHDSLs/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-21+at+9.55.05+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzxVB_6TdEFuX-yWz2_3OYCJdUynj7f0FnTBjTZd94eggu2GxXODt5NN0orEaT7sKYTMlrbf1Cm7p6JjSMEiSO5LmlA5Z-cxcfR8YlZQqLnFkRt0qQ1GF0aMudT2SklWo5u7_QuHDSLs/w155-h259/Screen+Shot+2015-03-21+at+9.55.05+AM.png" width="155" /></a></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><i><span><span><br /></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><i><span><span> </span></span></i></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><i><span><span><span>I'd seen Shoah in three long sittings over three days</span><span><span>
in New York. About a month later I was returning on the train from an
assignment in Washington DC. I was reading the Washington Post Letters
section and read a headline: "The Holocaust. The Allies Knew", signed by
Professor Jan Karski, Washington Universtiy. I was shocked to learn
this man who'd witnessed the Holocaust first hand, was living in
Washington D.C. I had to interview him. A first-hand eye witness to
history - I wanted to interview him. </span></span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span><span><span><span> </span> </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span>When
I got home that night I looked up his number in the phone book, called
and to my surprise and jubilation, and thickly accented baritone voice
answered. He asked me to send my proposal and credentials and I shot off
a telex to Australian Broadcasting with a program proposal - an
extended one-on-one interview with Karski - I would integrate some
subtle sound effects and music to dramatize the piece to create a radio
feature program.</span></span></span>
<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><i><span><span><br /></span></span>
<span><span><span>Professor
Karski agreed to meet and be interviewed in his home on the outskirts
of Washington D.C. Some weeks later we met in the basement of his
Washington home where he lives with his Jewish wife, a dancer who
teaches dance in the studio down stairs – a woman who Karski told me,
never talks about the Holocaust - we conducted the interview and we’re
going to hear that now – you’re listening to Soundscapes: Explorations in Radio, Sound and Music – this is WBAI. We’re at 99.5 FM – listener supported community radio.</span></span></span>
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<span><span><b><span> </span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><b><span> <span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk6mApna1KPz2uGjHZ1S1Dj-2WzpxLZKX7MsPadlRq1Q0u2i1mDNOv572TwCRqrMt2iuVXkPkstLpRaYjnO3k3d29boEVB9oZPVcE_ul7tdTv59v-gI2FXHkCK3eIzj0K1Wuhvg4HvGCM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-20+at+10.22.15+AM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk6mApna1KPz2uGjHZ1S1Dj-2WzpxLZKX7MsPadlRq1Q0u2i1mDNOv572TwCRqrMt2iuVXkPkstLpRaYjnO3k3d29boEVB9oZPVcE_ul7tdTv59v-gI2FXHkCK3eIzj0K1Wuhvg4HvGCM/w303-h418/Screen+Shot+2015-03-20+at+10.22.15+AM.png" width="303" /></a></span></span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><b><span> </span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>KARSKI:
There were four ghettos. Initially in the Warsaw Ghetto there were
450,000 Jews. But in June, July, August, 1942 great deportations
started. As we learned later, by that time, final solution was already
decided and they were to be shipped from the ghetto, to the east, to the
concentration camps – Auschwitz, Treblinka, Sobebor (sp) and other
camps. Now at the time I entered the ghetto, there were no more than 45,
50,000 Jews left.</span></span></span><span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>ALP:
In May, 1942 Polish underground diplomatic courier, Jan Karski met
secretly with two Jewish underground leaders. They offered to take him
to the Jewish ghettos. They were desperate. Already Jews were being
transported to death camps in their tens of thousands every day. The
Jews of Europe were being exterminated. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
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</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>The
three men met in German occupied Poland in a Warsaw suburb, a desolate
ruin of a house at twilight with just a single candle burning. The Jews
demanded their story be exposed to the world. Jan Karski would be their
messenger. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>KARKSI: They didn’t give me their names, only their functions. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>ALP:
The Jewish underground leaders represented two distinct factions within
the Jewish political community – the Zionists and the Bundists who were
socialists.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>KARSKI:
…a little jokingly said “Witold, both of us, we don’t see each other
eye to eye but we now decided to meet you together. This is a Jewish
problem”. He volunteered to take me to the ghetto and then he told me –
“Witold” – this was my pseudonym “I know the English. When you will tell
them what is happening to the Jews, they may not believe you. Witold,
would you like to see it. There is no such great danger and to give you
sense of security that we would not endanger you for nothing, I will be
your guide – will you go”. I said: “ I will go” and then he was my
guide, I visited twice the ghetto.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
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</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>MUSIC</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TKXcdyyaqUnIMNhjseq_UDU4Nz5cYZ-z4sG7XX3wvuGTsRgAKsclGx1ASxqOPeSGtjbYst-kFBDqpZM9_IGg-slu0gWJUHSYEGp6ui_T5XbQ68aFmD3RIre5VWfezZL1Oh23aQ67aNk/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-21+at+10.05.33+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TKXcdyyaqUnIMNhjseq_UDU4Nz5cYZ-z4sG7XX3wvuGTsRgAKsclGx1ASxqOPeSGtjbYst-kFBDqpZM9_IGg-slu0gWJUHSYEGp6ui_T5XbQ68aFmD3RIre5VWfezZL1Oh23aQ67aNk/w211-h218/Screen+Shot+2015-03-21+at+10.05.33+AM.png" width="211" /></a></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>The
house I entered into one of those four ghettos, the outside front of
the house faced a regular street. Only the back of the house, through
the basement, you entered one of those four Ghettos. Of course I heard
about it but what I was seeing, it was horrible – Oh my God – children,
women, old men, everybody having something to sell – an onion, a piece
of bread a piece of cloth – begging – “I am hungry, please, please”.
Also some Jewish men – well I remember him standing – immovable – so I
said to my guide, “He is standing is he dead? He says: “Oh no, no, no
Witold he is dying. He’s not dead yet”.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>In
the streets naked bodies dead. So again I whispered to him “What is
this?” He said, “Well you see, when a Jew dies the Jews have to pay tax
to have him buried but they have no money for taxes so they put man,
woman and child in the street but then it doesn’t work Witold – the
people who pass - if he has shoes, if he has any clothes – so they take
it out – a dead man does not need any clothes.” So I saw completely
naked – some skeletons laying in the street – stench – horrible –
inhumane - and he just guides me “follow me, follow me”. Only from time
to time I remember he was whispering: “remember, remember, remember”.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>ALP:
Two days later Jan Karski made a second visit to the ghetto to memorize
more vividly the impressions he’s take to the outside world.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>KARSKI:
This time I was prepared emotionally you understand, to this completely
different reality – it was not the world – the man says: “You will see
something; now you will see something” and then Jews were leaving the
street. And I didn’t understand what is happening. “Follow me”. He
enters the first house – bumps (knocks) at the door: “We are Jews, we
are Jews open the door,” and somebody opens the door – a woman it was - I
remember her. We go to the window and we observe and then I see a
horrible thing. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><br /></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span>
</span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWgGi8EbTUkrP7V0XmSHbP4BlwBbFtLWAzbhj2DoJGbo9S_lkex2fhi-HGvcUwMYG_wNAmE9LvGnK-XEncE_YdgsAIkd25G4h_u-OtaBKNMm__-iZyfa1Q44INTqiEtJEL6x5sbPi6RA/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-20+at+10.23.57+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWgGi8EbTUkrP7V0XmSHbP4BlwBbFtLWAzbhj2DoJGbo9S_lkex2fhi-HGvcUwMYG_wNAmE9LvGnK-XEncE_YdgsAIkd25G4h_u-OtaBKNMm__-iZyfa1Q44INTqiEtJEL6x5sbPi6RA/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-20+at+10.23.57+AM.png" width="227" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Two
boys, Hitler Jugen, nice boys, clean they were walking and joking just
walking they walk empty street. And then one of them – they whispered
something to each other – then one of them out of the blue, pulls out a
handgun and he shot. And then silence and then Ahhhhh – the glass broke –
he just hit somebody and just killed him and put the gun back and they
walked off – nothing. I couldn’t take it.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
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<span>
</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>That
woman I remember – I think that she suspected because I didn’t look a
Jew you know – because she approached me and says: ”Go, go. It doesn’t
do you any good – go. And we left (repeats in Polish). It was a horrible
world. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>MUSI<span>C</span></span></span></span><span>
<span>
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</span><br /><span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>ALP:
As well as the ghetto, Jan Karski witnessed a Nazi concentration camp
at Belzec in eastern Poland. Five weeks later he’d set out to give his
report to the Allies. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span><span>In
November 1942, guided by the Polish underground, he crossed Nazi
dominated Europe. He traveled overland disguised as a French worker,
first by train to Paris and then south, trekking across the Pyrenees
into Spain, to Madrid, then Gibraltar to London.</span></span></span><span>
<span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
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<span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>KARSKI</span><span>: </span><span>My
trip from Warsaw to London – I remember it very well because it was a
sort of a record – it was my fourth mission – lasted twenty-one days.
Now I had a problem. I spoke French fluently but of course everybody can
recognize that I am not a Frenchman, my accent is even worse than
English accent. So we solved that situation and a dentist made an
injection into my mouth so my mouth became swollen for several days so I
couldn’t speak distinctly (mumbles in French) and I traveled to Paris
with Frenchmen and they couldn’t gather that I was not a Frenchman. I
was very well treated. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>I
reached Paris and it was just at the beginning of November 1942. Now in
Paris the situation is different. No Frenchman likes it when I tell
them. Life was normal – night clubs – I know Paris very well. Before the
war I went to Paris many times. All night clubs were open. Everybody
absolutely engaged in black market, which struck me because then when I
reached London, nobody in London, no man would deal in black market. It
was not – LAUGHS – he’s an Englishman. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>So
firstly with the British. Individuals to whom I remember specifically I
passed the information. Four members of the British War Cabinet.
Churchill of course as Prime Minister was chairman. So I reported to
Eden, representative of the conservative party, Lord Cranbourne.
Representative of the Labor Party – two – one Greenwood and one Dalton
who was secretary Chamber of Commerce which he had in his hands all
economic matters, all trade work, weapons etc., a powerful man. So I
reported to those four men.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Then
I reported to Lord Salbourne who was supervisor of all European
underground movements and then rather a more minor figures, Mrs.
Wilkinson MP and others and other people. So this was England. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
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</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>ALP:
Jan Karski was neither the first nor last courier to arrive from Warsaw
with the news. But he was the most important. He witnessed both the
ghettos and the camps, was smuggled into the Belzec concentration camp
to see thousands die.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>KARSKI:
Witold, we can organize another trip. It will be more dangerous but we
would not expose you to a danger unless we were not sure we can do it.
We can smuggle you for short time to Belzec, will you to.? “Sure I will
go”.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKnDZ7fegH2jeXVOOEHZ83XBOJWR5sb9ogA1gZWtopbU8L-U9hof1udXsaEHhMPGnuIr3Vk7KQxu7Lmi_EDzkzXfVN8Cu1R8t6cbO_A9zZRp91UGZ3YfhQBumKOewC4XXiKjlluTkR9xox/s844/Screen+Shot+2021-03-26+at+2.42.31+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="671" data-original-width="844" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKnDZ7fegH2jeXVOOEHZ83XBOJWR5sb9ogA1gZWtopbU8L-U9hof1udXsaEHhMPGnuIr3Vk7KQxu7Lmi_EDzkzXfVN8Cu1R8t6cbO_A9zZRp91UGZ3YfhQBumKOewC4XXiKjlluTkR9xox/w388-h254/Screen+Shot+2021-03-26+at+2.42.31+PM.png" width="388" /></a></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>ALP: Belzec was a small rural town hidden away in Eastern Poland. Karski was disguised as an Estonian guard. </span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><br /><span>
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
<span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>KARSKI:
Next – in the other room he pointed, there was a sort of a uniform. I
remember it – kind of yellow, brown black trousers, long boots and cap.
This is what you will wear. You will be an Estonian (foreign language).
This I knew at the time that in those concentration camps, the Germans
did not want to use the Poles because of secrecy. That would use
Ukrainians, Belu Russians, Estonians, Latvians, Lithuanians etc., they
didn’t speak Polish so then they had no contact with the population. So I
wore the uniform, followed him.</span></span></span><span>
<span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4BygBUs6rr7VRZacUF04pKtXzJQN5IAMZPWQ5Jb10yP6WsIAqvGf0tmNFhQcTjNqDLpDOq4YLtxQOs98UoMS5BmPCE41I9vb1tUOaKWgiOUALIXAI2jTFfAAy0RzSNvqhR3XOY9N6XKs/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-20+at+10.29.13+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4BygBUs6rr7VRZacUF04pKtXzJQN5IAMZPWQ5Jb10yP6WsIAqvGf0tmNFhQcTjNqDLpDOq4YLtxQOs98UoMS5BmPCE41I9vb1tUOaKWgiOUALIXAI2jTFfAAy0RzSNvqhR3XOY9N6XKs/w320-h259/Screen+Shot+2015-03-20+at+10.29.13+AM.png" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
<span><span> We
approached the gate. He gets some documents. Two German guards and not a
word and I have Estonia. We enter the camp. And now: we couldn’t go
inside very much because there were several thousand Jews in an open
area. Again, horrible smell which I remember now – stench, horrible
stench, unusual. Now the train here, some sort of a platform and then
men shouting “Raus, raus”, shooting and whipping the Jews and the Jews
from the camp directed to the train. To go against the Jewish wave and
to go behind them was physically impossible or dangerous so I just stood
by the wall. I saw individuals – men, women, children – some looking
with those pasas, some looking normally – I saw them – no, no – I was
with them. Belzec, as I learned after the war, was the final station of
death. They would burn the Jews in Belzec. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>I
lost again my nerves. I was strong when I was young but it was
horrible. I saw the floor of some empty steel cars, like a white power
and I didn’t know what is it. During the trial in Poland after the war,
the stationmaster revealed, in most of those trains the floors were
covered by lime and many Jews already were dead. He described, by the
way, that it must have been horrible to the Jews because when you
urinate on lime it burns. You know if it reaches your skin. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>I
couldn’t leave Belzec the same day because I was sick so I spent the
night and the next day he came and took me back to Warsaw again. Of
course he was in the Jewish underground. So then I asked him what I saw –
what is it? </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>“Listen,
they take them in those trains to a faraway field and they leave those
trains two or three days and all Jews die and they empty the trains and
bury them in some holes and go again and send the trains again.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>ALP:
All this the Polish courier told the prominent and powerful in Great
Britain. Then the Polish prime minister, General Sakorsky (sp) called
Jan Karski with the order to go to America. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>KARSKI:
It must have been more or less June. General Sikorski (?), prime
minister and commander in chief calls me. And he says – “Listen,
American ambassador with whom I am very friendly, Anthony Drexel Biddle
told me that he informed the president about your report but he also
told me President Roosevelt does not read the reports. President
Roosevelt is a kind of man who wants to see them and to touch him, to
look at him, he’s this kind of man. Biddle knows because they were
roommates in Harvard. They are personal friends.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>“Biddle
advised me to send you secretly to Washington. The president will learn
about it. Biddle, though he will not guarantee anything, hopes that the
president will loose his nerve and knowing that you are in Washington,
will invite you to the White House to look at him. You go to the United
States.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>ALP:
A few weeks later, Jan Karski was watching the Statue of Liberty emerge
from the mist in New York harbor. Then to Washington.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>KARSKI:
I arrived to Washington. The ambassador, he knew by radio about me, and
I will stay on the premises of the ambassador. I cannot go to any hotel
as long as I stay in Washington.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Now,
those people I met in Washington. Archbishop Spelman, Archbishop
Strich, Archbishop Mooney – all of them cardinals just after the war.
Apostolic delegate Cardinal Jicanarnie (sp). President Roosevelt,
Cordell Hull, Secretary of State; Henry Stimson Secretary of War;
Francis Biddle, Attorney General; then Jewish leaders: Justice
Frankfurter, Nahum Goldman, President of the American Jewish Congress,
Rabbi Wise, president of the World Jewish Congress, tremendous amount of
people</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Then
journalists, Walter Lippmann he was very prominent, he was like a pope
at that time, George Sokolski, McCormick, Mrs. Ogden Reid owner of the
Herald Tribune. Every day I had contact. To everyone I spoke about the
Jewish problem.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>You
must understand that Jewish problem was a part of my mission. I had
many messages to many people and then I had like a separate chart –
Jewish problem.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Next
point. I met during the war, except Churchill, all most powerful men in
the Allied camp. I never knew how long will he keep me. I never knew if
after five minutes if he will say “thank you very much” as some did -
after ten minutes – “thank you very much – invaluable information – I
congratulate you, you are a hero – goodbye, good luck young man.” </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>I
divided my report in a most precise way. The total report could not be
longer than half an hour. Jewish part – no more than three, four, five
minutes. Jewish I learned after experience, shifted on the top because
if it will be in the second part of my report the man may leave, you
know, and I will have no opportunity. So I shifted. Everybody was
friendly, everybody was sympathetic to the Jews. Everybody wanted to
help the Jews. Everybody understood what was happening.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Only
for a variety of reasons they did not do anything. Such was the
situation. Nobody would say I am not interested in the problem.
Everybody was respectful and I was treated like a hero – genuine –
because everybody knew – I was arrested by Gestapo, I tried to cut my
veins, torture etc – so everybody was respectful and friendly to my
report </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhacylSOemLGyAUntPipXLqQmNq_RWyfK1BJnL4-VknmSq46qIcqNNCLsZl7p49v-g2dwKl11Wvvrj_Yh9ZJc-YIN4IslNLimsmgGZxvm44NEmGpTw0y1QeerG9fA6u2y8cjvKnSF_Q6rw/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-21+at+10.05.43+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhacylSOemLGyAUntPipXLqQmNq_RWyfK1BJnL4-VknmSq46qIcqNNCLsZl7p49v-g2dwKl11Wvvrj_Yh9ZJc-YIN4IslNLimsmgGZxvm44NEmGpTw0y1QeerG9fA6u2y8cjvKnSF_Q6rw/w320-h207/Screen+Shot+2015-03-21+at+10.05.43+AM.png" width="320" /></a></span></span><span><span><span>“Now
Sir I have a Jewish report. I was twice in the Ghetto. I was once in
Belzec and I have Jewish demands directed to Allied leaders, Polish
government included. What is happening to the Jews is unprecedented – is
unique - the Jewish masses do not realize it. The leaders know it. All
Jews will be murdered in this war. Hitler decided to murder all Jews
regardless of the outcome of the war”</span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Next
point: Extermination of the Jews is not prompted by the war strategy.
It is a separate problem. Purely ideological problem. Hitler wants to
liquid all the Jews in Europe. As a result of it, the Allied leaders
must treat the Jewish problem as a separate problem as well, otherwise
they will win the war but there will be no Jews. And the Jews cannot
accept it as a necessity. They must use unprecedented ways. What are
they?</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>First,
let them flood Germany with millions of leaflets and describe
concentration camps, Nazi officials, spelling names, spelling
statistics, spelling the methods, so the German population will learn.
Perhaps they don’t know what is happening. And what is equally important
is that they will be unable to say in the future that they were not
informed. They can do it. They are dropping bombs on Germany every
night. They can drop millions of leaflets.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Next:
the Allied governments must publicly appeal to the German people to
impress upon their own government that they must change the policy
towards the Jews. They must show the Allies evidence that they did
exercise such pressure. If they were unsuccessful or if there is no
evidence that such a pressure was exercised, the Allied government must
make a public declaration – the German nation will be responsible for
the crimes against the Jews. Perhaps this will help.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Next. Certain objects in Germans not of military nature must…..(SIDE ONE OF AIRCHECK ENDS – </span></span></span><span><span><span>(NOTE: Due to cassette turn-over, some of the program is missing. There is an original copy of all material).</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><br /><span>
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>…by
the way you know, war prisoners – well I am not a stupid man at that
time. I realized and immediately reacted (to the Jews) – Gentlemen, this
nonsense. The Allies, the English will never do it – the Germans have
British war prisoners. If they execute or punish some German prisoners,
Hitler will do it publicly with British war prisoner or American war
prisoner. Their answer is: “We know it is impossible. We still demand it
as an act of despair. Do you understand this is an act of despair. What
do you want us to do. We are dying, dying, dying. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>“Witold,
you are smart. This is not your first mission. You are clever. Swear
that you will use all your powers and you will reach as many people as
possible and tell them what is happening to us.” And I remember I swear
my God, that I will tell everybody.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>MUSIC.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>When
I arrived in Washington I had no certainty that I will be received by
Roosevelt. At a certain point my ambassador, Yan Chevonosky sp told me
“Well I set an appointment for you. The man’s name is Justice Felix
Frankfurter. We are personal friends. He is justice of the supreme
court. He is extremely important man. He is a personal friend of the
President. Everybody knows it and he’s a Jew himself. To him you can be
sure – tell him everything. It may be important.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYd0nrEU-0YrukpJgQyupytmiZA6wrNQNHmxbVc-m7FwupIykosfcQpgvO5H40IYxZg27n8NKYGbjDKLQz0MuoNNPgZxRredVOiMPuPrFioMRvGctqYiEa87Zq06MKuu_XznXqrSjaX8/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-21+at+9.58.58+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYd0nrEU-0YrukpJgQyupytmiZA6wrNQNHmxbVc-m7FwupIykosfcQpgvO5H40IYxZg27n8NKYGbjDKLQz0MuoNNPgZxRredVOiMPuPrFioMRvGctqYiEa87Zq06MKuu_XznXqrSjaX8/w196-h252/Screen+Shot+2015-03-21+at+9.58.58+AM.png" width="196" /></a><span>Now Frankfurter: “Do you know who I am?” I said “yes sir. Your name is Felix Frankfurter. You are justice of the Supreme Court.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>“Correct. Do you know that I am Jew?” </span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><br /><span>
</span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span><span>“Yes sir. Mr. Ambassador told me” </span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span><span>And
for at least one hour – at the time it was fresh and I was excited and I
knew this is a powerful man etc., - everything – ghetto, Jewish
demands, Belzec – you know – what I saw and then I came to the end.
Silence.</span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><br /><span>
</span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span><span>I
look at the ambassador and silence. Then Frankfurter gets up and starts
to walk the room without a word. So he went to the left and turn his
back to us, Ambassador made this sign to me – don’t say anything – so I
keep quite.</span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>It
took him three minutes – four minutes then Frankfurter sits down and
looking straight in my face says – I remember every word, every gesture
of this conversation after forty years.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>“Mr. Karski a man like me talking to man like you must be totally frank so I say I am unable to believe you.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Chevonosky
breaks in; “Felix you don’t mean it. You cannot tell him to his face
that he is a liar. Felix it is his fourth mission. He was checked and
rechecked ten times. Felix, you don’t mean it!”</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Frankfurter:
“Mr. Ambassador, I did not say that this young man is lying I said that
I am unable to believe him. There is a difference!”</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>MUSIC STAB</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>ALP:
Apparently the interview has some affect on President Roosevelt because
it was not long before Polish Ambassador Chevonosky came to Karski with
good news.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Chevonosky
tells me in joy “Johnny, the President wants to see you in the White
House. My suspicion is that Frankfurter told the President. He suggested
to the President – let him see this young man he has an important
story.” And so I was invited to the President.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>In
1943, Roosevelt was considered by hundreds of millions of people as the
savior, the master of the world. Great leader etc. So I was appalled
and I had all the time this feeling facing master of humanity -
imperial. He projected tremendous power. I remember he smoked
cigarettes in a long cigarette holder – his gestures.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>He
started the conversation that he knows about me and he would like me to
tell him what I think he should know….and then I come to the Jewish
problem – yes he allowed me to speak to the Jewish demands and then he
asked me some questions – not very important – and then started to ask
questions concerning communist underground movement. He did not say
anything of significance concerning the Jews but he listened to
everything.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>And then his secretary broke in twice – “Mr. President, people are waiting this lasts too long.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>“Alright.
Alright”. He gives a sign that the interview is finished and then I got
inspired. I get up and I said “Mr. President, I go back to Poland.
Every Pole will know I saw President Roosevelt. President Roosevelt is
the last hope of Europe. Everybody will ask me what the President told
you – what will happen to us.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
<span><span> I
remember again every gesture. “You will tell your leaders that we shall
win this war. The guilty ones will be punished for their crimes.
Justice, freedom shall prevail. You will tell your nation that they have
a friend in this house. This is what you will tell them”.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span>----------</span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> </span><br />
</span></span></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>ALP:
The Unheeded Message of the Holocaust. A radio documentary feature
produced, written and narrated by Andrew Phillips. Etc…..</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Special
thanks to Professor Jan Karski. In Jerusalem a tree bearing his name
has been planted in the allay of the Righteous Gentiles among Nations</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>KARSKI:
I never spoke about my war experiences. I didn’t want to go back for
thirty years – I never spoke publically – I ran away from this. I wanted
to be normal. My wife, who lost all her family in Poland in the
ghettos, in the gas chambers, until today she is the same way.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>I
tell my students and they believe me but they listen and then we have
discussion with individual students. They take it as a sort of ancient
myth – not real – like stories from Iliad, Odyssey, Homer. It is
impossible for people who did not see it actually, to understand it, to
have a feeling. They may be informed. They cannot conceive it.</span></span></span><span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>ALP:
I acknowledge Claude Lanzman’s masterful documentary “Shoah”, where I
first learned of Jan Karski’s story. Jan Karski’s book “Story of a
Secret State”, published by Houghton Mifflin in 1944.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZQRZd2gZe_BAEQFOI5eV6eYudP116bApcXwH_sgGMuCS-1U9FJ9u6ksBjWTZJf41YTh1FrIJ9cDI8xWgHKQ4dIv1qaZOic9awXek4pOvTVDX-GX0xW1gahx8wUsmsMTJcfiEOKWmzoA/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-20+at+10.38.22+AM.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZQRZd2gZe_BAEQFOI5eV6eYudP116bApcXwH_sgGMuCS-1U9FJ9u6ksBjWTZJf41YTh1FrIJ9cDI8xWgHKQ4dIv1qaZOic9awXek4pOvTVDX-GX0xW1gahx8wUsmsMTJcfiEOKWmzoA/w310-h320/Screen+Shot+2015-03-20+at+10.38.22+AM.png" width="310" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span>Jan Karski</span></span></span><span>
<br /></span>
</span></span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span>1914-2000.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><b><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">CONGRESSIONAL RECORD.</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>On
December 15, 1981, in the U.S. House of Representatives, the Hon.
Stephen Solarz read Dr Jan Karski in the Congressional Record regarding a
“significant and deeply moving conference held at the State Department
organized by the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Council, chaired by Ellie
Wiesel. The International Liberators Conference, October 26-28, 1981.
Representative Solarz made particular mention of Jan Karski and quoted
extensively from Dr. Karski’s unheeded message of the Holocaust and
noted “…one thing comes through very clearly: by 1943 free world leaders
had been informed of the Holocaust. They knew.”</span></span></span><span>
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</span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span><span><span>Representative
Solarz asked that Dr. Karski’s address at the Liberator’s Conference be
included in that days Congressional Record. At the conclusion of his
long and detailed address, Karski says: “ I am a Christian Jew. I am a
practicing Catholic. And, although not a heretic still my faith tells
me: the Second Original Sin had been committed by humanity - through
commission or omission, or self-imposed ignorance, or insensitivity, or
self-interest, or hypocrisy, or heartless rationalization.</span></span></span></span><span>
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</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>This sin will haunt humanity to the end of time. It does haunt me. And I want it to be so.”</span></span></span><span>
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</span></span></span></span></div><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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</span><span><span><span>Ends radio documentary </span></span></span></span></span></span></p><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><i>Produced for Australian Broadcasting
Corporation - This is an incomplete transcription but contains
most of the interview recorded in Jan Karski's home in
Washington D.C in 1986. The original was recorded on reel-to-reel, Nagra
mono tape recorder by Arlene Krebs.</i></span></span></span><span> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><i><span><span>From air check from "Soundscapes: Explorations in Radio Sound and Music", WBAI New York. <a href="https://andrewsnotebooks.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Back to note books...</a></span></span></i></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
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</span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><b><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">Biographical Sketch </span></b></span></span><span>
</span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><b><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">Received from Dr. Jan Karski, 1986</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Dr. Jan Karski, Professor of Government, Georgetown University</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Dr.
Jan Karski was born in Poland. He received a Master’s Degree (M.A.) in
law and a Master’s Degree in Diplomatic Sciences at the Jan Kazimierz
University at Lvov in 1935. Having completed his education in Germany,
Switzerland and Great Britain in the years 1936-38, he entered the
Polish diplomatic service.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Mobilized in August 1939, he was eventually taken prisoner by the Red Army and sent to a Russian camp.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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</span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>He
escaped in November 1939, returned to German-occupied Poland and joined
the anti-Nazi Underground organization. Because of his knowledge of
languages and foreign countries, he was used as a courier between the
government-in-exile and the Underground authorities in Poland. In this
capacity he made several secret trips between France, Great Britain,
Poland during the war.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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</span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>In
June 1940, he was arrested by the Gestapo in Slovakia, was tortured and
nearly died, but was rescued by the Polish Underground. After a few
months of medical treatment, he resumed his activities as a courier.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>In 1942, the Jewish Underground contacted Karski and arranged for him to visit the Warsaw ghettos and the Belzic death camp.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>In
1942-43, he reported to the Polish, British and American government on
the situation in Poland and on the extermination of the Jews. In August
of 1943, he personally reported to President Roosevelt, Cordell Hull,
Henry Stimson and other high government and civic leaders in the U.S.A.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>He refused to return to Poland after the war and made the U.S. his home. In 1954 he became an American Citizen.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>In
1952 he received his PhD at Georgetown University and taught Eastern
European affairs, comparative government, and international affairs. In
1962-63, he taught at Columbia University as a visiting professor.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>In
1956-57, and again in 1966-67, he was sent by the State Department on
six-month lecture tours to sixteen countries in Asia and French-speaking
Africa. On numerous occasions he was called upon, by various
Congressional committees, to testify on Eastern European affairs. He
lectured extensively at the Defense Intelligence School, Air University,
Inter-American College, Industrial College and other government and
civic organizations. His articles appeared in numerous magazines. He
contributed to the New Catholic Encyclopedia, Encyclopedia Americana and
Collier’s Encyclopedia. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>In
1974 he was awarded a Fulbright Fellowship to inspect Polish, British
and French archives of his major work, The Great Powers and Poland,
1919-1945 (From Versailles to Yalta) – (University Press of America,
1984).</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>He
related his war experiences in his book “Story of a Secret State”
(Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1944) which became a Book-of-the-Month-Club
selection.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span><span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Dr
Karski is a recipient of the highest Polish military decoration, Order
Virtuti Militari. In Jerusalem a tree bearing his name was planted in
the Alley of the Righteous Gentiles Among the Nations. Georgetown
University awarded him a degree of Doctor of Humanae Letters honoris
causa.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><b><span>NOTES: </span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><b><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">Who were the two Jews who asked Karski to visit the Ghetto and the camp?</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>When
Karski met with the two Jews in Warsaw, he didn’t know their names.
Walter Laqueur, in his book: “The Terrible Secret: Suppression of the
Truth about Hitler’s Final Solution” (Little Brown and Company 1980)
writes in Appendix 5. “The Missions of Jan Karski, Jan Norwak and
Tadeusz Chciuk, that the men were Leon Feiner (Bundist) and probably
either Menahem Kirschenbaum (Zionist) or Adolf Berman (Zionist).</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><b><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">From the Congressional Record, this is what the Jews demanded</span><span>:</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in 0.1pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>1.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span>A
public announcement that prevention of the physical extermination of
the Jews become a part of the over-all Allied war strategy.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in 0.1pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>2.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span>Informing
the German nation through radio, air-dropped leaflets, and other means,
about their government’s crimes committed against the Jews. All
available data on the Jewish ghettos; concentration and extermination
camps; names of the German officials directly involved in the crimes;
statistics, facts; methods used should be spelled out. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in 0.1pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>3.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span> Public
and formal demands for evidence that such a pressure had been exercised
and Nazi practices directed against the Jews stopped. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in 0.1pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>4.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span>Placing responsibility of the German nation as a whole if they failed to respond and if the extermination continues. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in 0.1pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>5.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span>Public
and formal announcement that in view of the unprecedented Nazi crimes
against the Jews and in the hope that those crimes would stop, the
Allied governments were to take unprecedented steps: Certain areas and
objects in Germany would be bombed in retaliation. German people would
be informed before and after each action that the Nazi continued
extermination of the Jews prompted the bombing. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>Jewish
leaders in London, particularly Szmul Zygelbojn (Bund) and Dr. Ignace
Szwarebard (Zionist), are charged to make all efforts so as to make the
Polish government formally forward these demands to the Allied
councils. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><b><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">To the President of the Polish Republic, Wladyslaw Raczkiewitz:</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in 0.1pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>6.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span>Many
among those who directly or indirectly contribute to the Jewish tragedy
profess their Catholic faith. The Polish and other European Jews sent
to Poland feel entitled on, humanitarian and spiritual grounds, to
expect protection of the Vatican. Religious sanctions, excommunication
included, are within the Pope’s jurisdiction. Such sanctions publically
proclaimed might have an impact on the German people. They might even
make Hitler, a baptized Catholic, to reflect. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in 0.1pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>7.
Because of the nature of this message and the source its came from as
well as because of diplomatic protocol’s requirements, I was instructed
to deliver the message to the President of the Republic only. Let him
use his conscience and wisdom in approaching the Pope. I was explicitly
forbidden to discuss that subject with the Jewish leaders. Their
possible maladroit intervention might be counterproductive.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span><b><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">To
the Prime Minister and Commander in Chief, General Wladyslaw Sikorski,
Minister of Interior, Stanislaw Mikolajczyk and Szwarchard.</span></b></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><br /><span>
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span><span>8.
Although the Polish people at large sympathize or try to help the Jews,
many criminals blackmail, rob, denounce or murder the Jews in hiding.
The Underground authorities must apply punitive sanctions against them,
executions included. In the last case, the identity of the guilty ones
and the nature of their crimes should be publicized in the Underground
press.</span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in 0.1pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span><span>Zygelogjm and Szwarcbard must use all their pressure, so that pertinent instructions would be issued. </span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span><span>In
order to avoid any risk of anti-Polish propaganda, I was explicitly
forbidden to discuss that subject with any non-Polish Jewish leaders. I
was to inform Zygelbojm and Szwarchbard about that part of my
instructions. </span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><b><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">To the Allied individual government and civic leaders as well </span></b></span></span><span>
<span><span><b><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">as the international Jewish leaders.</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span>9.
There is a possibility to save some Jews if money were available.
Gestapo is corrupted not only on the low level but also on the medium
and even high levels. They would cooperate for gold or hard currency.
The Jewish leaders are able to make appropriate contacts. </span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><br /><span>
</span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in 0.1pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span><span>10.
Some Jews would be allowed to leave Poland provided they have original
foreign passports. Origins of these passports are unimportant. As large
supply of passports as possible should be sent. They must be blank -
forged names, identification data. etc., would be overlooked by the
German authorities – for money of course. Provisions must be made that
those Jews who do succeed in leaving Poland would be accepted in the
Allied or neutral countries.</span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in 0.1pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span><span>11.
Some Jews of not Semitic appearance could leave the ghettos, obtain
false German documents and live among other Poles under assumed names.
Money to bribe the ghettos guards various officials is needed. </span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in 0.1pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
</span>
</span><span><span><span>12.
Money medicines, food, clothing are most urgently needed by the
survivors in the ghettos. Subsidies obtained from the Delegate of the
Polish government as well as other funds sent through various channels
by the Jewish international organizations, are totally insufficient.
More hard currency, sent without delay, is a question of life or death
for thousands of Jews.</span></span></span><span>
<span>
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>
<span>
<span><span>In
addition to all messages I was to carry, both Jewish leaders solemnly
committed me to do my upmost in arousing the public opinion in the free
world on behalf of the Jews. I solemnly swore that should I arrive
safely in London, I would not fail them.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span><span><a href="https://andrewsnotebooks.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Back to note books... </a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-976199139117609362019-06-18T15:29:00.006-07:002024-02-28T12:07:08.774-08:00Riding the Waves at Pacifica <h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span><span><span style="color: #b45f06;"> </span></span></span></span><i><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was invited to write this piece for <a href="https://www.blogger.com/#">Project Censored </a>by
its director Mickey Huff. At the time I was interim general manager at
KPFA, Pacifica Radio in Berkeley CA (2011-2013). Project Censored is a
media research, education and advocacy initiative that champions the
importance of free press. The project's mission is to expose and oppose
news censorship and promote independent investigative journalism, media
literacy and critical thinking. <a href="https://www.blogger.com/#">Back to note books... </a></span></span></i></h3><h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span><span><span style="color: #b45f06;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginV79tgQDAk0a6tQFN-7A70ALWVIyZH6Z1Y0Zy-MMRe0gsAAl3ub7e0B4vRbkdkdtmkZZeN7Tt8GYSxJYKV4P93w-TGfBCiLO6PAHHIPrensGFh_tqjjSwPCydL86wM7GjQrj_R2oARHj/s2048/nagra.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="2048" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginV79tgQDAk0a6tQFN-7A70ALWVIyZH6Z1Y0Zy-MMRe0gsAAl3ub7e0B4vRbkdkdtmkZZeN7Tt8GYSxJYKV4P93w-TGfBCiLO6PAHHIPrensGFh_tqjjSwPCydL86wM7GjQrj_R2oARHj/w640-h478/nagra.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> </span></span></span></span></h3><h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span><span><span style="color: #b45f06;">Riding the Waves at Pacific</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></h3><h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>By Andrew
Leslie Phillips </span></span></span></span></h3><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><i>
</i><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span>he Pacifica
foundation was founded in 1946 by poet and journalist Lewis Hill and a small
group of pacifists, intellectuals and experienced radio people They did not
have the same political or economic philosophy but shared a vision which
supported a peaceful world, social justice and creativity. At 3pm, April 15,
1949, Lew hill sat behind the microphone and announced: "This is KPFA,
listener sponsored radio in Berkeley, the first such radio station in the
world”.</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> At the time, less than nine-percent of the Bay area radio audience owned
new FM receivers and Pacifica gave them a special KPFA radio with 94.1 on the
FM dial, to get people tuned in. FM was a new, technology and Pacifica was
backing the future and inventing an entirely new funding mechanism - the theory
of listener sponsorship.</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 150%;">It was daring, audacious and brilliant. And it caught on. Today there
are Pacifica radio stations in five of the ten top radio markets.</span><br /></span></span></span>
<a name='more'></a></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">The concept of listener sponsorship appealed to the politically savvy
and zealously left-leaning progressive community in the Bay Area. They were
happy to support a radical alternative to the commercial pablum, incipient
McCarthyism and the atomic bomb Cold War politics of the 1950’s. The social,
political and cultural leadership eagerly sought the free access offered by
KPFA as they do to this day. Today the audience is more diverse reflecting the
milieu.</span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;">
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">Equality of access to airtime has always been at the center of
controversy at Pacifica and community radio everywhere. Most on-air people at
Pacifica were not paid until the mid 1990’s. They volunteered and they made
money to support the Foundation by pitching their programming on free-speech
Pacifica radio. That was the deal. It was a tacit agreement – Pacifica provides
opportunity and access whilst producers agree to pitch and encourage on air
pledges. <br /></span><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">By far the largest percentage of financial support for Pacifica still comes
from listener donations. </span><span style="line-height: 150%;">This model changed in the mid-nineties when the National Federation of
Community Broadcasters under Lynn Chadwick and David Le Page, adopted the
so-called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Healthy Stations Project. </i>Lynn
Chadwick later worked at Pacifica as Executive Director during the disastrous
1999 shutdown and police raid at KPFA.</span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
<br /></span></span></span>
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Health Station Project</i>
called for reducing the power of volunteers, professionalizing the on-air sound
and adopting more paid on-air producers. It was a model more like National
Pubic Radio than community radio. It was designed to increase listenership and
revenue for community radio and also increase the amount of money the CPB might
potentially give stations.</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Programming was “professionalized” and moderated; made less abrasive, music
more homogeneous, more consistent. It was an idea derived from NPR programming
consultants. The mission was consistency in programming, to smooth the rough
edges. The same consultants would go on to advise Pacifica when in November
1996, Pacifica lead by former KPFA manager and then Executive Director, Pat
Scott rolled out </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">Vision for Pacifica Radio Creating a Network for the 21st Century – A </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">Strategic 5 Year Plan</span></i><span style="line-height: 150%;">.</span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
<br /></span></span></span>
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">The Strategic Plan was impractical and showed little understanding of
the realpolitiks of the five stations. It led to more expenses and the need to
raise money to feed the beast and make pay roll. It created a two-tiered system
of paid and unpaid staff. It encouraged a-them-and-us culture. Volunteers
subsidized paid staff since they pitched to raise money and met their own
work-related expenses, while paid staff received a salary and full health
benefits. It was and continues to be unfair. The "old hippie
paradigm" of diverse programming and volunteer-based management disappeared
a long time ago. Today, paid staff call the shots and the community is less a
part of community radio than it used to be.</span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;">
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Healthy Station Project</i>
didn’t go over well with Pacifica’s volunteers and in 1996 spawned the
Grassroots Radio Coalition, which was a reaction against the increasing
commercialization of public radio and lack of support for volunteer-based
stations. The Coalition is stronger than ever today and grass roots community radio
presses on while <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Healthy Station Project</i>
stations like the Pacifica network, are floundering.</span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;">
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">Today the five Pacifica stations revolve in a loose orbit around the
Pacifica mother ship based in Berkeley California. Sometimes the orbit gets
wobbly. Pacifica owns the FCC license for all five stations and the non-profit
501(c)(3) status. The five stations work under aegis of the Pacifica
Foundation. Ultimate authority is held by a board of directors elected from
local station boards. Perhaps more than ever, the current unwieldy and
expensive Pacifica governance structure that grew out of the drama and lockouts
of 1999, has created slates and factions within Pacifica as groups vie for
power and airtime. </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">Pacifica Boards of Directors, comprising political diehards
with no radio experience have done little to improve the air sound, revenue or
audience numbers. There is a serious disconnect between boards at national and
local levels, the community and producers and this disconnect has been evident
for a very long time. </span><span style="line-height: 150%;">Yet Pacifica has and continues to be an incubator for many important broadcasters
and programs like Democracy Now, Counter Spin, Explorations with Michio Kaku and
now the Project Censored Radio Show. </span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
<span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></span>
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">Probably the most valuable assent Pacifica has is its intellectual
capital: past, present and future. It is the seed germ and should be protected.
Today radio crosses over to the Internet to become a trans-media system with
opportunities for international distribution, video streaming, interactivity
and e-commerce. Creating and being part of trans media systems is the future. </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;">
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">I fear the more things chance the more they remain the same. The popular
general manager of KPFA, Nicole Siwaya whose controversial firing by Lynn Chadwick
precipitated the crisis at KPFA in 1999, was subsequently twice selected as
Executive Director of Pacifica in 2007 and 2008. In her September 24<sup>th</sup>,
2008 departure letter Siwaya, in the form of a letter to late Pacifica founder
Lewis Hill, wrote</span><span style="line-height: 150%;">:</span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">“…Sadly, it (Pacifica) is no longer focused
on service to the listeners but absorbed with itself and the inhabitants
therein. I call it Planet Pacifica, a term I coined during my hiring process.
There is an underlying culture of grievance coupled with entitlement and its
governance structure is dysfunctional. The bylaws of the organization have opened
it up to tremendous abuse, creating the opportunity for cronyism, factionalism
and faux democracy, with the result of challenging all yet helping nothing.
Pacifica has been made so flat, that it is concave — no leadership is possible
without an enormous struggle through the inertia that committees and
collectives.</span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">“Pacifica calls itself a movement, yet currently it behaves like a jobs
program, a cult, or a social service agency. And oftentimes the loudest and
most obstreperous have the privilege of the microphone. There are endless
meetings of committees and “task forces” — mostly on the phone — where people
just like to hear themselves talk...”</span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="line-height: 150%;">Can Pacifica change or is it too late? Has Lew Hill’s experiment been
supplanted by the Internet and smart phones? At a time when the need for
community radio and citizen journalism seems more important than ever, can
Pacifica adapt and change? Unfortunately the prognosis is not good. Ironically,
should Pacifica finally collapse, it will be in large part due to the Healthy
Station Project which ripped the heart out of community radio.</span><br /></span></span></span>
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</span></span></span>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-41077022607173519662016-06-01T07:57:00.006-07:002024-02-27T14:47:28.507-08:00Paul Tibbets: Hiroshima Countdown with Studs Terkel<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: x-large;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Hiroshima Countdown</b></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b> </b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>An Oral History Interview with Cmdr. Paul Tibbets. 1985. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">P</span>aul
Tibbets dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima. I met him thirty-nine
years later in Columbus Ohio where he ran the first corporate air
charter company in the United States. After the “Good War”, Tibbets’
fame comprised cache and notoriety and business was prosperous</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">I’d
conduced a telephone interview with Tibbets the previous year - in 1983
- for a 12-hour marathon radio production exploring Hiroshima on New
York City Pacifica Foundation radio station, WBAI. I said at the
beginning of this memoir that I was born in the shadow of the Holocaust
and Hiroshima. This radio program was my chance to get to the heart of
the matter. </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://andrewlesliephillips.blogspot.com/2014/09/an-interview-with-cmdr-paul-tibbets-man.html">more</a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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</span></span>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-33513314293964848362015-11-01T08:51:00.005-08:002024-02-27T14:16:39.292-08:00James Jesus Angelton & The Dismissal <div style="text-align: center;">
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</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><i><span><span><span><span><span>The CIA and</span></span></span> the dismissal of an Australian Government</span></span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: x-large;"><span><span>James Jesus Angleton</span></span></span> </span></span></i></span> </span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">
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I</span>n May 1977 I received a call to come to the ABC (<i>Australian Broadcasting Corporation</i>) office in New York for an assignment with Australia’s top television documentary program, <i>Four Corners</i>. Ray Martin landed an interview with James Jesus Angleton who had been head of counter intelligence at the CIA for twenty-five years, . Angleton was ready to spill the beans on the CIA’s influence in sacking Australia’s Labor Party Prime Minister, Gough Whitlam. I’d heard speculation about CIA involvement in Australian politics but here it was from the horse’s mouth, from the man who knew the back-story.<br />
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<br />
</span><a name='more'></a><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Gough Whitlam was a charismatic, ambitious and intelligent politician, He was loved by the left and hated by the right. After twenty-three years of conservative government, in 1972 he became Prime Minister. In his first days in office Whitlam pulled Australian troops out of Vietnam and reinstated the passport of renegade Australian journalist Wilfred Burtchet. Burchett was demonized by the former conservative government and a pliant Australian media because of his left-wing leanings and highly critical reporting of the Vietnam War. It was a symbol of a new era. I was to meet Wilfred Burchett in Cuba some years later.<br />
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I was in Papua New Guinea in 1972 when Whitlam was elected and for the first time in my life felt an affinity toward the political process. At last Australia was showing backbone instead of knee-bending supplication to the American bully boys. It had been “all the way with LBJ”, as Australia followed America into Vietnam in the 1960’s and it sickened me. With Whitlam’s election it seemed Australia finally might stand up. The CIA quaked as Whitlam articulately outlined a new Australian independence particularly when it came to uncovering and expelling Pine Gap, the secret American communications node smack bang in the center of the nation and where no Australian was permitted.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVY3DouCK9-CdAX6sgIwY_cGkpch5W_3neIr1t8tSGrta_2Uo8uRsBNzYeq2iVAqLeEj7sAEo19PB-lXk_mlhyEW3boXn41SEK4bMqmLZ9sxGzrdjyRRrGr6F3PTRhNpZyGGyKRtqsIW6a/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-11-01+at+11.38.26+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVY3DouCK9-CdAX6sgIwY_cGkpch5W_3neIr1t8tSGrta_2Uo8uRsBNzYeq2iVAqLeEj7sAEo19PB-lXk_mlhyEW3boXn41SEK4bMqmLZ9sxGzrdjyRRrGr6F3PTRhNpZyGGyKRtqsIW6a/s200/Screen+Shot+2015-11-01+at+11.38.26+AM.png" width="142" /></a>Whitlam was brash and outspoken in his first years but gradually altruism turned sour and realpolitik kicked in. When the money supply was halted by a bickering parliament, government ground to a halt. The 1975 Australian constitutional crisis, commonly called <i>The Dismissal</i>, culminated with Prime Minister Gough Whitlam’s dismissal by the Queen of England’s Governor-General Sir John Kerr. Australia was part of the British Commonwealth and the queen is more than symbolic head of empire. <br />
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The queen’s Governor General appointed the Leader of the Opposition, Malcolm Fraser, as caretaker Prime Minister. It was the greatest political and constitutional crisis in Australia's history. The nation was still under the boot of the British imperium and in the pocket of America. I was disgusted. During the ABC interview Angleton outlined the web of CIA’s control. The revelations about the undermining of the Australian Labor government confirmed my worst speculations as I came of age in America.<br />
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A common allegation was the CIA influenced Kerr's decision to dismiss Whitlam. In 1966 Kerr had worked in intelligence and had joined <i>The Association for Cultural Freedom</i>, a conservative group funded by the CIA. Christopher Boyce was a young American employee at TRW and a CIA civilian contractor. He analyzed data gathered by satellite. Like Edward Snowdon, Boyce made public documents that revealed the CIA wanted Whitlam removed because he threatened to close US military bases in Australia. Boyce said the CIA described Sir John Kerr as "our man Kerr". These allegations were made in Parliament in 1986.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiruj8v4cKbHQvbia5rMZ7z3UEyM63Y2_gEyYpKyoK0wlYjpIoMxALKbKtGvddiW4G2yVvtAjqvRdYKj_jUlbnkfbMXXCZ8Jz85gzyh85kub7DEdiyB1mkye3qobqYI0xPcwRrvdWfJ5U0A/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-11-01+at+11.36.02+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiruj8v4cKbHQvbia5rMZ7z3UEyM63Y2_gEyYpKyoK0wlYjpIoMxALKbKtGvddiW4G2yVvtAjqvRdYKj_jUlbnkfbMXXCZ8Jz85gzyh85kub7DEdiyB1mkye3qobqYI0xPcwRrvdWfJ5U0A/w200-h161/Screen+Shot+2015-11-01+at+11.36.02+AM.png" width="200" /></a>Boyce’s story became a book and a movie, <i>“The Falcon and the Snowman”,</i> by Robert Lindsey, a <i>New York Times</i> reporter. Boyce was later convicted as a spy. He was an anti-hero. The Australian journalist John Pilger called the dismissal a "coup". He alleged the CIA used the <i>Nugan Hand Bank</i> as a front to "set up” the Whitlam Government. Pilger alleged the bank provided slush funds to opposition parties in Australia and, with the CIA, undermined the Australian government, subverted trade unions and liaised with Governor General Kerr during the crisis. The bank was later revealed to be a handmaiden for the CIA.<br />
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Angleston was a staunch right-wing conservative who believed in American exceptionalism. He said he loved Australia and had great respect for ASIO, <i>Australian Security and Intelligence Organization</i>, and believed Australia to be a frontier nation. America sixty years ago. He seemed bitter and broken still smarting from his own dismissal from the CIA. he was not holding back. Angleton confirmed the narrative and Ray Martin, our reporter who later went on to host a popular, daily, national television talk show, peppered Angelton with questions in the ABC bureau on the 19th floor in the center of Manhattan in Rockefeller Center that day.<br />
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The CIA has a history of underhanded involvement in destabilizing freely elected governments and Angleton was instrumental in destabilizing socialist President Salvador Allende in a CIA sponsored coup in Chile, September 1973. His stories were mesmerizing and I pushed my Sennheiser shotgun microphone closer to gather every syllable and speech mannerism and made sure the recording levels were perfect. <br />
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Before his dismissal, Prime Minister Whitlam charged publicly that American Intelligence organizations were secretly channeling funds to politicians who supported American secret bases in Australia. Whitlam demanded an investigation by the <i>Australian Defense Departmen</i>t to identify, once and for all, the real purpose of the bases.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukxN6ynrTMMDCG0ir1GDniO3LmLgnc-DRXV4qRuL2R2JwTGjK_DbXE5YiIoXX7vZxzKLA9sytnPeld_Puoe9cxXnN__9wvvHeAoKf6unA4fwLMYJu64TFJqNbBw0HPVUf1LJt0fn0dHnY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-11-01+at+11.42.06+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukxN6ynrTMMDCG0ir1GDniO3LmLgnc-DRXV4qRuL2R2JwTGjK_DbXE5YiIoXX7vZxzKLA9sytnPeld_Puoe9cxXnN__9wvvHeAoKf6unA4fwLMYJu64TFJqNbBw0HPVUf1LJt0fn0dHnY/w640-h360/Screen+Shot+2015-11-01+at+11.42.06+AM.png" width="640" /></a> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Pine Gap was located deep in central Australia collecting data from spy satellites. The base was an essential component of the America’s spy matrix. If shut down, American surveillance would be blind. Pine Gap in central Australia near Alice Springs was off limits to Australians. The base was considered American territory. Few Australians knew it even existed until Whitlam blew the whistle.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlALso7ZsPNUxHwVPF91jvS4YhmWAGXiGSvU97bMig_90IFOpMk3VLtfIVva-Ne5E9w6OY9_h0LSwJUmg-iChf2P_-hT9BASSxFEaoPEr7e597d-6qWfjkgmLMjrR0V5IIxZp9oaGtNDQX/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-11-01+at+11.42.38+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlALso7ZsPNUxHwVPF91jvS4YhmWAGXiGSvU97bMig_90IFOpMk3VLtfIVva-Ne5E9w6OY9_h0LSwJUmg-iChf2P_-hT9BASSxFEaoPEr7e597d-6qWfjkgmLMjrR0V5IIxZp9oaGtNDQX/w320-h262/Screen+Shot+2015-11-01+at+11.42.38+AM.png" width="320" /></a> On November 11, 1975, a few days before I was to leave Australia for America, Prime Minister Whitlam scheduled a speech in which he was to discuss the CIA and the mysterious installations in the Outback. But he never had the chance to deliver it. On that day, Governor General Sir John Kerr removed him from office. Like others in Australia, I was outraged and depressed at his dismissal. It was one reason I decided to leave Australia. I felt the bitter taste of cowardice and shame, frustration and disappointment.<br />
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We concluded the first part of the interview with Angleton in the ABC’s Rockefeller Plaza bureau in New York and a few days later flew to Washington D.C to his home in the leafy suburbs of Virginia. When we arrived he was in his garden. Angleton could easily have stepped out of the pages of a John le Carré thriller and in fact subsequent films and television series used him as their model. He was tall and thin with a pronounced stoop. His face was angular and his thick gray hair was combed backward from his broad forehead. He wore heavy black-framed eye- glasses and a cigarette held delicately between two long fingers traced the air.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSue4AAcJTO_7tnhKL2Ev7XKTzYE5GM2siSFGmWUhBbeEVqmolkyv_mUBUDL0ZKB84sY6jaK7ghD5NDJsONJnoDtTJvS6KQtwdahngya7tobNEexmjvlqNk55asZLh0q3D9seujmb3i_4/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-11-01+at+11.32.46+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSue4AAcJTO_7tnhKL2Ev7XKTzYE5GM2siSFGmWUhBbeEVqmolkyv_mUBUDL0ZKB84sY6jaK7ghD5NDJsONJnoDtTJvS6KQtwdahngya7tobNEexmjvlqNk55asZLh0q3D9seujmb3i_4/s200/Screen+Shot+2015-11-01+at+11.32.46+AM.png" width="146" /></a>As a young man he studied at Yale and as an undergraduate edited the literary magazine, <i>Furioso</i>, which published many of the best-known poets of the inter-war period, including William Carlos Williams, e.e. cummings and Ezra Pound. He carried on an extensive correspondence with Pound, cummings and Eliot. We sat while his wife poured tea in fine china cups. There were orchids in pots near a window.<br />
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The investigative journalist, Jay Edward Epstein met Angleton and wrote of the spymaster’s fascination with orchids in a detailed diary entry. They sat together in the dining room at the Madison Hotel in Washington soon after Angleton had been fired by Director, William Colby.<br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS154hzrXlpYDixij-1KKBqJUPIU71NsWUgtaiiqG1QcLHumS9jEBabGFLujZ2FZ5njOi6pgW2N6XrOSOtPQziQwCumpjXl0Rh7SQTZuN_H8mbpgcW8viXFzUWHfdVlWxe2vLMQAF0BVXd/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-11-01+at+11.33.16+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS154hzrXlpYDixij-1KKBqJUPIU71NsWUgtaiiqG1QcLHumS9jEBabGFLujZ2FZ5njOi6pgW2N6XrOSOtPQziQwCumpjXl0Rh7SQTZuN_H8mbpgcW8viXFzUWHfdVlWxe2vLMQAF0BVXd/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-11-01+at+11.33.16+AM.png" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">
“He was ghostly-thin with finely sculptured facial features set off by arched eyebrows. Throughout the evening, he drank vintage wine, chain-smoked Virginia Slims and coughed as if had consumption. A quarter of a century in counterintelligence had extracted some toll.<br />
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“And then Angleton talked about his love of orchids explaining that it was most deceptive orchid that survived. The perpetuation of most orchids depended on them misrepresening themselves. Having no food to offer, they deceived insects to land and carry pollen to other orchids in the tribe. <br />
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“To accomplish this deception, orchids use color, shape and odor to attract insects to their pollen. Some orchids capitalize on the sexual instincts of insects. The <i>tricocerus</i> orchid so perfectly mimics, in three-dimensions, the underside of a female fly including the hairs and smell, that they trigger mating response from passing male flies. Seeing what it thinks is a female, the male swoops down on the orchid and attempts to have sex - a process called <i>pseudo-copulation</i>. The motion causes the insect to collect pollen and thus it becomes an unwitting carrier. When the fly passes another <i>tricocerus</i> orchid, they repeat the process, and pollinate another orchid.<br />
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“It gradually became clear that Angleton was not just talking about insects being manipulated through deception but an intelligence service being similarly duped, seduced, provoked, blinded, lured down false trails and used by an enemy.”<br />
<br />
The term <i>Angletonian</i> entered the parlance as an adjective used to
describe something conspiratorial, overly paranoid, bizarre, eerie or
arcane.<br />
<br />
When our interview was over we retired for a drink to review what just happened! We were in a state of mild shock. We knew we had a scoop and next day we packed the film for air express to Australia. It didn't make it.<br />
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It disappeared without a trace!<br />
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</span>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-73023573437476518242015-10-07T05:59:00.001-07:002021-03-27T07:24:02.522-07:00Yellow Cab Nights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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© Andrew Leslie Phillips<br />
011488<br />
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<i>"When you're driving a yellow cab through New York City's streets at night, sometimes you see your life in the bright lights and shadows - those you loved and those who died reflected in the streets.<br /><br />"Driving in New York at night behind the wheel of a yellow cab with your cheap old radio on the dash and cassettes rattling round - Ginsburg and Gandhi - and a blue and white Greek take-out coffee cup and the New York Post."</i><br />
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<span>W</span>hen <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">you</span>'ve driven a cab through the good and the bad then you've seen life anew, the false and the true. You’ve lined up for the shape with your mates, white, black, yellow and brown, dollar bills in their hands: “here’s your trip sheet and keys. The cabs over there by the broken down fence, the one with the dents. Please take care”.<br />
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</span><a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: medium;">Now the sun's nearly gone and the sky's turning gold and the air is alive with ice fire flies. They twist in the hard frozen wind in your face an embrace of incredible silver and lace and the people sway by. Fur coats and smiles yellow cab’s on the prowl in the rhythm of Saturday night.<br />
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Sweeping up over the hill with the blond in the back her eyes wide, hair pulled back. Manhattan’s a mountain of steel and gold light in the crisp freezing night fills her with fright and delight at the end of her flight. An indigo sky and a pale crescent moon then a man in a cap takes her bags.<br />
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It's almost midnight there's a shining red light and the night's full of snowflakes and fear when your life seems unclear. He stares at your face through the glass all splattered in grime and the ice and the slime: “I'll wipe you down for a dime”. In a couple of sweeps your life comes into view. In a couple of weeks this man could be you. “Here's a dollar my friend - please take care”.<br />
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On the lower east side a man hails a ride with a punk by his side. He's as high as a kite. “Take me to one-forty-two just off Broadway and wait!”. Is this your night for fate? “There's money in it for you”. The man slams the door. Leaves the punk in the back. And your heart's in your throat. And he trudges off into the gloom.<br />
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A rock-a-billy boy says he's from Illinois plays guitar in a bar and he’s traveling far. “I can play all the hits while the people get lit, make two-hundred and tips. Never seen this before. You can stop the cab here. My bed's over there. Under the Manhattan Bridge”.<br />
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Been ten hours or more when the body gets sore when a ghost appears over there in a silver wheel chair, his ankles are bare and the snow's drifting down and the car’s swishing past, how long can he last? “Here please take a coin my friend – please take care”. And my radio's on and I’m singing along and now it's time for the news.<br />
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It's quarter-past four, can't believe what you saw you're going home to your wife is this your real life? More than ten thousand cabs on these Manhattan streets, ten thousand stories make you laugh make you weep and you’ve just heard a few. And the sky's turning red and you’re going to bed, in six hours you're be back and half beat, please take care.<br />
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</span>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-32610824656207475402015-05-13T06:37:00.003-07:002024-03-07T07:08:39.685-08:00Asheville<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> I</span> fly into Binghamton’s Johnson City airport and the trees are bare and gray and the green pines sprinkled with snow. It’s still winter here in the northeast, early spring. <br /><br />Stanley’s leaning against the wall - one knee up - leaning back with his hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder and he points and Nathaniel breaks out in a toothy smile like Sponge Bob. He’s chirping like a happy bird as we slip past the sliding door outside into the cold. </span></span><div><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br />The car smelt bad from cigarette smoke. I’d forgotten. I’ve been away in Asheville, North Carolina for a week. They hardly smoke at all down there. I saw one women - the same woman twice - huddling in a corner outside the Kress Emporium on Patton Avenue, smoking. The building is full of individual stalls of high quality craft and art. It costs $400 a month to rent a hundred square feet of floor and wall space. There was a waiting list.The owners of the space take a percentage. It was crowded and the tourist season had not yet begun. </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /><br />We were looking for breakfast that first morning in Asheville. But the Cowgirl Cafe was packed and people were gathered around the door and the girl taking names said come back in ninety minutes. We found a place around the corner but Asheville was already gaining momentum. Asheville is said to have similarities with other outlaw outposts like Austin, Texas; Gainsville in Florida, Greenville South Carolina; Taos, New Mexico, Berkeley. There are a lot of raggedy homeless tribal types on the streets often playing pretty good music, rubbing shoulders with artists and hipsters, tourists and people like us. Asheville has the feel of a miniaturized San Francisco, famous for its buskers and music. It’s geography is hilly in parts, the streets narrow and spacious restaurants, bars where they know how to mix a strong drink.<br /><br />I heard a banjo and the wailing sound of the mountains in her voice and the thud of the bass. Hassan pointed at the guitar player, a young man in tattered jeans and a wool cap pulled down low around his scruffy face, sitting on a suitcase and the foot peddle hammer beating on the side of the case - BOOM - BOOM. But it was the older women in a long light blue floral dress with a gray cardigan over her skinny shoulders, sitting on a low stool beating out intricate rattling rhythms on sets of beaten, dented spoons that caught my attention. <br /><br />She was toothless and the tryptic she created with the guitar player and the young tattooed woman on the banjo was pure Walker Evans, James Agee and Let Us Now Praise Famous Men; the assignment the writer and photographer took for Fortune Magazine on conditions in the rural south during the “Dust Bowl” of 1936.<br /><br /><br />Hassan invited me to come spend a week with him in the South. He’s is a force of nature, alive and ambitious to leave his fingerprints on the world. His vision is massive and his Palestinian heart burns with righteous intent to help humanity. Out of the ashes of Gaza, Hassan came to New York. I was his sponsor. Don’t ask me how but I signed papers and wrote letters and that’s how we met in Brooklyn. <br /><br />He hardly spoke English. Hassan’s family were successful rug merchants in Gaza until shut down by the Israeli’s. Palestine property was confiscated by the invading Israel authorities and many lost their livelihood. During the Intifada when Palestinians in an act of desperation, hurled rocks and stones at the soldiers, Hassan was caught up in the turmoil. He was shot in the head by riot police as he pulled wounded from the front lines to safety. But he survived. “Here Andrew”, and he pushes my finger into a circular indentation in his skull that feels like a plumbing fitting. <br /><br />As we drive from the Roanoke Airport I marvel at Hassan’s transformation. He owned a clothing business and the building on the edge of town - a kind of hip-hop clientele - expensive name-brand jeans and sneakers and it supported his lifestyle. When I knew him in Brooklyn he was quite, almost taciturn, with a gentle smile - a musician trained in Jordan who played the violin, oud and darbouka drum and sought work in the back waters of the illegal immigrant Arab community. Life was rough but he shared an apartment with Mahmoud who was the other leg of the stool that joined we three in Brooklyn back in the Underhill Avenue days. Though separated by a generation and great geographic distance, we bonded as friends and brothers. <br /><br />One day Hussan came to me with a deep sense of sadness about him and said he had to leave New York City. It was the homelessness and poverty that he saw everyday in such a rich city. He could’t stand it any longer. And life was tough and relentless in the back streets. He’d heard of other Palestinians striking south to smaller towns where living was cheaper and their merchant skills might find more fertile ground. And in Hassan’s case it turned out to be true. <br /><br />Now years later Hassan had an eight-year-old son with my name - Andrew - he’d left the woman he’d married, a girl from Virginia - there seemed no vindictiveness and he supported her and their son. And now he was a citizen in this land of dreams. But married life was not for him. Over years on the road, touring flea markets in the south selling clothing and merchandise from a van, he’d grown restless with married life. And then later in Roanoke, now with a house and lots of grass to mow, a finished basement that looked like a night club lounge with flashing lights and a flat screen, shelves filled with good booze; his music studio with three keyboards and drum sets and violin, guitar and oud and the computer work stations, Hassan enjoyed the single life. But on his reading table rested Khalil Gibran and Rumi and his life seemed dedicated to enjoying this life but never forgetting his roots or his goal of building a better world. <br /><br />We spent a couple of days riding around Roanoke. It’s a dead town. The highlight was on its outskirts on a strip. A Palestinian Middle Eastern grocery and restaurant called Jerusalem. It opened the night before. Hussan parks off to the side away from the other cars. He drives a Mercedes he picked up at auction for $6,000 and it looks almost new. It’s a nice ride. You don’t see many Mercedes in these parts but: “back home”, Hassan says, sitting back behind the wheel and navigating like a taxi driver, “most taxis are Mercedes - strong car - look good - good for business and girls too”.<br /><br />There are a couple of cabs parked outside and we swing in opposite.Three Middle Eastern men stand around talking and smoking lit up by the bright fluorescents around the windows of Jerusalem. Hassan, his right hand over his heart and head slightly bowed for a moment greets them politely - Inch-Allah - and we walk up the steps into the brightly lit interior. <br /><br />She was leaning over the crimson formica counter beside the cash register and the freezer cabinet. Her long forearms were crossed in front of her and her honey skinned breasts bulged with a deep, enticing cleavage - and when I looked up into her face her eyes gripped me in their green desert gaze.<br /><br />“From Iraq”, she said in perfect English, “I came to be with my family here. My mother and family are here now.” Images of Shock and Awe exploding and she’s is at the counter in Jerusalem and now she’s standing and stretching like Cleopatra’s cat.<br /><br />Hassan and I sit in a booth facing one another near the front where the action is. She serves the food. A bowl of fresh humus glistening with yellow olive oil and paprika and sprinkled with parsley and warm flat bread burned at the edges. And taboui - cracked bulgur wheat with crushed garlic and mint leaves and lemon juice and baba ghanoush, smokey aubergine - egg plant - roasted with lemon juice and garlic. She is dressed in black that clings to her supine curves and yet she moves naturally with no provocation as she makes more room for the plates that keep arriving.<br /><br />Falafel is truly Palestinian Hassan explains. “The best is from Jerusalem and Ramallah - Andrew you would not believe how good when you taste it my brother.” A pile of steaming grilled chicken livers in a spicy gravy with a sprinkle of parsley, and a kind of mealy sausage and chicken kebab and grilled lamb chops still sizzling cooked to perfection over the grill - pink inside and slightly burned outside: “From New Zealand”, he says. “Halal”, Hassan says. “Delicious”. I say.<br /><br />When we left I looked back through the window of Jerusalem and she turned and took my gaze and smiled and the desert and her green eyes blew through me once again. <br /><br />We found the hotel just outside downtown Asheville. The drive up to 8,000 feet into the Appalachians between Roanoke in Virginia and Asheville in western North Carolina was spectacular. The peaks were laced with frost glinting on the edges of the fir trees and craggy monoliths loomed on either side of the interstate. <br /> <br />But down here in Asheville it felt protected and the pink cherry trees and white pear blossoms were flowering and yellow daffodils were in full bloom. It was a ranch style hotel, two-story, laid-up stone and wooden beams, spacious and a nice room with two queen size beds. <br /><br />Hassan told me he met Julie about four years ago at a Walmart. She was working the register. Blond, blue eyes with a pretty smile, she had the body of an Olympic gymnast but a sadness about her too. She’d had a rough time at home on the wrong side of the tracks in Memphis, Tennessee. Hassan adopted her and paid her way through college while she continued working her day job. “She has a good heart Andrew - she wants to succeed - she is serious and I trust her - you wait - five years - you see my brother.” She lived in her own apartment, shared with a friend. She had her own life in Roanoke. But Hassan was her protector - and sometimes her lover. He was grooming her for the long term in a most practical manner, which seemed to work for both.<br /><br />That Friday night we three stepped out together in downtown Asheville to hit a few bars. It was windy and cold and there were not many people but passing the windows of dimly lit bars one could see many were full and the crowd laid-back, young and hip. She took my arm and strode out with me, swaying her hips and throwing out her strong legs and her heels clicked on the sidewalk in the cold night. <br /><br />We came down a steep hill and turned a corner and found a bar called The Social Lounge. It was long and narrow but one side had glass overlooking the town and the street. Sometimes people pushed up on you as they passed but polite and nice and the barmen were good - whisking and shaking the cocktails, concoctions squirted from plastic bottles and cracking and breaking the seal between container and glass and the crack and rattle of ice and the squeeze of lemon and twist of lime on the rim. The nutmeg scrapped from the nut - those cocktails were good. Outside we could see a flurry of light snow falling. <br /><br />I don’t know exactly how long we were at The Social Lounge. We met people and we talked. I didn’t see that many on their phones. We met this ebullient spanish guy who turned out to be Guatemalan - but we only learned that later. He was full-blood Mayan who’d lived in a hut with candles and had moved to the U.S. with his family to Los Angeles when he was nine. “I speak Mayan - and write it too - not many do but I do” and he beamed with pride. He’d never seen electric light until he woke up that night in a car driving through the Hollywood Hills. Suddenly Los Angeles was a blaze of light to the horizon. This was America. <br /><br />So he grew up in LA and he sounded like it - quick and friendly. He worked in a Mexican restaurant in the mountains up in the Appalachian town of Boone near the Tennessee border. The town is futuristic nestled in a valley between steep high Appalachian peaks - like a Star Trek set. It’s a college town - University of Appalachia - with bridges and walkways traversing the highway connecting hive-like uniformly designed structures. Amid all this geometry, our GPS lands us outside a nondescript line of utilitarian store fronts and there’s a lime-green blinking sign, Cilantro Mexican Restaurant, where the margarita’s are four dollars a pop and the food is good - at least that’s what our new friend Fernando told us and he was right. Fernando punched his mobile number into my iPhone and soon we were Facebook friends. <br /><br />After we left the Social Lounge that night in Asheville we walked a while and heard music across the street. It was past midnight and the crowd was thinning. The night was cold. I took another Jonny Walker Black on ice and we were dancing to old rock-n-roll and the blues on a wooden floor in this capacious bar. How did it look - the tall, gangly old man dropped from a Monty Python skit jerking in rhythm of the music and Hassan moves like the desert and smiles as he drapes his arm around her and she slides and shimmies and throws her head back laughing holding her cocktail glass.<br /><br />And then I was in bed. I saw a mirage of a woman brushing her hair in the shadows. She glided over to me, comes closer as I lay only partially conscious and then her face comes closer - like an eclipse - and she bent and kissed me softly on my mouth and I fell into deep slumber. In Asheville. </span><br />
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<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">A</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">dverting was not my first career choice. I’d wanted to be a traveler
and a journalist. But I couldn’t get a job in journalism because I
didn’t have a university degree. Advertising was my
next choice - it was creative and better paid than journalism but I never got
to the “better paid part”.</span><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I spent five years in the ad business learning copywriting and
media and printing and design and finally I was an account executive
selling the American dream that had become Australia’s. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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I felt a dark cloud descending. And as it thickened around me I
struggled to find a way to escape. I thought about inland Australia.
Mining companies paid well and life was rough in the desert. I
considered joining the army, something to initiate and toughen and help
me escape the malaise I felt. But the war in Vietnam was in the
headlines every day and Australians were dying in a distant land, that
made no sense and I quickly dropped the idea. And then, one day an old
school friend suggested Papua New Guinea. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlI73Bf33Vb41e-Iv0OWDxwVFmpDQy65BJ5EAtLXDWNBpZG4qHE04qF0e4VqSaMCDBA3Jz1V8TQHEQUHIaW7umRSoFxGDSiuQTClvGYsaLEM9LCdjPrmlSPhusy0hJbkrgJ-I_AEdJWSlL/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+3.48.03+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlI73Bf33Vb41e-Iv0OWDxwVFmpDQy65BJ5EAtLXDWNBpZG4qHE04qF0e4VqSaMCDBA3Jz1V8TQHEQUHIaW7umRSoFxGDSiuQTClvGYsaLEM9LCdjPrmlSPhusy0hJbkrgJ-I_AEdJWSlL/w238-h320/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+3.48.03+PM.png" width="238" /></a>We were having lunch at a pub in one of Melbourne’s leafy neighborhoods
when he told me about patrol officers, young men employed by the
Australian government taming the wilds of Papua New Guinea. Suddenly the
cloud lifted. I realized perhaps this was the answer - a way out -
overseas travel and adventure all paid for by the Australian government.
I loved the bush. I relished the idea of working outside, traveling far
away from “Tip Top Bread/ As the baker said/ It is especially fine/
Hurry to the shop/ There you’ll make a stop/ When you see the Tip Top
sign.” The banal and insidious nature of advertising was getting to me.<br /></span></span>
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Immediately I began reading as much as I could about Papua New Guinea
and applied to become a Cadet Patrol Officer with the Australian
Department of External Affairs, the department that oversaw PNG under a
United Nations mandate. It would take six months before the invitation
for an interview finally arrived.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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Rudyard Kipling and Joseph Conrad had nothing on James Sinclair and Jack
Hides, Ivan Champion and others who documented their real adventures in
Papua New Guinea; who’d disappeared behind the ranges and into the
swamps and vast inland valleys deep in unexplored territories on the
second largest island on Earth. The accounts vibrated with authenticity
and raw excitement and tantalized and fascinated me. The authors were
ordinary Australians in an extraordinary country and I prayed that one
day I would get a taste of what they wrote.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwdbO7yvRLnGTga0tX73k13uXZORMcmuEvSi-itjIsWE2Bi97zOGbVD0y3cV4H1V45h2kCXF_1TLIB-YPf4Bzq2gfqLRVNtiT_xGYlYRIIM002qqlJW8p9lYlIrnKrmFekRJ4QwrcoAgV/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+3.48.15+PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwdbO7yvRLnGTga0tX73k13uXZORMcmuEvSi-itjIsWE2Bi97zOGbVD0y3cV4H1V45h2kCXF_1TLIB-YPf4Bzq2gfqLRVNtiT_xGYlYRIIM002qqlJW8p9lYlIrnKrmFekRJ4QwrcoAgV/w240-h320/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+3.48.15+PM.png" width="240" /></a>Their books described journeys into territory never seen by white men,
cannibals and crocodiles, exploratory patrols that lasted months and
yielded reports of sorcery and magic, unique characters and taim bilng
tumbuna filled with totems and animist spirits, the time in the past
which still lives in the present in Papua New Guinea today.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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It has been called The Land That Time Forgot, The Mysterious Island, The
Most Primitive Place on Earth. But these were European appellations and
had no significance to a people who had evolved complex kinship systems
and survival techniques of great diversity and complexity unmatched in
modern western society today. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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I felt ready for this new life and my desire was strong. My will to make
the cut filled my every day. But I was twenty-three years old, at the
older end of the spectrum for applicants, and feared my dream might not
materialize. But then the invitation for an interview arrived. Four
hundred young men had applied for forty new positions as cadet patrol
officers in what appeared to be the last induction, as the colonial
period slowly wound down in Papua New Guinea.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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My interviewer was a big, bluff former senior patrol officer who spoke
softly belying the image I had of hard-bitten veterans of New Guinea. He
told of his love of the island and the people and a life very different
to mine and I hung on his every word. Some months later I learned I was
accepted and would soon leave my home in Melbourne and drive the six
hundred miles to Sydney to attend ASOPA – the Australian School of
Pacific Administration - a tertiary institution established by the
Australian Government to train administrators, patrol officers and
school teachers to work in Papua New Guinea.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1t6EdATXEn-fPlTZFAfM18cdP7uBXXTs0mUWVkS9Lb-cYUcLTPExHlySt42W3fjb7fXEwcTEddQi0AffcV19MB5BIoRi1C1Ygc6PPSP9wLsPiuC7Vwr-EY9nZqp_61p2490-09_VE3Mcy/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+3.48.28+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1t6EdATXEn-fPlTZFAfM18cdP7uBXXTs0mUWVkS9Lb-cYUcLTPExHlySt42W3fjb7fXEwcTEddQi0AffcV19MB5BIoRi1C1Ygc6PPSP9wLsPiuC7Vwr-EY9nZqp_61p2490-09_VE3Mcy/w228-h320/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+3.48.28+PM.png" width="228" /></a>In November, 1968 forty excited cadet patrol officers fastened their
seat belts and roared down the runway, lifted into the air, and looked
down on Sydney’s harbor; the ferries ploughing white furrows in the blue
sea, the white lines of breaking surf skirting the serpentine
coastline, the endless blue Pacific ocean, flat and limitless and then
the Arafura Sea that separated Australia from its nearest northern
neighbor.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Ahead lay a new life. A feeling of elation filled me as we droned
towards the place I’d read so much about and soon would touch and taste
in person. I felt reborn. It was only the second time I’d flown and the
exhilaration I felt was palpable. Suddenly my previous life seemed old
and distant, as if a great lid was closing on the trunk of my childhood
and a new portal opening to real adulthood. I don’t think I’d ever felt
such relief and happiness. And then the intercom crackled and a voice
told us that Papua was in sight and I looked out a porthole and saw the
formidable coastline slowly materializing on the horizon.<br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The sea changed color from deepest blue to green as we
approached. White horses whipped by the wind raced across its surface
as we descended. Now I could see Port Moresby’s scatted bungalows and
rusted tin roofs, stilt houses on the edge of the harbor, a yellow dry and desolate landscape caught in a
rain shadow created by the Owen Stanley ranges. It was unlike anything
I’d ever seen. The mountains in the distance were steeply rising monoliths – great green
giants looming, rising endlessly into the clouds and the dark interior.
The Kokoda Trail, the track renowned for viscous World War Two battles
between Japanese and Australian forces in 1942, wound its way through
some of the most impenetrable country in the world, down to Port
Moresby. </span></span></div>
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</span></span><div style="text-align: left;">
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpKthX1LSIxrCqrtJBHLiv-sZ0HMfDw7m9VkruoDoCfaHi3bAVG9AyrCP0GeodRHf_ub4JM6NRWLF9H9KlycCy9Yzn5wHpky8i1NwkxglkzWrqhm_KCbmnEliiM6j6hqV3G3sl9rRRRASE/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+10.53.49+PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpKthX1LSIxrCqrtJBHLiv-sZ0HMfDw7m9VkruoDoCfaHi3bAVG9AyrCP0GeodRHf_ub4JM6NRWLF9H9KlycCy9Yzn5wHpky8i1NwkxglkzWrqhm_KCbmnEliiM6j6hqV3G3sl9rRRRASE/w400-h199/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+10.53.49+PM.png" width="400" /></a> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The Kokoda Trail was legendary in Australia, its history written in
blood and courage, the final holdout where my countrymen fought back
against the Japanese invasion of Australia. Relatives of mine had fought
and died in the war in Papua New Guinea and I was filled with awe and
humility as I looked down as we descended and felt grateful for the
opportunity of adventures I’d only dreamed about.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span>he first thing I felt as I stepped from the belly of the airplane was a
solid wall of stifling heat sucking the breath from m</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">y lungs. It was a
completely new feeling. I felt perspiration squirting out of me as I
walked across the tarmac to the low-slung airport complex. Soon we were
on a bus, staring out the windows at the shacks and the natives on the
roadside as we headed for Kwikila, fifty miles east of the capital where
we would spend a final month of on-ground training, sleeping under
canvas on cots, attending lectures and demonstrations, as we were
inducted into our new life.<br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ntp4paweox99KVkhzFoZOAJysyni0j3lUyJXsKE_NM7wTu-_lGb6yVeDnY-A6wri5AhcMiPuafZeXCkjF3Oy00nlZWvTJXWdr63RZbUKKel0XSHmOvLoUV5sKtYYGn2yauJaf1TalBhK/s1600/png+kwikjla+1968.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ntp4paweox99KVkhzFoZOAJysyni0j3lUyJXsKE_NM7wTu-_lGb6yVeDnY-A6wri5AhcMiPuafZeXCkjF3Oy00nlZWvTJXWdr63RZbUKKel0XSHmOvLoUV5sKtYYGn2yauJaf1TalBhK/w640-h333/png+kwikjla+1968.png" width="640" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <i>I'm stage right. back row.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span>e learned about primitive road and bridge construction, heard stories
from our trainers, themselves seasoned patrol officers. We drank dark
rum and water with our anti-malaria tablets and handled 38 Smith and
Wesson side arms on the firing range. As cadet patrol officers we would
spend twenty-one months before graduating to full patrol officer status
but already we were officially officers in the Royal Papua New Guinea
constabulary. On distant patrol posts we were the law. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We’d learned about the inland highlands where more than a million people
had been discovered only thirty years ago. There were people still
who’d never seen a white man. The Highlands were cooler than the coast
and considered desirable because there were still exploratory patrols
and a taste of the old days of New Guinea. And then there were the less
attractive humid low lands. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I’d read Ivan Champion’s account of crossing Papua New Guinea from the
southern seaboard to the northern coast. The great swamplands in the
southwest along what is now the Indonesian border. Six hundred miles
upstream the Fly River was still only sixty feet above sea level. On the
West Irian border - which used to be Dutch New Guinea - Indonesia
invaded sending the Dutch colonialists packing. Now there were border
incursions by Indonesian soldiers into PNG and there was fear that
Indonesia might make a grab for more territory in Australian
administered Papua New Guinea.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHQ5yF6sv1npohj-sKZuAs_UskM-WzOZJiTBERuEz4pEGf87jbIwC5YC-GJ_UdHWUzkVMOE1Us8dKSNGsExE3_OA_WhcFLL8AXoBYNeDjKg7OYUyIq-jGmsc0-HkmyV-faINxiATgWcdQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+9.21.33+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHQ5yF6sv1npohj-sKZuAs_UskM-WzOZJiTBERuEz4pEGf87jbIwC5YC-GJ_UdHWUzkVMOE1Us8dKSNGsExE3_OA_WhcFLL8AXoBYNeDjKg7OYUyIq-jGmsc0-HkmyV-faINxiATgWcdQ/w202-h320/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+9.21.33+PM.png" width="202" /></a>It was here, near the Fly River in 1961, that Michael Rockefeller
disappeared. Rockefeller and Dutch anthropologist René Wassing’s 40-foot
dugout canoe was swamped three miles off shore. Most believed
Rockefeller either drowned or was attacked by sharks or crocodiles. But
in 1961, headhunting and cannibalism were still present in some areas
of the Asmat region. There was speculation that Rockefeller might have
been eaten. There was circumstantial evidence to support the idea. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Several leaders of Otsjanep village, where Rockefeller likely would have
landed had he made it to shore, were killed by a Dutch patrol in 1958.
Thus the villages had some rationale for revenge against someone from
the “white tribe.” Neither cannibalism nor headhunting in Asmat were
indiscriminate, but rather a part of a tit-for-tat pay back revenge
cycle, and so it is possible that Rockefeller found himself the
inadvertent victim of a pay back began by a Dutch patrol years before.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4IPRggKHsku3QFr6Talx7LCsIJdS9vDe2YbJtRB8UslVpGA6-tQCR36SYVajvveRknSZyfz7SHnqZb1CvU2dEdFT0pGRX_ctvm1TjWELIBqDy7XQxM7PVus1e1dBI2WrivRcf7VdW4S4/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+9.21.18+PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4IPRggKHsku3QFr6Talx7LCsIJdS9vDe2YbJtRB8UslVpGA6-tQCR36SYVajvveRknSZyfz7SHnqZb1CvU2dEdFT0pGRX_ctvm1TjWELIBqDy7XQxM7PVus1e1dBI2WrivRcf7VdW4S4/w238-h320/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+9.21.18+PM.png" width="238" /></a>In 1979, Rockefeller’s mother hired a private investigator to go to New
Guinea to try to resolve the mystery of his disappearance. The
investigator swapped a boat engine for the skulls of three Caucasians
claimed to be the only white men ever killed in the area. When the
investigator returned to New York, he handed the skulls to the
Rockefeller family, convinced that one of them was the skull of
Rockefeller. Rockefeller’s mother is said to have paid a $250,000 reward
for final proof proving whether or not Michael Rockefeller was alive or
dead. The legacy of his death can be found in the Asmat artifacts
Rockefeller collected, on permanent display, in the Michael C.
Rockefeller collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York
City. And one day I was to stand in that magnificent gallery and marvel
at the tall statues and wonder.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjQ4rNDhYP9_BcSJP2oFFLMkZZUhBk9Zum2UAwXhKcJJLHN75l0lZ412Czf76Wtz-ORjCtLjxJfctZR69T9_aRaIbP42hK9cPxKKGpJJnu49gKXI-u21yvsvX4kuPSe3g9r1hflnp8_7jl/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-21+at+12.58.22+PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjQ4rNDhYP9_BcSJP2oFFLMkZZUhBk9Zum2UAwXhKcJJLHN75l0lZ412Czf76Wtz-ORjCtLjxJfctZR69T9_aRaIbP42hK9cPxKKGpJJnu49gKXI-u21yvsvX4kuPSe3g9r1hflnp8_7jl/w286-h320/Screen+Shot+2015-03-21+at+12.58.22+PM.png" width="286" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid8HCeEUvQwDr3vLDuJie8PtrgHDmcvBKQZz5PjmlGN-QKmu00l-gGpUksJE87VgzzsYfgBj8ScUNb3sfNWwpbxyAbAtVu2IbijA1SLnyRTmaiRWwDfbfJxNEGQ42xCDh1PHpim5p2zZAJ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+9.30.08+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid8HCeEUvQwDr3vLDuJie8PtrgHDmcvBKQZz5PjmlGN-QKmu00l-gGpUksJE87VgzzsYfgBj8ScUNb3sfNWwpbxyAbAtVu2IbijA1SLnyRTmaiRWwDfbfJxNEGQ42xCDh1PHpim5p2zZAJ/w222-h320/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+9.30.08+PM.png" width="222" /></a>In the northwest of New Guinea, paralleling the Indonesian border is
another of the great rivers systems of the world, the mighty Sepik. It
snakes sinuously towards the northern coastal town of Wewak, another
site of ferocious fighting in the war. Grass-thatched spirit houses
called Haus Tambarans, line its banks and contain the bones and messages
of the ancestors in primitive carvings, many of them stolen by shady
characters and sold to fashionable New York galleries. You can see Sepik
carvings hanging behind the glass windows of fashionable art galleries
on Madison Avenue in New York and around the world. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
And then there were the islands where the palm trees swayed and the
soundtrack from South Pacific played in your head. The Bismarck
Archipelago, a crescent of volcanic islands that included tiny Manus
Island, part of the Admiralty island chain in the north near the
equator; New Ireland, a long spit of sand and surf that curved south to
New Britain; the Trobriand Islands that Margaret Mead made famous when
she described the promiscuity of the women; and finally the island of
Bougainville. These were considered prime postings. And all had
suffered during the Second World War as the Japanese advanced on
Australia and the heroic Allied support of most islanders was legendary.
</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Our initial training ended in late 1969 and one day we lined up in the
hot sun and dust at Kwikila and our names were called and matched to our
postings. I was sent to Bougainville, Papua New Guinea’s most eastern
district near the Solomon Islands, three hours flying time from the
country’s capital, a sleepy island of 80,000 people, volcanic, wild and
beautiful. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh64Bn6xy-jRYMDOwZ86Nbb3wqPBZr-EubBSbVSS8MMi2STxlRoR6g1zj51095jmSgo6pdh8gONTW4mDt9hv0NJqrBcIoEdbBrlHpCFw4u5w0_7wrHJTelXS-HYxz8vhBQsW1V5h0HkbA9U/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+2.42.11+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="445" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh64Bn6xy-jRYMDOwZ86Nbb3wqPBZr-EubBSbVSS8MMi2STxlRoR6g1zj51095jmSgo6pdh8gONTW4mDt9hv0NJqrBcIoEdbBrlHpCFw4u5w0_7wrHJTelXS-HYxz8vhBQsW1V5h0HkbA9U/w640-h445/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+2.42.11+PM.png" width="640" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Kieta harbor and Pok Pok Island</i></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<br />
</span></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bougainville.</b></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<br />
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">B</span>ougainville was a backwater. It was 150 miles long with volcanoes,
black sand beaches and limpid glass green seas. It was named after the
French explorer, Louis Antoine de Bougainville who’d fought the
British and the Indians in Canada and America in the seventeen
hundreds.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The Bougainville District Office was a flimsy two story structure overlooking Kieta’s harbor. The air was infused with
the musky smell of dried coconut kernels, copra stacked along the shore
in brown hemp sacks ready for canoes and small boats to ferry to tramp
steamers anchored in the harbor for delivery to Rabaul and the world
market. The dust from the road that serviced the harbor, floated through
the louvered windows of the office and most days the sun beat down on
this small coastal town.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Kieta was perched on a narrow ribbon of land skirting the harbor. Pok
Pok Island loomed off shore protecting us from the squalls that
sometimes tore in from the east with great ferocity. Pok Pok means
crocodile in Pidgin English and the island had the shape of a huge
crocodile laying flat on its belly on top of the sea, its huge head
jutting out to the south, its tail tapering to the north and was
inhabited by local natives. They paddled their small canoes across the
harbor, laden with copra, fish and vegetables to sell in Kieta. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Jimmy Wong’s Chinese trade store was at one end and of the settlement
and Kieta’s hospital, a series of grass huts with tin roofs, was at the
other. Between were administrative buildings huddled under the
ubiquitous coconut trees that curved and swayed against the cloudless
sky providing dappled shade from the tropic sun. Houses with screened-in
verandahs, crept back from the shoreline and climbed steeply up the
mountain side offering a fine view of the harbor. A thick green blanket
of jungle and screeching wildlife, a carpet of dense undergrowth and
tropical forest trees swathed in creepers and vines, accelerated rapidly
into the clouds toward the inland spine of the island.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The Kieta Club, a white’s only club where the local expatriates drank
too much, took pride of place at the center of the small community and
near the shoreline was the Kieta hotel where I stayed when I first
arrived. It was December 1968.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The hotel was run by a small jolly Aussie who wore colorful sarongs and
recruited natives from the Mortlock Islands which were just over the
horizon, an idyllic group of small islands on a single atoll north east
of Bougainville and part of the Solomons. The Mortlock islanders were
Polynesians with straight hair and slim bodies. They fitted the
stereotype created by the French artist, Paul Gauguin who’d lived in
Polynesian Tahiti in the latter part of his life. They were unlike the
Negroid, stocky blue-black Bougainville natives.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
This was my first posting in Papua New Guinea. I was twenty-four and far
from my former life in Australia. It was almost my dream come true - almost because I was acting as district clerk, tied to a desk and a
formidable row of file cabinets, answering directly to the District
Commissioner. The adventures I sought in the jungle would have to wait
for the return of the regular clerk who was on furlough for six months. I
was his replacement.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I bunked in a stuffy back room at the Kieta Hotel with three other
patrol officers who were new inductees to the Bougainville District
administration. There’d been an influx of officers because copper and
gold had been discovered in Bougainville’s central highlands. Soon
landsmen and surveyors would arrive to negotiate purchase of thousands
of acres of virgin jungle high in the mountains and the Arawa beach
front for a massive port to export the minerals. It would be patrol
officers who’d accompany the land surveyors, magistrates and land
wardens, to negotiate with the locals.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
One morning at the hotel as we assembled for a breakfast of fresh papaya
with a squeeze of lime juice followed by bacon and eggs served by the
handsome sarong clad waiters, a stranger approached. He was an
Australian but unlike we patrol officers in our khaki shirts, shorts and
long white socks, was dressed native style wearing sandals and a sarong
- we called a lap lap - wrapped around his waist and worn like a skirt.
His name was Barry Middlemiss. He was the plantation manger at Arawa, a
1,000 acre copra plantation not far from Kieta, owned by Kip McKillop.
McKillop had been a coast-watcher during the war years. Arawa plantation
was renowned for its outstanding orchid collection of more than
one-thousand varieties.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcHTx9C6SKGVAMbo0SEIoilcJKUf1ZqP8raoSNlSg8tx6XVr0ZQPek2Yhuapo_OSHflUqVPVX7TB4XoFsmt7VtyWun1oY60zjprqUnyPU1WHXsivTJ4g5bmzJBxFhcTQYuKNwiVXhfNxQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+3.01.19+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcHTx9C6SKGVAMbo0SEIoilcJKUf1ZqP8raoSNlSg8tx6XVr0ZQPek2Yhuapo_OSHflUqVPVX7TB4XoFsmt7VtyWun1oY60zjprqUnyPU1WHXsivTJ4g5bmzJBxFhcTQYuKNwiVXhfNxQ/w120-h221/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+3.01.19+PM.png" width="120" /></a>The coast watchers were Allied military intelligence operatives
stationed on remote Pacific islands during World War Two to observe
enemy movements and rescue stranded Allied personnel. There were about
400 coast-watchers – Australian and New Zealand military officers,
Pacific Islanders and escaped Allied prisoners of war.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In August 1943, Lt. John F. Kennedy of the United States Navy, and
twelve fellow crew members, were shipwrecked after their boat, the PT-109
sunk. An Australian coastwatcher, Sub-Lt. Arthur Reginald Evans,
observed the explosion of the PT-109 when it was rammed by a Japanese
destroyer. Evans dispatched two Solomon Islander scouts in dugout
canoes. The scouts found the men and Kennedy scratched a message to
Evans on a coconut, describing the plight and position of his crew and
the rest is history. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Middlemiss sat. He observed us with a mix of disdain and envy. He’d
“gone native”, siding with the locals and was helping organize
resistance against the inroads of the copper company and the
Administration. He was cut-off from his fellow countrymen and seemed
hungry for fellowship but his demeanor was aloof and his conversation
laced with criticism toward the Australian support for the copper company.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
It would take me some time to understand Middlemiss’ attitude. I was naive and unfamiliar with the politics, greed and the devastation our
work as patrol officers supported. We were handmaidens to the mining
industry and though unaware at the time, were sowing the seeds of a
revolution the likes of which Australia and her colony had never seen.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In the district office I filed the paper work that greased the wheels of
the mining venture. More and more white strangers were fronting the bar
at the Kieta club. Blasé Americans and Aussies in new Toyota
Landcruisers trickled into town and disappeared into the jungle. There
were murmurings of unrest in some inland villages and the police
contingent at Kieta district headquarters was increased. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I became friendly with the land warden who was responsible for
arbitrating the sale of land to the mining venture. He was much older
than I, a fit and friendly fellow who eagerly awaited the arrival of his
young girlfriend from Australia. On weekends Hec and I headed for a bay
near Aropa airstrip that paralleled the coast, to swim in the surf that
beat against the rocks and crashed on the black sand beach.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We floated beyond the break in the warm sea looking back at the beach,
the palm trees fringing the rugged coastline and the steeply rising
foothills which climbed steeply higher and higher into the cloud
forest. To the north we could sometimes see Mount Bagana, a steaming
volcano which sat central in the island. We talked about home and a
life devoid of female company and I realized I was lonely for my
Australian girl friend who I’d left back in Melbourne. Soon I was to
write and encourage Libby to leave her nursing job to come marry me in
the islands.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Hec’s job as land warden was to wrest land from the natives and settle
on a price. The mining company was a British based conglomerate, Conzinc
Riotinto (CRA), which amalgamated with an Australian partner and
employed American engineering outfits to install the infrastructure of
what would soon become the world’s largest open-cut copper mine deep in
the mountains at Panguna in the heart of Bougainville Island. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
When I’d first arrived on Bougainville the road to Panguna was a
treacherous track that climbed precipitously through primeval rain
forests. The Moroni lived in clusters in grass huts but soon their
ridge-top homes would be torn down and they’d be relocated as excavation
of the mine site proceeded. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
There were about twenty known language groups on the island all with
their own unique customs. The Boungainvillians passed land ownership
through the women. It was a matrilineal society and the women held great
sway.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In the early land struggles, the women were on the front lines to try
stop the mine’s expansion from destroying their home. Near Kip
McKillop’s plantation at Arawa, the Rorovana women bare breasted and
wearing lap laps and holding their children, stood between the
government and their land, fighting to retain their birthright.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYd9cHiEuOXXiAXb54WzilZEwgvjFh6oSxrMuIOuUXFfHXxaeptiFgMKLp_YjQj4vBRhmHLNzL9FuCVFqd0HVhsKqJIKJNQCyI0kBWjx1Tq6c8yJDsE5xUvTHTewYOE4gyOxIv15KRzeiW/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+8.31.25+PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYd9cHiEuOXXiAXb54WzilZEwgvjFh6oSxrMuIOuUXFfHXxaeptiFgMKLp_YjQj4vBRhmHLNzL9FuCVFqd0HVhsKqJIKJNQCyI0kBWjx1Tq6c8yJDsE5xUvTHTewYOE4gyOxIv15KRzeiW/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+8.31.25+PM.png" width="159" /></a>The pictures of that initial fight were spread across the front pages of
Australian newspapers and alerted the world to the nascent struggle.
But I think it was the naked breasts more than the rights of the locals
that garnered the publicity for little was seen of the press in those
parts during the early development of the copper mine. I was beginning
to understand what Barry Middlemiss, the strange outsider I’d met months
before, was all about and I admired his courage and lonely struggle to
protect the local natives from the onslaught of the mining venture.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
When the district clerk finally returned to rescue me from the tedium of
office work I learned I would be posted to Boku, a distant inland
patrol post in the south of the island. I pined for companionship as I
sat on my verandah at nights looking out over Kieta’s harbor, marveling
at the unspeakable beauty of those tropic nights, watching canoes
leaving to fish, lanterns glimmering like tiny stars on the black sea. I
wrote Libby a letter asking her to marry me and after a few
excruciating weeks of waiting her letter arrived saying: “I do!”.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
On a clear tropical evening in Keita, the District Commissioner did the
honors. His black car collected us and drove ceremonially through town
to his house located high on a hill with the best view of the
area. The District Commissioner had gout that day and hobbled around on
a crutch. A long white stocking covered one foot that lay propped on
cushions on a stool while he presided over ceremonies from a chair and
his wife and daughter prepared the savories. Later we would celebrate
with fresh seafood and copious strong drinks at the home of a senior
officer. And then retire to our conjugal bed in our standard issue
domicile to begin our new life together.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Soon afterwards I was posted to the bush. Libby and I boarded a coastal
trading vessel and sailed south to the bottom of the island to Buin.
And then drove inland crossing seven rivers with no bridges, fording
the waters in four-wheel drive Landrover until finally we reached
the inland patrol post at Boku. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The officer in charge was a tall, bird-like, eccentric fellow who
favored brief shorts and bare feet. I’d read of his legendary exploits
in the Fly River delta in South West Papua. He’d conducted one of the
last great exploratory patrols. It lasted nine months and his patrol
reports were lengthy and detailed. In the library in Australia at ASOPA
I’d poured over his reports with wonder and admiration. Now I stood in
front of him at this lonely outpost where my wife was the only woman
among three white men. I noticed how he avoided my eyes but seemed unable
to take his gaze of my attractive young new wife. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Our new home was a large bamboo thatched house with shutters and a tin
roof, no running water, a simple wood cooking stove, kerosene lamps and
an outback toilet. Gecko lizards, friendly green creatures, some
transparent so you could actually see their innards, made clicking
sounds as they crawled up the walls clinging with suction feet pads. It
was a beautiful, lonely and desolate green life and our first home
together.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Nearby across the Pureata river was a construction camp where engineers
and machine operators were installing a road to connect the patrol post
to the copper mine at Panguna. Once a week we’d visit to drink beer and sit under the stars and watch a movie. These visits became the highlight
of our week. They were a hardy group of Aussies, polite toward us in
that outlandish backwater. We became friends and they offered relief
from the sultry, introspective senior officer whose eyes devoured my
wife and left us both uncomfortable.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The highlight of the month was receiving stores we’d ordered from Rabaul shipped by
boat and then trucked to Boku. And the occasional visit from a patrol
officer friend who flew his own plane. Already I was beginning to realize the life in Papua New Guinea was not as I'd read - those days had passed and by correspondence I studied film script
writing and pined for more social life and
stimulation.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The patrol post headquarters was another grass hut overlooking the
Puriata River. In the rainy season, ferocious thunderstorms rolled in
like clockwork at noon. Usually I made it to my house for lunch, about
one hundred meters from the office, before the storm clouds opened and
the deluge began. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
On one such occasion I was resting, stroking the cat which lay on my
chest when there was a massive explosion that rattled the tin roof and
propelled the cat high into the air screeching in fear leaving her claw
marks etched in my chest. When I returned to the office I saw the tall
coconut tree that shaded the office, cleft down its center from the
lightening bolt responsible for the ruckus. The electrical charge had
raced down the tree’s trunk splitting it asunder and into the soil
tracing the outline of the roots as if a machine gun had strafed the
ground. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
After these storms, the humidity lessened and the air smelt fresh and
clean creating a magical atmosphere in the evenings when we sat on the
verandah enjoying a beer. On this evening the man who ran the patrol
post’s generator providing electricity till 10 pm, sauntered towards us
and beckoned. He opened his fist to show me what looked like an axe head
the size of a matchbox and asked if I wanted it. “Olsem wanem” I asked –
“what is it?”</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
“Ol i kolim marlio ston” he said. “Olsem wanem dispela marlio ston – i
cum long sampela hap we?’ – “ its called a malio stone” he answered.
“What is it – where is it from?”, I’d asked. “Dispela ston i pundaun na
brukim diwai taim ples bilong klaut i pairap” – “the stone comes down
and breaks the tree when lightening strikes” he said.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
“Wanem nem bilong dispale samting” – “what is it called”, I asked a
second time trying to fathom the origins of the strange looking artifact
which by now I was holding, rubbing my fingers on its smooth surface.
It was dark gray in color with a sharp edge on one end and curved and
swelled towards the back where it was round and smooth. I had seen
nothing like it and wondered if perhaps it could be some kind of ancient
tool. And yet it did not seem hard or heavy enough to be an axe head
and it was certainly not an arrowhead. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
“Dispela ston, oli kolem malio ston” – ‘this stone is a marlio ston”,
the man answered again and went on: “Olgeta taim klaut I pirap, dispela
marlio ston I pundaun na brukim namel dispela diwai na mipela painim em
long insait na klostu long diwal. The man was telling me that during a
thunderstorm, the stone came from the lightening in the clouds and split
the tree in half and that people found them in the tree of nearby. I
took the stone and placed it in a safe place and next day asked some of
the Bougainvillian police stationed at the patrol post about the stone.
They confirmed the story.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9fS3cfcq69RlmJJfU7wEz5jySHz7ftrSAGcKGQwWzE8V_cbtGAb3Aeb2UDil_mgP9i1-j1kwfLAPUQIJocf17iq2I54xaACCuef-UQzIEJV8UfFTbmzA5KovMeJD2UaIlEM36vRJospr/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+4.19.49+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9fS3cfcq69RlmJJfU7wEz5jySHz7ftrSAGcKGQwWzE8V_cbtGAb3Aeb2UDil_mgP9i1-j1kwfLAPUQIJocf17iq2I54xaACCuef-UQzIEJV8UfFTbmzA5KovMeJD2UaIlEM36vRJospr/w200-h173/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+4.19.49+PM.png" width="200" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Years later in New York City, I told this story to a friend of mine from
the small Himalayan country of Bhutan and he turned to me with an
excited grin exclaiming: “oh a thunder stone – very special stone – it
has special properties – we have them in Bhutan!”. When I brought the
stone, which is my oldest possession and which I carried with me for
more than thirty years, he took the stone and held it with reverence and
asked if he could borrow it. “It’s special”, he said, “It protects and
brings good luck”. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
As a government servant in Papua New Guinea, after twenty-one months
duty I was allocated three month recreational leave. As I neared the end
of my first term I realized that perhaps the adventure I had sought as
patrol officer was not going to materialize. Independence for Papua New
Guinea was now the prime objective of the Administration and our work
was more and more involved with supporting district government and local
councils. Patrol officers were now glorified clerks and accountants and
I knew I had to move on.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
It was 1969 and the Vietnam War was worsening. Martin Luther King and
Robert Kennedy had been assassinated and I heard on shortwave radio
broadcasts in our grass hut that mankind had landed on the moon. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I felt the end of an era. I did not think of myself as colonial. Like
most in the administration I was teaching the locals how to do what we
did. In fact we were all here to work ourselves out of a job eventually,
to implement development and growth and spread the good news of
democracy and capitalism. Under a United Nations mandate, that was the
plan. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
But the days of exploration, some might say exploitation, and true
adventure in Papua New Guinea, had passed. After two years in the field I
decided to resign my commission and capitalize on my advertising
background and try a job in the Department of Information and Extension
Services in radio journalism in one of the fifteen radio stations run by
the Administration. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I was accepted and departed for three month vacation, excited about the
change to journalism, something I’d always wanted. I realized that as a
journalist I had the chance for work beyond the boundaries of Papua New
Guinea and Australia. It was to be one of many new beginnings in my
life. And I jumped.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<br />
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0PDsPRtWHMnuoJpcVAlepIWfjMuMdyzP7npMce783RNLkumhOJxFsOi_GEj0BWsdhCLQC0a1TOkkQUbPVhgM8A3SGKZuOuhgzxJKqwNfBnGj7qrjHgso8BoNQH71DxdWtDanLoVGMQ-wN/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+2.57.02+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0PDsPRtWHMnuoJpcVAlepIWfjMuMdyzP7npMce783RNLkumhOJxFsOi_GEj0BWsdhCLQC0a1TOkkQUbPVhgM8A3SGKZuOuhgzxJKqwNfBnGj7qrjHgso8BoNQH71DxdWtDanLoVGMQ-wN/w640-h368/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+2.57.02+PM.png" width="640" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<br />
</span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bougainville. Copper. Revolution</b></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I </span>attended a touch-typing course in Melbourne in preparation for my new
job in Bougainville as a journalist and assistant radio station manger. I
would be back in Keita administrative capital, Bougainville as
assistant radio station manager and news journalist. By now the copper
mine had completely changed the landscape. The small quiet town I’d
known less than two years earlier had become a seething locus of
industrial activity. Eventually the mine in the mountains would grow to a
gaping red hole nearly a mile and a half across and half a mile deep,
one of the largest in the world.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I was the Assistant Manager at Radio Bougainville. The manager had
worked in commercial radio in newsrooms in Australia, and he typed one
hundred words a minute. I was very impressed. He was intelligent,
knowledgeable, generous and encouraging and it did not take long before I
found myself back in the District Office - but this time asking the
questions and reporting answers in simple English news broadcasts I
wrote for broadcast by local staff.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I was treated with some disdain by the patrol officers I’d previously
worked with. I was seen as a turncoat and outsider. But I reveled in my
new role and held no animosity toward my former colleagues. I knew I’d
made the right decision and their days were numbered. I was carving a
new career, capitalizing on my advertising background and local
knowledge of the country which was unique amongst my expatriate radio
colleagues. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The shortwave small radio stations were independent from the District
Administration and answerable to the District Commissioner only in
declared emergencies. The model of broadcasting was similar to that of
the Australian Broadcasting Commission, which in turn was based on the
British, BBC model. We saw ourselves as independent and adversarial to
the government. I was proud of this position. We were far more than
propagandists though propaganda of a productive kind, broadcasting
health and local government messages, was part of our job.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Now there were thousands of workers on Bougainville living in
air-conditioned trailers and much of my job involved reporting on the
activities of the mine. The track I’d driven from Kieta to the Panguna
mine two years earlier, was now a four lane highway wide enough for dump
trucks with tires twelve-feet high. It sliced through the landscape
climbing up the steep Crown Prince mountain range to Panguna. The
Moroni villagers' grass huts that hugged the ridge tops for centenaries
were corrugated iron roofed straight lines of cement huts. Each time I
visited the hole in the landscape was bigger, the open cut deeper. And I
felt a great unease. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
It was not just the mine itself that obliterated the landscape. Where
were curving beaches and coconut trees at Loloho, a wharf now stretched
far out into the sea ready to receive ships that would carry ore to
market. Rows of prefabricated buildings humming with air conditioning,
sprouted along the beach fronts, and the new roads buzzed with activity
while the natives watched in sad resignation. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The gardens were gone. No longer did the locals paddle into the bay to
fish at night. They worked as laborers for the mining companies. At
night the canteens were crowded with “redskins”, imported highlanders -
their skin lighter with a red tinge. The Bougainvillians resented these
red-skinned interlopers who stole their woman and disrespected local
custom. And alcohol lubricated the unrest. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBoFIElSOja3xzaZ_1AFgYubIMwawzmq_XBDLdnetP63mMf0Y4VJj8l-rnlOqXNMBeSA_GPrD7XH9Yhy-QEk_rQxdVPkm5CBQG1P2UTjCxzVt4NZB3m-rFHXbzFVonC1ArV86FB4CUy1o/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+8.32.05+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBoFIElSOja3xzaZ_1AFgYubIMwawzmq_XBDLdnetP63mMf0Y4VJj8l-rnlOqXNMBeSA_GPrD7XH9Yhy-QEk_rQxdVPkm5CBQG1P2UTjCxzVt4NZB3m-rFHXbzFVonC1ArV86FB4CUy1o/w295-h320/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+8.32.05+PM.png" width="295" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Things in Bougainville were changing rapidly. Arawa plantation where
Barry Middlemiss had worked with the planter, Kip McKillop’s magnificent
orchid collection, had been flattened and was now the base of coastal
operations for the mining venture. The port would grow to be the third
largest in the country. A huge pipe designed to carry a slurry of copper
and water from Panguna, now speared through the jungle down from
mountains to the wharf.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The tailings from the mine site, a toxic residue of mud and chemicals
extracted from the gigantic hole, spilled down into the head water
valley of the Kawerong River and thence into the Jaba valley. It spread
out across the valley floor destroying large areas of rain forest
killing fish in the rivers. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The Jaba discharged about 150,000 tonnes of rock waste and tailings
daily. A tonne is more than 2,000 pounds weight and 2,000 pounds is one
ton so there was lot of it! At its mouth, the Jaba River depostited a
delta of poisonous mud out into Empress Augusta Bay. Sand and gravel
spread northwards along the shore. No longer did the rivers and the
valleys teem with fish and wildlife. It was a dead zone. And the lives
of those who lived there were irrevocably changed.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Before the mine opened I had walked those beaches and valleys and
crossed the pristine rivers on patrols. I saw it in its original state,
as the native had for centuries. But now everything had changed and it
was with heavy heart I watched as gigantic yellow machines lumbered
across the landscape ripping huge chunks off the mountainside searching
for copper and gold in heart of Bougainville. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The people of Bougainville began voicing their dissatisfaction to these
arrangements in the late 1960s. The murmurings had been evident when Barry
Middlemiss sat with us that morning at the Kieta Hotel years before. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The wealth generated by the Rio Tinto Group, a diversified,
British-Australian, multinational mining and resources groups with
headquarters in London and Melbourne, did little to help the local
Bougainville economy. The Papua New Guinea central government received a
small percentage of the profits and it comprised almost half the gross
national product of the new island nation. Papua New Guinea had become
reliant and subservient to new white masters.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Magistrates, protected by police and patrol officers, sat with the
locals to negotiate land purchases but offered them only a pittance. The
promises of wealth and other benefits never materialized and as the
natives saw their gardens and rivers, their forests and hunting domains
ruined by the mining venture, they felt helpless and angry. Local
leaders demanded more and though the Bougainvilleans gained some
independence in 1972, the PNG Parliament denied complete autonomy and a
fair share of profits from the mine.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Geographically Bougainville is part of the Solomon Islands. Only by a
caprice of history did it become part of the political entity known as
Papua New Guinea. There is nothing new about this situation for
colonialism has always disregarded the natural world and its
bio-regional borders favoring a policy of might is right and national
borders, like history, have always been written by the victors.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The entreaty by local leaders to recognize Boungainville’s geographic
uniqueness was refused by the central government which was no surprise
given the potential wealth of the island and the substantial investment
by the mining companies. The limited autonomy granted Bougainville was
more symbolic than real. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFmW6LPPGH5w1QSeV7XCsoKGyuCxMB7eo1RDCsw4wjOIKwMJlJo-zttrBC9_xDufoyaK6ICFZrSLoE8cEGKaFRm8-3P8GIfH9tcaC1p3AHpAEwf1o9nhhXxU-iw7TzRsfqqB0lhbtjsIST/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+9.50.58+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFmW6LPPGH5w1QSeV7XCsoKGyuCxMB7eo1RDCsw4wjOIKwMJlJo-zttrBC9_xDufoyaK6ICFZrSLoE8cEGKaFRm8-3P8GIfH9tcaC1p3AHpAEwf1o9nhhXxU-iw7TzRsfqqB0lhbtjsIST/w400-h306/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+9.50.58+PM.png" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After two decades of ignored protests, petitions, compensation claims
and twenty years after I’d left, Bougainvilleans had had enough. In 1988, a
handful of islanders stole company explosives from the mine and
destroyed electricity pylons, buildings and machinery and, using
guerilla tactics, shut down the mine. The Bougainville Revolution became
a secessionist revolt and lasted ten years claiming 20,000 lives.<br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I’d arrived in the late 1960’s, 80,000 people lived on the island
but by 1988 that number had doubled. Until revolution broke out, the
mine accounted for around forty-five percent of Papua New Guinea’s total
export earnings. Without these earnings PNG would quickly go broke.
Papua New Guinea, with the assistance of Australia, responded to the
revolt by sending in the military. As a result, Bougainville declared
itself independent and formed the Bougainville Revolutionary Army (BRA)
to defend their land and the environment from further exploitation.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgko0DQcORdRE7nPS_JinVvffVcgRql9dj38b2nM6cIAjfFbg-Xmu7m8kA_QdTlxEc-xhyTNDY6HnTLrDIjQI1GgWJwfjIF1MQ5l0KO0db9B3SM9WMd4wgI2gNr9kZjYtUP0jQnMyTc1OS/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+9.50.29+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgko0DQcORdRE7nPS_JinVvffVcgRql9dj38b2nM6cIAjfFbg-Xmu7m8kA_QdTlxEc-xhyTNDY6HnTLrDIjQI1GgWJwfjIF1MQ5l0KO0db9B3SM9WMd4wgI2gNr9kZjYtUP0jQnMyTc1OS/w640-h550/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+9.50.29+PM.png" width="640" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"> <span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Australian intelligence advised Papua New Guinea to enforce a total
goods and service blockade on the island, including medical supplies. No
one was allowed on or off. Many of those trying to bring in supplies or
transport refugees off island, were killed by the PNG army who now
maintained a stranglehold around Bougainville. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOys88eueG_INJGaeQKdcuGHXrTQZT8s119S4wAwIDXp9EPwUn9K59v6TUGE58aLjylcc3eUSd-tomdHBoPhpDWxnrjhplOJDgqUXXJg42sirH4TIC9mM5AGOQdVcCJOUMkiGeHJqAX9YF/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+9.49.26+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOys88eueG_INJGaeQKdcuGHXrTQZT8s119S4wAwIDXp9EPwUn9K59v6TUGE58aLjylcc3eUSd-tomdHBoPhpDWxnrjhplOJDgqUXXJg42sirH4TIC9mM5AGOQdVcCJOUMkiGeHJqAX9YF/w640-h390/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+9.49.26+PM.png" width="640" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Papua New Guinea Defense Force was assisted by Australian patrol
boats, speedboats, Iroquois helicopters and Nomad aircraft. When
advising PNG to blockade, it was anticipated that Bougainvilleans would
succumb to the hardship in three or four weeks. But it took almost a
decade before men with bows and arrows, home made weapons manufactured
from scavenged materials from the abandoned mine, and pure raw
determination, local knowledge and courage, defeated the combined
Australian and Papua New Guinean military. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
It was a devastating and brutal chapter in Papua New Guinea’s history
filled with deceit and subterfuge. The army was angered by the
government’s exploitation of the situation and the desire to use brute
force to shut down the BRA. The central government found themselves
facing their own army in what could easily have become a military coup
but for the calm of some in the military. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Bougainville was completely cut-off from the “civilized world” and
reverted to taim bilong tumbuna, relearning old customs and ways of
survival on their jungle island. Since there were no medical supplies
they reverted to ingenuity and their own folk remedies. Coconut oil,
which had been an export staple, became an elixir to lubricate the
revolution. They used it to grease their weapons and run their trucks
and machinery. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The oil of forty coconuts provided power to generate electricity to run a
clandestine radio station for one hour and I wondered if some of the
broadcasters I’d worked with and trained, were part of the revolution.
Radio became a central factor in organizing the local revolt. A
supporter of the station who survived an attempted summary execution
recounted that the army caught four of his friends harvesting coconuts
for the station’s generator and executed them. From its hidden jungle
outpost, Radio Free Bougainville’s pro-independence broadcasts became a
powerful psychological weapon against the central government.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
As sporadic violence continued, Foreign Minister, Sir Julius Chan,
attempted to secure a peace between the two parties. During this period,
the government attempted to obtain more military assistance from
Australia and New Zealand. But when the two countries refused, the
government hired mercenaries from Britain and South Africa. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
When local PNG military leaders heard this they were outraged and there
was a stand off outside the parliament buildings where local police
faced down the soldiers. But neither wanted to fight. It was the
subservient politicians who had caused the problem and they cowered
inside the parliamentary building for days afraid to face their
constituents.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The mercenary invasion was a disaster. When Australian news media got
hold of the story there was outrage throughout the region. The Sandline
affair, named after the company who recruited the mercenaries, marked
the low point in the Bougainville revolution, and there was almost a
coup d’état in Papua New Guinea because of it. However, in 1997, a peace
accord was signed, and violence on the island subsided.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The head of the PNG Defense Force, who’d been removed from duty, was
reinstated. It was perhaps one of the only honorable outcomes of a
disastrous affair, which had its genesis so many years before when I had
witnessed the first stirrings of the struggle. The Bougainville Copper
Mine was closed.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<br />
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxG6UhhB6ZjfpQlG0kgmqrhVz9RYLN5ff_yLDh9AgZWUlMByIlfWoZ-eqi_EMfqjouu6gY8ZS1TbOAWzXLb233CrHlEf7A72zL36k0q5A05zWcmaIMzVd_prxPEY6QQ5-p3n6k1AQT7MHg/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+2.57.39+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxG6UhhB6ZjfpQlG0kgmqrhVz9RYLN5ff_yLDh9AgZWUlMByIlfWoZ-eqi_EMfqjouu6gY8ZS1TbOAWzXLb233CrHlEf7A72zL36k0q5A05zWcmaIMzVd_prxPEY6QQ5-p3n6k1AQT7MHg/w640-h396/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+2.57.39+PM.png" width="640" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Bougainville Copper Mine - after the revolution</i></span><span style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<br />
</span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Assassination of the District Commissioner. </b><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">
</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1oTLR2tlIjqxSu_u6RrpsFOXgLB14EXn8GSNfIPEe88IBhmLE3d-pMQjVlVARqXJ9R-RW6ZhEtErYPoblEOMye79l32GRUyXIJg6uJz_iTSmnSWzXIm5VqDkUCgoXje30mVDFFiVeH3hh/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+3.25.59+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1oTLR2tlIjqxSu_u6RrpsFOXgLB14EXn8GSNfIPEe88IBhmLE3d-pMQjVlVARqXJ9R-RW6ZhEtErYPoblEOMye79l32GRUyXIJg6uJz_iTSmnSWzXIm5VqDkUCgoXje30mVDFFiVeH3hh/w400-h160/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+3.25.59+PM.png" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">R</span>abual was an elegant town on the edge of the harbor. Much of the
architecture was stuck in a time warp before the first war. The streets
were shaded with Mango trees and papaya flourished by the roadside. It
was a comfortable, sophisticated town compared with the rough and tumble
of Kieta.<br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I received instructions to leave Bougainville and move to the government
run radio station in Rabaul where I would become Assistant Station
Manager. In the late nineteenth century Rabaul had been the capital of
New Guinea when it was occupied by Germany. It was home to the Tolai
people who had a long history of contact with Europeans and were
considered the most sophisticated of tribal peoples in the entire
country.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
When the First World War broke out in 1914, Germany surrendered the
island to Britain who, in turn passed it to Australia under a League of
Nations mandate. New Britain, like most of Papua New Guinea, was invaded
by Japan in the Second World War as the Japanese pushed south towards </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Australia. The planters, Europeans who leased large tracts of land to
grow copra made from coconuts and lived a leisurely colonial life on the
tropical island, were forced to abandon their plantations but some
stayed to hide in the jungle to become coast watchers. The coast watchers were legendry. They lived with the natives and
reported on Japanese maritime troop movements, peering through
binoculars from their hideouts on the shore. <br />
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Like most of the Pacific islands, you could still see the remains of the
war littering the beaches, rusty hulks of landing barges and sometimes,
the twisted remains of fighter planes still visible in the jungle. I’d
seen the landing barges on Torakina Beach on Bougainville before the
copper mine arrived. I camped out on patrol with my wife and her twin
sister in a grass hut as I surveyed the Torokina Airstrip which had been
established by the Americans in the war.<br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_vi7FmK8WHCVexN4YJEU2zB5VsjG_cs7zvJue6f_xMhL-4KQFN2LVMK34P_53XwhU6cUvYBMp0_nVOja46kXAOVdFMBJc7qCSmNL1a8ESJKiw37cXcbgdtYD8PipI0nfiYpkPtCWwEU_/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+3.16.08+PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_vi7FmK8WHCVexN4YJEU2zB5VsjG_cs7zvJue6f_xMhL-4KQFN2LVMK34P_53XwhU6cUvYBMp0_nVOja46kXAOVdFMBJc7qCSmNL1a8ESJKiw37cXcbgdtYD8PipI0nfiYpkPtCWwEU_/w200-h162/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+3.16.08+PM.png" width="200" /></a>We moved into an apartment and assembled bamboo furniture we’d brought
from Bougainville and I joined the local yacht club and sailed a
sixteen-foot skiff called a Fireball, in competitions in Rabaul harbor –
not very successfully. Many deep-water sailors used Rabaul as their
home base and the yacht club was a locus of expatriate life.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The manager of the radio station was another Australian, a garrulous
fellow, opinionated and demanding, who soon left his young Australian
wife for the prettiest Tolai girl in the office. He was new to Papua New
Guinea, did not speak the lingua franca - Pidgin English - and was
reliant on me more than he wanted. I handled local news, writing in
simple English and passing it to staff to translate into local languages
for broadcast. I had no love for this man and when he became ill, as he
often did, and was hospitalized to have half his intestines removed, I
was not unhappy. I was in charge and things went more smoothly until a
severe earthquake hit Rabaul. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3h-NIzmh4_awrrxWYU1OxUZgbnLMSNCFJErhxIOcBgdytNCrsdL8e1KaGwDQ9MHzdi7erXhc7YQ0SBy7ml7GVoVK9PDZVX2PDegkaEL-NSonaFWnG-qOyeVRpmjAETzacpCcdeH365OdN/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+10.30.02+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3h-NIzmh4_awrrxWYU1OxUZgbnLMSNCFJErhxIOcBgdytNCrsdL8e1KaGwDQ9MHzdi7erXhc7YQ0SBy7ml7GVoVK9PDZVX2PDegkaEL-NSonaFWnG-qOyeVRpmjAETzacpCcdeH365OdN/w320-h184/Screen+Shot+2015-03-19+at+10.30.02+PM.png" width="320" /></a>Like many islands in this part of New Guinea, volcanoes abound and
Vulcan volcano had suddenly risen in Rabaul’s harbor in the 1930’s,
steaming from the sea. Years later, in 1994, it exploded showering the
surrounding area for miles with pumice ash devastating the town and
causing Rabual’s abandonment.<br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
Back in 1970 I was waiting at the Rabaul airport for the Australian
minister in charge of colonial territories, who was making an official
visit. As his plane circled overhead preparing to land I felt the earth
begin to move. And then it shook and I grabbed a nearby railing. It kept
shaking a long time and finally subsided. There was a deathly quite all
around. And then gradually things came back into focus. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I could see Vulcan across the harbor and wondered if it might explode.
There was no sign of increased activity. The Minister never landed that
day and I quickly returned to the radio station. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
As I drove around the harbor I noticed the sea receding, leaving the
shore and exposing the muddy bottom of the harbor. The gracious yachts
now lay on their sides, and still the sea receded further and further.
It was the first time I’d seen such a phenomenon and I realized what
goes up must come down. If the sea was receding it was going to come
back with equal measure and soon it did.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9CtwVpK6MaTFb6pMD6MOvroBuVF1mLLqgNtzac7VXEFdI6zZ-bvkbXn0Q4UruUuYWXqohGJUroTzWswcr2X7_fSgk8OCig40VNvnTLySiP2KEKPe7gWN-mizW3p2fZThSEaYPQt5ceAM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+9.24.18+AM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9CtwVpK6MaTFb6pMD6MOvroBuVF1mLLqgNtzac7VXEFdI6zZ-bvkbXn0Q4UruUuYWXqohGJUroTzWswcr2X7_fSgk8OCig40VNvnTLySiP2KEKPe7gWN-mizW3p2fZThSEaYPQt5ceAM/w640-h330/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+9.24.18+AM.png" width="640" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was not a tidal wave. It moved more slowly, creeping relentlessly
back toward the shore. Soon it was rushing through the main street and
people in a panic were rushing to higher ground. We had no idea when the
incursion would cease. Soon cars were floating in the streets with all
kinds of debris. Then it stopped leaving debris scattered as far as the
eye could see. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The next day I drove to view the damage. Roads were cleft wide open and
once flat, they now traced the pattern of a sine wave representing the
low frequency of the quake, its visual signature now revealed in the
bitumen. The local Tolai people, like most in Papua New Guinea, were
superstitions. Though missionaries had infiltrated their culture since
the time of the Germans in the 1880’s, their old beliefs survived and
were practiced often in secret ceremonies few white people had seen.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
And so the earthquake was seen as a sign and our job at the radio
station was to still the contagious fear that now swept through the
island. Of course it was an impossible task but many people listened and
loved Radio Rabaul and sat huddled around shortwave radios throughout
the island.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Perhaps it was the earthquake or just the anger and resentment
engendered by colonization that encouraged some to fight back against
the white man. A homegrown movement had been simmering for some months
lead by a handsome intellectual, John Kaputin, leader of the Mataungan
Association, a homegrown revolutionary movement. Soon after the quake
they occupied Kabira Bay plantation and refused to move. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
It was mid morning and I was in my office at the radio station when a
local reporter, Dick Pearson who represented the South Pacific Post
Courier newspaper, rushed into my office to announce the occupation
and invited me drive out to see what was going on.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Kabira Bay Plantation was about fifty miles from Rabaul and we drove
along the coastal road lined with coconut tress and the limpid, azure
Bismarck Sea lapping on the black sand beaches, a picture postcard that
belied the danger that lay ahead. Dick had a shortwave radio tuned to
the police frequency. We could hear the crackled instructions from the
frontline of the battle at Kabira Bay. At one point I heard panicked
voices saying the District Commissioner had died. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In Pidgin English “die” can mean different things: to sleep, to stop as
in “dis pela kar i dai” – or “the car has broken down”, but to “dai
pinis” or “die finish” is to be dead. I heard on the radio that the
District Commissioner, who was the leading Administrator in the Rabaul
District – “DC i dai”– and I turned to Dick to translate the message not
knowing if the DC was dead or just unconscious.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Ahead of us, spewing a thick cloud of dust, a truck packed with riot
police in full battle gear, shields, helmets, rifles and batons, speeded
toward Kabira. We followed as they turned off the main road and took a
jungle track deeper into the jungle plantation. When we stopped and the
police disembarked, we stopped behind them and accompanied them on the
run as they proceeded deeper into the rows of coconut trees.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Now we could hear commotion and the crack of rocks from the native sling
shots propelling stones that ricocheted off the coconut trees like
shrapnel. We bent low as we ran covering our heads and followed the
police to the scene of what was now a battle. Police were everywhere
holding their shields for protections from the rock missiles. We could
not see the attackers. They were hidden in the heavy brush but we could
hear their shouts and woops. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
And now ahead of us about fifty feet we saw a group of police protecting
a prostrate body that lay bleeding, face up, on the ground. The police
formed a kind of roof with their shields and I realized it was District
Commissioner, Jack Emanuel who lay on the ground.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Dick and I looked at each other and knew we had to get the hell out of
there as quickly as possible to break the story. There was no police
spokesman – the police were heavily engaged and we headed back to
Rabaul. “Jack Emanuel, DC bilong yumi I dai pinis”.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Earlier that day a group of ten village leaders wearing traditional face
and hair decoration confronted Emanuel and the police. One of them,
appeared angry and excitable and approached Emanuel and they spoke
briefly. Emanuel took the man by the arm and they moved away from the
main police party. Emanuel was taken into the bush and out of sight.
The police waited.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Twenty minutes later, Emanuel had not returned. A small party of police
constables set off down the bush path to look for him. They found his
body laying on the ground. He had been stabbed to death. The
stone-throwing started. Police attempted to disperse the villagers using
tear gas. This was when Dick and I arrived at the scene.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Emanuel’s body was found on the track, lying face up with blood on his
clothes and the undergrowth. His glasses were located nearby. Two
pieces of a broken rusty Japanese wartime bayonet were found close to
his body. Emanuel had apparently been stabbed and had walked several
paces back down the track before collapsing to the ground. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghiBYr877whIa4cU9WatjO2Mx1VcFgjiUiIjWvZTwMLx0x_LEEgRDQonvG93q1Ar5JDA4ByF9h7TT0p_CVGkJzN8udkJ7Z4FpFu8tsyobrVwf1oAs8QX2tcEQX15csMtfa5hQpUFh6MJ4b/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+11.11.00+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghiBYr877whIa4cU9WatjO2Mx1VcFgjiUiIjWvZTwMLx0x_LEEgRDQonvG93q1Ar5JDA4ByF9h7TT0p_CVGkJzN8udkJ7Z4FpFu8tsyobrVwf1oAs8QX2tcEQX15csMtfa5hQpUFh6MJ4b/w200-h206/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+11.11.00+AM.png" width="200" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Interviews revealed that a plan to kill Emanuel was discussed at late
night meetings of Kabaira area leaders in the two weeks leading to his
murder. They argued that the government was ignoring their land
grievances and it was necessary to highlight them by killing a “big man”
and they chose Emanuel as the victim. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The plan, known only to a group of village elders, called for a trespass
by large numbers of villagers on to Kabaira Plantation land to induce
intervention. They were confident that Emanuel could be separated from
the main police party and persuaded to venture to a spot where the
killer hid behind a tree. He would be invited to sit to talk through
the grievances. The killer would come from behind and stab Emanuel. And
so it unfolded, exactly as planned.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Back at the station I wrote the story and called in Puek Tonata, an
elderly and respected Tolai senior member of our station staff. I handed
him the copy for translation into Kuanua, the local Tolai language, for
broadcast. As I did I could heard the teletype ticking and ringing,
spewing out an urgent message and I went to check the messages. It was
from headquarters in Port Moresby, By now they’d had heard about the
murder of the District Commissioner. They ordered me to hold the story
until further notice. I did not. I felt it important to report it as
soon as possible and so did Puek. So we did.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In a situation like this I knew news would spread throughout the island
very quickly on the coconut telegraph. If we did not report, it would
defiantly damage our credibility. Already the administration’s respect
was dwindling as more people joined the burgeoning revolutionaries. It
was more than certain that one of the twenty staff people at the station
would report to village and I preferred to be on the right side of the
story. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Minutes later another teletype message arrived telling me I was
suspended for subordination. I was shocked and called Peuk to my office
to inform him that he was now in charge. Then my phone rang and I heard
the familiar English accented voice was Jim Leigh calling form Port
Moresby.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Jim worked with the BBC in London. He’d emigrated to Australia and then
to Papua New Guinea. He was the officer in charge of all government
radio stations in the country. He was passionate and aggressive and held
the independence of radio sacred. He had opened Radio Rabaul and it was
his favorite station. He had great regard for the Tolai people. He
praised my actions in broadcasting the news and told me to hold tight
and disregard any instructions but his own. It felt good to have his
confidence. My actions that day were to garner a promotion a few months
later, to Radio Goroka in the Eastern Highlands on the mainland. </span></span></div><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">-------</span></b><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<br />
<br />
</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazfybGuPRIRyQUf65n7k_9jvRW-0waFAXj2o_ObfhycDhB12q3lS8HGDzr0dPAOlWo65X7PYiZdQgUS3RYxzAUp78hyphenhyphenlMi25ev4wcR8dLPogidQJNjAaMCcgPmV4X4pQra-aM9xmXUYNh/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+4.34.21+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazfybGuPRIRyQUf65n7k_9jvRW-0waFAXj2o_ObfhycDhB12q3lS8HGDzr0dPAOlWo65X7PYiZdQgUS3RYxzAUp78hyphenhyphenlMi25ev4wcR8dLPogidQJNjAaMCcgPmV4X4pQra-aM9xmXUYNh/w294-h400/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+4.34.21+PM.png" width="294" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<br />
</span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Goroka, Eastern Highlands and the Laughing Death</b></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<br />
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span>n the early 1970’s Libby and I moved to Goroka, the administrative
headquarters in Papua New Guinea’s Eastern Highland. It was considered
one of the best postings in Papua New Guinea. At five-thousand feet
altitude, the climate is perpetual spring. The mountains surrounding
Goroka are green with tall Casuarinas trees concealing the villages of
the Guhukas and the mountains rise eight-thousand feet in the west at
Daulo Pass on the road to Kundiawa capital of the Simbu District. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSjrmYodVN9wn_Ik0RK9ziKBSf-0F3HM4glkd5Y2mP0WCPTgdo9-AlSLzW7e18hhFOZjjkrc9qqEd10t7qUi7Gv3FrMRfA2tlcncbh52euRdqxql_N2xSPHkrr2rlbcZy6aVopAPrDoTmH/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+4.37.46+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSjrmYodVN9wn_Ik0RK9ziKBSf-0F3HM4glkd5Y2mP0WCPTgdo9-AlSLzW7e18hhFOZjjkrc9qqEd10t7qUi7Gv3FrMRfA2tlcncbh52euRdqxql_N2xSPHkrr2rlbcZy6aVopAPrDoTmH/w200-h159/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+4.37.46+PM.png" width="200" /></a>The highest peak on the island in the Highlands at almost 15,000 feet,
is Mount Wilhelm. It’s part of the Bismarck Range. The peak is the
point where three provinces intersect, Simbu, (called Chimbu when I was
there), the Western Highlands and Madang. I climbed Mount Wilhelm with
friends and found snow and ice near the summit, a strange sight just
five degrees south of the equator. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
To get to Mt. Wilhelm, we chartered a small, single engine Cessna to
Keglsugl airstrip, the highest in Papua New Guinea. Cut into the side of
a mountain, there is only one way in and one way out. There is no room
for error. At one end of the strip is a sheer cliff face rising towards
the sky; t the other, a sheer drop to a valley far below. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
As we landed we felt the shudder as the wheels made contact with the
bumpy grass strip and the pilot applied the brakes hard. We were still
traveling at considerable speed headed towards the cliff face when at
the last moment, in a maneuver that took my breath away, the pilot spun
the plane around like a racecar driver. We did a one-eighty to point
back the way we’d come and we stopped.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We clambered out of the Cessna and jumped to the ground and assembled
our equipment. We could feel the rarified air. We bade farewell to our
pilot and stood watching as he strapped in behind the controls, gave a
jaunty wave, and prepared for take off. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
He gunned the engine with the brakes on hard. The plane shuddered like
an angry beast and the engine roared. He released the brake and the
Cessna leapt forward accelerating, tearing across the grass and still
land-bound sunk out of sight below the sight line. I held my breath.
Then it reappeared in the distance, banking and climbing gradually,
fragile and tiny against the gigantic green backdrop of the Bismarck
mountain ranges, circling to gain sufficient altitude to clear the top
of the ridgeline. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
That afternoon we climbed to a base camp about four hours walk below the summit. We’d attempt the ascent before dawn next day. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We began our climb in predawn and as the sun rose I could see both the
southern and northern coasts of Papua New Guinea and an endless spine of
mountains running down the island’s center. As we approached closer to
the summit, breathing became more difficult and spots danced before my
eyes.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We traversed a stone path marked with small cairns, piled stones laid by
previous climbers. Soon we’d learn how important they were. They led to
the final climb to the top. We were within eight hundred feet of the
summit.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The weather was changing quickly as we approached. Heavy clouds were
rolling in and suddenly the summit disappeared in a gray mist and then
snow; freezing sleet and high winds closed in around us. Our world
turned white and I lost sight of my companions. I could hardly see my
hand in front of my face. We shouted instructions to each other through
the cacophonous wind that now lashed the peak, with urgings to “let’s
get the hell outa here now!” We quickly descended following the cairns
that had now become indispensable. A few weeks earlier a climber had
fallen to his death on Mt. Whilhelm and we were more than leery about
continuing.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The Highlands of New Guinea is a land of sing-sings, great feasts and
constant traditional </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
</div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
ceremonies; of birds of paradise and their luminous
feathers decorate the painted-faced highlanders, bedecked in kina
shells and cowries, currency that traveled from hand to hand, village to
village from the coast in the olden days. Like pigs, such shells were
of great value. Despite the inroads of Christian missionaries,
traditional life and animism were still practiced throughout much of
Papua New Guinea. The men’s muscular bodies and the women’s breasts
shone with pig grease as they walked single file along the narrow dirt
roads and tracks to these traditional gatherings that lasted many days
and nights.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
It is common knowledge that if you run over a local native you don’t
stop. Drive to the nearest police station and seek help because this is
the land of pay back, an eye for an eye, and it is likely you will be
hacked to death with machetes, if this instruction is not obeyed.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYYwnb-lA2muzBkvJKBhoFH_DzK33pCffnMkX5TfhPNJYwm2R4zxWtyrhnvnMJM6MKr26nDDib6RnhwF6wjUmG17XDkvOym4fvUqrvftrKHsX1dIeUxa-FLkbaOZ0izJcDpH4W9zzXZCM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+4.38.57+PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYYwnb-lA2muzBkvJKBhoFH_DzK33pCffnMkX5TfhPNJYwm2R4zxWtyrhnvnMJM6MKr26nDDib6RnhwF6wjUmG17XDkvOym4fvUqrvftrKHsX1dIeUxa-FLkbaOZ0izJcDpH4W9zzXZCM/w320-h262/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+4.38.57+PM.png" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
They carried wooden spears, bows and arrows, kundu drums and bilums,
which are hand woven bags. The fibers are crafted from the inner bark of
wild tulip trees, soaked in a stream or the sea for up to eight months
until the material that binds the bark twine rots. It is dried and the
strands separated. Women rub the bark with their hands on their thighs
to produce strands of twine. Bilums were ubiquitous throughout the
island, colorfully patterned and strong and usually filled with sweet
potatoes and yams and brown babies too. The bilum is usually slung
around the woman’s forehead and drapes down over their</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
back. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I had been promoted to radio station manager at the administration’s
radio station Radio Goroka, “Krai Bilong Kumul” – the voice of the Bird
of Paradise – where I lead a staff of twenty. My job was part
journalist, teacher and administrator, sometimes explorer and documenter
of culture. We took our tape recorders into remote villages deep in the
mountains to record stori bilong tambuna, local legends and stories
and songs and sounds of the cloud forest. Back at the station</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5Xcnd8ASFCvRpc5TQ6P4sDbHUVeykH-OdEc0Nn9xJf7DBFXbU9NZI2mxnucJyov2NRl7XUVpTGrEfa9rf26zd5nZMXZRPWIoN8kKgeYYfnbsrEQKYuZckf8FIb-F05n2D_HCN0ebfgRV/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+4.38.43+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5Xcnd8ASFCvRpc5TQ6P4sDbHUVeykH-OdEc0Nn9xJf7DBFXbU9NZI2mxnucJyov2NRl7XUVpTGrEfa9rf26zd5nZMXZRPWIoN8kKgeYYfnbsrEQKYuZckf8FIb-F05n2D_HCN0ebfgRV/w200-h162/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+4.38.43+PM.png" width="200" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
the tapes
were catalogued and the recordings played over shortwave. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Because of the rugged terrain, shortwave is necessary to send the radio
signal into the ionosphere where it bounces back down to hundreds of
villages separated by razor back ridges and raging rivers. Papua New
Guinea had a population of three million people when I was there and
seven hundred documented distinct languages and customs. One million
Highlanders had been discovered just thirty years earlier. There were
still Highlanders who had never seen a white man. But now the days of
discovery were almost finished. It was why I resigned my commission as
patrol officer. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In radio I was able to replicate part of a patrol officer’s life in the
bush. We had a Swiss made Nagra reel-to-reel tape recorder for high
quality documentation we took of recording patrols. The tapes became a
unique archive of village life. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Sometimes around the bar at night at the Goroka Hotel the locals talked
about the Laughing Death. There was talk of a doctor who’s patrolled
deep in the back country and discovered some kind of ghoulish practice
involving zombies who could not stop laughing and cannibalism. What
began as rumor became more plausible when I talked to patrol officers
who’d patrolled the region. One invited me to Marawaka where the
phenomena had been reported and come see for myself. I planned to walk
into Lufa, and Marawaka, the small patrol post deep in the Okapa tribal
region accessible only by foot or light aircraft to take up his offer.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Early one morning my assistant, Boski Toni, and I mounted Radio Goroka’s
four-wheel drive Toyota and with our driver, proceeded south on the
Highlands Highway towards Kainantu. Kainantu is the gateway to the
highlands where the road descends steeply to the hot, humid flatlands
and then to the settlement of Lae on the northern coast. The highway is
an artery that connects the vast inland with the sea. It is notorious
for numerous armed hold-ups and robberies committed by rascals, the
quaint Pidgin English word for thieves. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We left the highway and followed a dirt road east that became narrower
and slippery as we drove deeper into the mountains. Heavy rain enveloped
us, so thick it fell in a curtain around us, hissing and exploding,
forcing us to revert to four wheel drive and our lowest gear and we
crawled forward through the slush and viscous mud.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In the late afternoon we arrived at a small village where the road
gradually petered to a walking track making it impossible to drive any
further. By now the deluge had ceased. We disembarked and unloaded our
equipment. The sun glinted on the dripping vegetation and the forest was
an orchestra of birds and crickets, a cacophony of high pitched squawks
and squeals and a drumming rhythm that sounded like an army of maracas.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The narrow walking track ahead, wound through savannah grasslands, an
endless moving carpet of light green grasses, as high as a man on either
side of the path. Earlier we had driven through dense forest, hissing
with rain, dark and foreboding. But now the sky cleared and we entered
another realm. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The jungle suddenly opened up. The track disappeared around a smooth
round hill. Behind it were the mountains of Okapa, range after purple
range as far as we could see. It was lonely and magnificent in the
twilight. Somewhere out there was Marakawaka and perhaps the story of
The Laughing Death. We unloaded the Toyota and bid our driver farewell
and watched as he urged the jeep down the</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> treacherous narrow track back
to Goroka. Then it fell quite and still.</span><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXVhgJFn-w51J1nE5prw1-pkwNsOzyDHJFDK6p4NyuQDrszXkre2KbbTPwaoh_S0YUHNHyl0JD9kQXTfXMoY5-GijdPlASfFS3Nk8EHj4wC-03yOhBRHnmrY8EHtqmf6JGoT1GgYHF73s-/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+1.28.31+PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXVhgJFn-w51J1nE5prw1-pkwNsOzyDHJFDK6p4NyuQDrszXkre2KbbTPwaoh_S0YUHNHyl0JD9kQXTfXMoY5-GijdPlASfFS3Nk8EHj4wC-03yOhBRHnmrY8EHtqmf6JGoT1GgYHF73s-/w200-h149/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+1.28.31+PM.png" width="200" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We walked for two days deep into the mountains stopping in villages to
collect songs and stories on our expensive Swiss Nagra tape recorder,
the kind used by professional sound engineers to record Hollywood
movies. We slept in grass huts built for patrol officers on their
occasional visits to the area. We ate tinned rations carried in large
galvanized metal boxes by our carriers, two men per box, with a stout
stick thrust between the handles and hoisted on their muscular
shoulders. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The mountains were steep and the paths often narrow slippery and
treacherous; sometimes the drop to the steaming valleys below was
thousands of feet. We clambered up into the cloud forest and cut bamboo
to find delicious water stored in the stems. Occasionally we passed men
and women with their children, people not far removed from the Stone
Age, as they walked the track. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We rested, perched on the mountainside. An old man suddenly appeared out
of the jungle. He was from the Kukuku tribe evidenced by the grass-like
sporran that covered his genitals in a curved penis gourd. The Kukuku
were notorious, fierce and still very much in the Stone Age. They were
very small, many less than five feet tall. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Our visitor was friendly and forthcoming and he used a stick to support
himself for one foot was missing at the ankle. In my best pidgin English
I greeted him and pointing to his missing foot inquired “Olsam wonam
long dispela lek bilong u?” – “what happened to your foot” – and he
answered – “long taim bipo, wunpela kiap i wokabaut long ples bilong me
na me pait long em na I sutim mipela long lek bilong me”. He explained
that some years earlier he had attacked a patrol officer patrolling the
region. The “kiap” had shot his foot off in the fracas. With a benign
smile, he turned and limped into the forest.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I”d heard about tukubu and Kuru, known as the laughing death, and wanted
to visit the area it was said to occur. Rumors of a mysterious disease
that turned people into a zombie-like state, and sorcery seemed like a
story and I wanted to find local natives who might talk about it on
tape. Few Europeans, other than patrol officers, missionaries and
anthropologists, had ventured into the territory where it was said to be
common. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYRMso83z2DgPN1LGv0TCOkqYEb_A7aBn8Ww2CfBbVgFZH0sbGSmLtuUWqzqDKgrbU7Ru_wdJwSyAn_oBUk94x2unFDlrLtYGArB9EJ3eJAeUcu3iY9vsmhn8Iv7hjr9LcF0HQF6PVLV6J/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+1.28.48+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYRMso83z2DgPN1LGv0TCOkqYEb_A7aBn8Ww2CfBbVgFZH0sbGSmLtuUWqzqDKgrbU7Ru_wdJwSyAn_oBUk94x2unFDlrLtYGArB9EJ3eJAeUcu3iY9vsmhn8Iv7hjr9LcF0HQF6PVLV6J/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+1.28.48+PM.png" width="200" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
I was directed to a local leader said to be willing to discuss it and
late one cold highland night as we sat huddled around a fire deep in the
Eastern Highlands, a local politician and community big man named John
Pokia, squatted in the shadows and began speaking in a hushed voice
about the strange local customs. I moved the mic closer and rolled tape.
</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
It was a brutal tale of mystery and murder found only amongst the Fore
people in the Okapa region of the Eastern Highlands. It was a medical
mystery story and the equivalent of a mafia hit. It involved brain
eating cannibalism, sorcery, modern medicine and treachery; a strange
American scientist seeking the world’s most lethal viruses to use in
biological warfare and a Lithuanian doctor, Vincent Zagas, determined to
find the cause of the laughing death.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzOMiBt5VY9IgdGh5e66Gl1rsU2Bq-09sbohF-2qJv_oF13Ohydi_d47-mbazbwyXONB7qgDy_TryaSKcA5rrYjX-CXjhKsaFgboBzCO1mGMuTVznFpZRUEov3G53uwDHR0RAuTHQwsbVW/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+11.23.44+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzOMiBt5VY9IgdGh5e66Gl1rsU2Bq-09sbohF-2qJv_oF13Ohydi_d47-mbazbwyXONB7qgDy_TryaSKcA5rrYjX-CXjhKsaFgboBzCO1mGMuTVznFpZRUEov3G53uwDHR0RAuTHQwsbVW/w320-h296/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+11.23.44+AM.png" width="320" /></a></span><span style="font-size: medium;">It was common to find doctors trained in Europe in Papua New Guinea.
After the Second World War many immigrated to Australia but were not
accepted into the medical profession. They were foreigners and Australia
had a racist tinge in those days. Many found work in less desirable
locations like inland Australia and Papua New Guinea.</span><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In the 1950's kuru was a new syndrome, not only for Western observers
but for the Fore as well. It took its name from a Fore word meaning
trembling or fear. It was marked primarily by symptoms of tremor and
loss of balance and coordination. An initial ''shiver'' usually
progressed to complete motor incapacity and death within a year.
Emotional instability resulting in outbursts of pathological laughter
was a feature seized upon by the popular press and they referred to it
as the ''laughing death''.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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As the medical officer charged with the supervision of nearly 4,000
square miles of mountainous terrain and an indigenous population of over
100,000 people, Vincent Zigas wrote how Western medicine and
colonialism were brought to the area in a single encounter. While
Government patrols ventured into new terrain to introduce new notions of
power and authority, kuru investigators who accompanied the patrols,
charted the geographic boundaries of the disease collecting blood, urine
and cerebrospinal fluid to send to research laboratories in Melbourne
and Washington for study. One of the features of the sickness was its
isolation to the Fore. It was not found elsewhere so it was unlikely it
was a vector borne disease. It was a mystery. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijjWg1SbAYXXscDXBGG50P60Z99cC2i9hHyQpvRV3kms9Ra8lQ5F5Yh1ErHCbw_CExRdXC2wAF1Dsiit_yBpPL1FfBVvgf1iTeplL_QL3UKGzNRmnb_5QyJZau0HOo7EUVESSCPSsiV5C/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+11.24.42+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijjWg1SbAYXXscDXBGG50P60Z99cC2i9hHyQpvRV3kms9Ra8lQ5F5Yh1ErHCbw_CExRdXC2wAF1Dsiit_yBpPL1FfBVvgf1iTeplL_QL3UKGzNRmnb_5QyJZau0HOo7EUVESSCPSsiV5C/w400-h304/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+11.24.42+AM.png" width="400" /></a>After his arrival in Kainantu, Zigas discovered he was the only
medically trained doctor in that part of New Guinea. In 1955, Kainantu
was a small settlement. The town was a central crossing point for people
moving up and down through the Highlands and to the coast and was a
natural place for Zigas to set up his base.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In September 1955, accompanied by a guide, Zigas, set out to investigate
the increasingly persistent rumors of this strange malady. After two
days' hiking in high terrain, the guide led him into a small hamlet with
a few scattered mud huts. Zigas witnessed a woman with the symptoms. By
the end of the year, he had seen dozens of similar cases, mostly in
women and children. He first thought it was a brain disorder, maybe a
virus or bacterial infection. With almost no medical facilities and no
clean water or electricity, Zigas took what medical supplies he could
carry on his hikes into the highlands. As the numbers of kuru cases
multiplied, he was quickly overwhelmed.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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Dr Zigas described performing autopsies on kuru victim's brains by
lamplight, dust and chaff showering from a thatched roofed hut. For
close to an hour his two native assistants work at opening the cranium
of a victim, with a hacksaw blade found in the carpentry workshop. In an
extended account of the disease's victims, he describes two women
seated together, one suckling a pig at her breast, the other delousing
the head of her companion and eating the parasites. A third kuru victim
sits with a another group of women preparing a meal of green vegetables,
larvae and beetles.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lETu6xfttuAoZT-ky-bdMaPUWjA0mtdkL-Xg8IFp_ajCtC5rV2XFWcVYonk-FENi43JQyjCIG8LAcuw4Mqjb56KjaUFOreQuuxONVJhWmsiHo9zf2qsvJPMHn6sO6G6_IwQufyM22NYu/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+11.24.02+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lETu6xfttuAoZT-ky-bdMaPUWjA0mtdkL-Xg8IFp_ajCtC5rV2XFWcVYonk-FENi43JQyjCIG8LAcuw4Mqjb56KjaUFOreQuuxONVJhWmsiHo9zf2qsvJPMHn6sO6G6_IwQufyM22NYu/w320-h298/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+11.24.02+AM.png" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Then, in March,1957, a surprise visitor showed up at Zigas's facility in
Kainantu. His now famous description of the caller appears in his
posthumously published book: “Laughing Death: The Untold Story of Kuru”.
He describes meeting a tall stranger who appeared out of nowhere at his
camp. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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"At first glance he looked like a hippy, though shorn of beard and long
hair, who had rebelled and run off to the Stone Age world. He wore
much-worn shorts, and tattered sneakers, an unbuttoned brownish plain
shirt revealing a dirty T-shirt,. He was tall and lean and one of those
whose age was difficult to guess, looking boyish with a soot black crew
cut unevenly trimmed as if he had done it himself. He was just plain
shabby. He was a well-built man with a remarkably shaped head, curiously
piercing eyes and ears that stood out from his head. It gave him the
surprised, alert air of taking in all aspects of new subjects with a
great thirst. I guessed him to be from America."</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In his book: “Brain Trust:The Hidden Connection Between Mad Cow and
Misdiagnosed Alzheimer's Disease”, author and scientist, Colm A.
Kelleher, writes extensively about Kuru and the search for its cause. He
draws from Vincent Zigas’ work and describes the stranger,
thirty-seven-year-old D. Carleton Gajdusek, who worked with Dr. Zigas
and ultimately discovered the answer to the Kuru mystery.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
By any standards this tall, thin stranger who machine gunned people with
a constant flow of questions, was a remarkable individual. Gajdusek
came to the wilds of New Guinea with some very powerful connections.
These connections would have a huge impact on defining the mysterious
disease that ailed the Fore.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Kelleher describes Gajdusek as a James Bond-like figure capable of
slipping into foreign countries, without permission if necessary.
Combining a razor-sharp physician's intellect with fluency in nearly a
dozen languages, Gajdusek moved as easily through remote tribes in
obscure countries as he did in conversing with the world's best and the
brightest researchers in medical science. When he arrived in New Guinea,
Gajdusek was used to spending months sleeping in flea-infested huts
under primitive conditions in any number of countries around the world.
But it was his very powerful backing in Washington, D.C., that Gajdusek
brought to Kainantu that was to change Vincent Zigas' life. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Gajdusek had traveled extensively in South America, the Middle East, and
Central and Southeast Asia funded by the U.S. Army under the auspices
of Dr. Joseph Smadel. Kellher writes that Smadel played "M" to
Gajdusek's "Bond”.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Gajdusek was co-recipient of the Nobel Prize in Physiology and Medicine
in 1976 for his work on kuru. Gajdusek described the formation of his
relationship with Smadel in his Nobel Foundation autobiography. In 1951,
as a young research virologist, Gajdusek was drafted to complete his
military service from John Enders' laboratory at Harvard, to Walter Reed
Army Medical Service Graduate School, when he was summoned by Dr.Joseph
Smadel.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Kelleher goes on to explain how during the 1950s, Dr. Smadel was one of
the most influential and powerful men in the United States medical
establishment. Not only was he director and chairman of the U.S. Armed
Forces Commission on Viral and Rickettsial Diseases at Walter Reed
Hospital, Smadel was also a central figure in establishing the United
States military's embryonic biological warfare program. A glance at
Gajdusek's research activities for Smadel in the year prior to his
arrival in New Guinea gives an idea of his ruthless global pursuit of
infectious organisms. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Kelleher’s research outlined in some detail, this fascinating link
between biological elements that might be used both to cure and to harm,
coalescing in a lonely outpost in the highlands of Papua New Guinea.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In a status report dated January 4, 1956, Gajdusek reported on blood
samples with antibodies containing poliovirus, herpes virus, mumps,
panleukopenia virus, and rickettsia from children from the Río Guapay in
Bolivia and the Peruvian Amazon. He had conducted seroepidemiology
studies of mumps, panleukopenia virus, toxoplasmosis, leptospirosis, and
syphilis throughout Afghanistan, Iran, and Turkey, and had surveyed
poliomyelitis and Q fever in the Middle East. He had also collected and
dispatched live biological samples of tularemia, Omsk and Crimean
hemorrhagic fevers from the wilds of Central Asia to Smadel's
headquarters at Walter Reed Hospital. By overcoming a series of
insurmountable obstacles with unorthodox strategies, Gajdusek succeeded
in grabbing whatever infectious disease sample he was assigned to
capture.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Throughout the 1950s Gajdusek mailed a steady stream of live biological
samples back to Smadel. Smadel was casually trading on a global scale,
in a large number of infectious organisms of biological warfare
importance, including Crimean and Omsk hemorrhagic fever, equine
encephalitis virus, Venezuelan equine encephalitis virus, and many
others. Thus, by the time Gajdusek's travels took him to remote Papua
New Guinea, a successful multiyear relationship between two remarkable
men had been established.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
During the mid-1950s Smadel shifted his operations to the National
Institutes of Health and maintained a rapidly expanding medical research
empire based both in Bethesda and in Camp Detrick and it quickly became
the center of the U.S. biological warfare research program. Until his
death in 1963, Joseph Smadel would have his finger directly on the pulse
of all important infectious disease research conducted by the United
States government after World War II. By 1957 the Smadel-Gajdusek team
was a well-oiled machine for obtaining live infectious disease organisms
from anywhere in the world. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI1Fl9YMQewGuQSJXZA9WCYOQPop5DHZ7rOAoupCDWXfvRdNn2-kUpKihNw4VLDn1bQMyCG2V2Mn-mQWvjMZx1SD-nCKE-DYrrJNfoiglknAdrnk-qOtolDDY4bDtx2e5IOtSjAEicye6C/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+11.24.56+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI1Fl9YMQewGuQSJXZA9WCYOQPop5DHZ7rOAoupCDWXfvRdNn2-kUpKihNw4VLDn1bQMyCG2V2Mn-mQWvjMZx1SD-nCKE-DYrrJNfoiglknAdrnk-qOtolDDY4bDtx2e5IOtSjAEicye6C/w640-h502/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+11.24.56+AM.png" width="640" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Gajdusek's first letter to Smadel, dated March 15, 1957, described the
excitement he felt after he first saw the mysterious kuru: "I am in one
of the most remote, recently opened regions of New Guinea (in the
Eastern Highlands) in the center of tribal groups of cannibals, only
contacted in the last ten years -- still spearing each other as of a few
days ago and cooking and feeding the children with the body of a kuru
case only a few weeks ago.”</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
What Gajdusek deducted was that kuru came from ritualistic cannibalism.
The reason it was found almost always in women and children was because
they sometimes ate the brains of the dead and since this custom was
limited to the Fore, it was not found beyond its borders.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The Fore had their own explanations for the origin of the disease. They
believed that kuru was caused by malicious sorcerers who stole something
intimately associated with the victim, such as a scrap of food, hair
clippings or excrement, to which they added their own secret items.
Binding the ingredients in a package, the sorcerer then uttered a spell
and placed the bundle in muddy ground, where its disintegration
triggered the parallel collapse of the victim's body. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The families of kuru victims sought divination to identify the guilty
sorcerer and persuade him to remove the bundle. And they consulted with
a shaman, who might name the aggressor and provide therapeutic
bloodletting and medicines.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgliL8DiFa5_qiIkKW3fW2uCJ5oXDRLn1tYYAUrO3sy-IXYwq-AxTZp7LBtR0bbfrQZut-9g1_mcx9xv4oiqC081hWk9mQ_eQizwnuJNBNxH0avl-WIc0wjHuH72fcUzugTrJIUxXYehoZ3/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+11.24.22+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgliL8DiFa5_qiIkKW3fW2uCJ5oXDRLn1tYYAUrO3sy-IXYwq-AxTZp7LBtR0bbfrQZut-9g1_mcx9xv4oiqC081hWk9mQ_eQizwnuJNBNxH0avl-WIc0wjHuH72fcUzugTrJIUxXYehoZ3/w301-h320/Screen+Shot+2015-03-03+at+11.24.22+AM.png" width="301" /></a>Because a death had to be repaid by a death, the laughing death
multiplied the killing cycle. If one died of kuru it meant somebody had
cast a spell and retribution must be paid. The practice of ritual
killing called Tukabu grew out of Kuru and as we sat around the embers
of the fire in this remote village, the chill night air biting-cold in a
cloudless night, I learned the secret. It was not magic or sorcery at
all – it was murder. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
As the sun rises and heavy dew still lies on the ground, an old woman
walks the path to her garden. Suddenly killers spring from the tall
grass, grab her and push her to the ground. One has a heavy stone
wrapped in a leaf or some kind of cloth, and while another holds the
woman, the first slams the rock, on both sides of the jaw and dislocates
it so the mouth hangs slack and open – then on the sides of both
kneecaps so she can longer walk. There are no marks, no abrasions
because the rock is covered. Then the leaf or cloth is wrapped around
the poor woman’s neck and using his mouth, the killer bites hard on the
Adams apple crushing the larynx. Now her screams become a horrible
distorted gurgle. There are no marks.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Finally the killer takes a long sliver of thin bamboo like a long needle
– in the armpit or another obscured part of the body, and pushes in
deeply into the body leaving no sign of the insult. The woman, unable to
walk or cry for help is left laying on the path for her neighbors to
find, her jaw hanging slack, her legs useless; unable to report the
attack. Soon she will die of septicemia and once again tukabu will have
taken a life. Kuru, the laughing death, will have been reciprocated.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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</span></span></div>andrew leslie phillipshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15751776672648559528noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528216782856958747.post-9719689956447433772015-02-27T09:30:00.011-08:002021-03-28T15:21:06.557-07:00Assignment Central America - Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua. 1980's.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYFkXsMPAQxZ3lxATU4flDIpvZ1lOhfyLOkOZTpdbQYx2GaxGQ_tLI4ONkODX7wCExbhecnwH5GvtPuZDWma7g2XRix7n-68okUu7srP7EqyoAHbAhyphenhyphenhvSZsJplUn9jSMSvNH1qzfUrTW/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-02-27+at+6.37.07+AM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYFkXsMPAQxZ3lxATU4flDIpvZ1lOhfyLOkOZTpdbQYx2GaxGQ_tLI4ONkODX7wCExbhecnwH5GvtPuZDWma7g2XRix7n-68okUu7srP7EqyoAHbAhyphenhyphenhvSZsJplUn9jSMSvNH1qzfUrTW/w640-h506/Screen+Shot+2015-02-27+at+6.37.07+AM.png" width="640" /></a></span></span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><span style="font-size: large;">Assignment Central America</span> <br /></span></span>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>The decade of the 1980's in Central America was soaked in blood. Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua were aflame. I read about it every day and when not on assignment for Australian Broadcasting I volunteered in the news room at a radical free-form radio station WBAI, Pacifica Radio in New York City. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyMWDF7EWLdnhwk1k4O6UErjovzkS9kL5fVuZEPqff9AAZhvLtM-HERYWk14ffpK_pIg19xWx5FrgriKYutL3E3KvzHoHMb7QEnV7OhjoG3uyR5-5COmaCRBmZ_FDIVY_jQtQHwXI8-0L/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+11.50.09+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyMWDF7EWLdnhwk1k4O6UErjovzkS9kL5fVuZEPqff9AAZhvLtM-HERYWk14ffpK_pIg19xWx5FrgriKYutL3E3KvzHoHMb7QEnV7OhjoG3uyR5-5COmaCRBmZ_FDIVY_jQtQHwXI8-0L/w195-h212/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+11.50.09+AM.png" width="195" /></a><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>WBAI's FM signal reached sixty miles. It was incredible that I could contribute and actually get on air to broadcast - to compile news reports from reporters in foreign lands, take them over crackling phone lines from faraway places, </span><span>switches and plugs and reels turning, press the record button and the wire service clacking and sheets of it rolling across the floor as the news poured in. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>After a stint in news as a reporter riding a bike across town to the United Nations, attending public events and recording speeches, cutting tape and compiling stories, finding a typewriter that worked - red crayon scribbles on the copy, cut-and-paste from the wire-services, reels of stories labeled and ready, threaded and cued. We were a beacon of radical thought and alternative news <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">in</span> CentAm - the wars in Central America were high on our agenda. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>One afternoon, our radio correspondent in CentAm, Gene Polombo called and I picked up. San Salvaldoran Archbishop Oscar Romero had been assassinated. </span></span><br />
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a small chapel located in a hospital called "La Divina Providencia".
It happened just one day after his sermon calling on Salvadoran soldiers to "cease government's repression". He finished the sermon and a shot rang out and the Archbishop collapsed in front of the alter. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>I made a pilgrimage to the chapel nearly a decade later and a nun opened the door to the Archbishop's room. A narrow bed and table with books and a bible and reading lamp. A crucifix on the chipped, white stucco wall. And the date of his death on an open page on his calender - </span><span>24th, March, 1980.<i><span class="mw-mmv-title"> </span></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Central America became my self-proclaimed beat. As a journalist I'd investigated and made in depth radio documentaries about the atomic bomb and <a href="http://andrewlesliephillips.blogspot.com/2014/09/an-interview-with-cmdr-paul-tibbets-man.html" target="_blank">Hiroshima</a> and I'd done a program called <i><a href="http://andrewlesliephillips.blogspot.com/2011/02/unheeded-message-of-holocaust-interview.html" target="_blank">The Unheeded Message of the Holocaust,</a> </i>an extended interview with Polish underground courier, Jan Kaski who'd been an eye witness to the early manifestations of the Jewish Holocaust. I was born in the shadow of the Jewish Holocaust and Hiroshima. And I felt it deep in my bones, that sad connection. And perhaps that was why, years later, I grappled with those events. <a href="http://andrewlesliephillips.blogspot.com/p/radio-productions-and-comments.html" target="_blank"><i>Bio & Radiography</i></a>. <i><a href="https://archive.org/details/hiroshima-countdown" target="_blank">Radio doco Hiroshima Countdown on Democracy Now. </a></i><i> </i></span></span></div><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And now south of the border was another horror, another kind of holocaust happening in our name, with our tax dollars - death squads and Maryknoll nuns murdered, drugs, and international arms deals, Iran-Contra affair. Refugees were scrambling across U.S. borders and a sanctuary movement sprang up sparking the imagination of liberal U.S. churches - a new theology of liberation. I felt compelled to visit and report at the source. Here's some notes and observations. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8yeHaAPtOc2585Mp6uj4ToPrdGUPQ5A6peEHx4nhV7vVyQ0lIVcKoryVTgiANJvSkPIJqs3M2HJHtEBvjSFmNVOHvXXFdTek-NW7r4WIFF50tlGHvzY7EqA0xLN1G-TN-EJ2JAUlNsGhR/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-01+at+7.45.16+AM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8yeHaAPtOc2585Mp6uj4ToPrdGUPQ5A6peEHx4nhV7vVyQ0lIVcKoryVTgiANJvSkPIJqs3M2HJHtEBvjSFmNVOHvXXFdTek-NW7r4WIFF50tlGHvzY7EqA0xLN1G-TN-EJ2JAUlNsGhR/w400-h295/Screen+Shot+2015-03-01+at+7.45.16+AM.png" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span><b> </b></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span><b> </b></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span><b>The Hotel Pan American, Guatemala City, 1988</b></span></span></span><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></span></span></span><br /></div></div><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span>hey
walked down a flight of musty stairs at the Hotel Colonial in
Guatemala City. The stairs creaked and the carpet was threadbare. In
the hotel lobby the sun streamed through the frosted glass windows
and filled the canary-yellow foyer laid out in diamond
shapes with yellow and brown tiles. The walls were
varnished and had a warm dark patina. The switch board buzzed and a
typewriter snapped behind the desk below a ticking black and silver
clock. A glass cabinet was on the reception desk with five small dolls
dressed in Mayan ethnic costume. And behind the desk a magazine rack
displayed the latest headlines: <i>Time Magazine</i>: <i>“Central America:
Deeper into Danger”.</i></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoe5aCTXGvk_G_ehpJAqgXQkBrgCHwoX7Hht5n9WpUJFrq66YLoYM9Qd_6nS7RUI_kEJJK13izosh6DTNFZMdBIpQQCP28u7cf9QRL90EfU_R2OhZ1cfs29lyF5pBLwLTyeD3AoVWEB3YO/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-21+at+8.56.05+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoe5aCTXGvk_G_ehpJAqgXQkBrgCHwoX7Hht5n9WpUJFrq66YLoYM9Qd_6nS7RUI_kEJJK13izosh6DTNFZMdBIpQQCP28u7cf9QRL90EfU_R2OhZ1cfs29lyF5pBLwLTyeD3AoVWEB3YO/w248-h320/Screen+Shot+2015-03-21+at+8.56.05+AM.png" width="248" /></a><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>There was the sound of water falling from a
nearby fountain and the waiters were wearing traditional costumes –
they swished past, eyes lowered, carrying trays of food to
the dining room. The tables were set for four with yellow cotton table
clothes and burgundy napkins. Framed huipils and weavings
hang on the wall. At the entrance, a dark-skinned man
stood with a tasseled wooden billy club and a pistol on his belt. His
name was Garcia and he watched the traffic passing on the street
outside.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>At ten o’clock at night, the heavy wooden doors are
bolted shut. The streets quiet and empty. Inside the Hotel Pan American
the ticking black and silver clock beside the glass cabinet with the
five dolls locked inside and the magazine rack exclaiming: <i>“Central
America: Deeper into Danger”</i>, the water falling musically. A
drab-green army jeep with canvas hood eases past the stucco walls and
bolted doors through the cobbled streets and soldiers leaning back with
their legs hanging down, cradle their M16’s .</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Nearby, a
yellow-lit bar and pizza joint. Its called <i>Los Ceollinas,</i> <i>The Snail</i>, and serves simple food; tortillas, avocado, rice and beans and beer and Coca Cola. The waitress is moving slowly because her shift is almost done . Soon she'll head home through the darkened city -
walking quickly - head down watching the pavement, heart bumping in her
chest - until she opens and locks the door behind her.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Leaning
in the doorway, a broad shouldered young man, his face is Indian and
his hair thick black and shorn high above his ears. Probably a soldier. He wears a satin bomber jacket and sips beer from a
bottle. He is locked in the frame in the doorway and his sunshine
soaked neck is thick and strong and pushes with crushing force
into his shoulders. His arms hangs loose. Outside I can hear the
sound of rock n’roll – Elvis Presley echoes through the street. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>I visited the poet and journalist Ann Maria Rodas in her home on the outskirts of Guatemala City. She gave me this poem:</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><i>I adore you.</i></span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><i>You are </i></span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><i>my people.</i></span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><i>But there is a gun in your hand</i></span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><i>and in your eyes, dark police.</i></span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><i>There is no communication between my love</i></span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><i>and your </i></span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><i>violence. </i></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><i> </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span><b>Antigua,
Guatemala</b></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span>he
bus to Antigua from Guatemala City is not crowded. The seats are comfortable.
The windows open and fragrant warm air flows across my face. We
climb a steep mountain on a wide, smooth road leaving the city behind shrouded
in a mist of yellow smog. </span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>The sun is bright and the landscape dry with green
swathes of vegetation. Then riding steeply down to Antigua, the old colonial
capital of Guatemala, a cathedral dome in the distance and the town spread out
and shimmering. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>The trip takes less than an hour. We alight at a bustling bus </span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">terminal stinking with diesel </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>fumes - crowds of
people, music from portable radios, food vendors, police, soldiers,
tourists. A boy finds us a taxi and we head for the Lutheran Mission we’d been
advised provided cheap accommodation.</span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>I
sink into the beaten up old taxi’s backseat and the springs are so weak I
wonder if my ass might scrape the road. The driver grinds the gears and with a
blast of noise because the exhaust system no longer works, we lurch forward. He
touches two wires - “Baaarp. Bararp” - the horn sounds and pedestrians scatter.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>We
find the mission on the edge of town behind a tall white stucco wall. Eucalyptus trees grow behind it and a purple carpet of jacaranda petals spills
onto the street in front. Sparse dry hills rise up at the back of the white
walled mission house and its red tiled roof traces a crisp outline against the
blue sky. Wooden bars protect the shaded windows and brilliant bougainvillea
and exquisite blood red roses surround the entrance. Inside it’s cool as we
walk across the clay-tiled floor. A
deferential man called Juan shows us our room. And night falls.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Next
day begins Semena Santa, Holy Week, the holiest time of year for Catholics, the
time to mourn and celebrate the crucifixion and resurrection of the Christ and
I feel the weight of a mighty metaphor. The streets are crowded with people and
the smell of incense and frangipani petals fills the fresh new morning.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>The
Agua Volcano dominates the landscape. It’s more than twelve thousand feet high
and a wisp of white smoke and clouds hangs around its summit. Steep volcanic
slopes and raw green hills surround Antigua. The streets are narrow and laid
with cobble stones that have carried oxen and the turning wheels of wooden
carts, bare brown feet of children and automobiles, army jeeps and black
Suburban’s with black tinted windows that cocoon
the soldiers of the death squads. </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>In
the shadows of the cathedral ruin, men in purple satin robes are gathering.
They wear purple pointed caps and they look as if they’ve time traveled from
the days of the Inquisition. Boys and young men of military age and old men,
bent and shuffling, carry crude wooden crosses draped with white cloth. A somber bass drum beats in the distance as
they prepare for the parade.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Mayan
men and women kneel and bend pouring flowers on the road and slowly intricate
fragrant patterns materialize. It’s like a Disney cartoon except the flowers
and perfume are real and they stretch as far as the eye can see in a giant
palette of color. Hundreds
of catholic penitents are gathering for Holy Week and the celebration continues
for days. Somber music and biblical costumes, streets pungent with bellowing
copal incense and pools of rose petals, frangipani and hibiscus and colored
sawdust laid on the wetted cobbles which shine in the sunshine.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>On
each side of the narrow streets, thick adobe walls peeling Technicolor paint,
balconies and porticos and leafy patios, deep shadows. The Plaza de Armas, the
former government buildings surrounding it, is crowded now and the wide plaza
dazzles in the sunlight. Thick trunked trees lend broad pockets of shade and
ice cream vendors ring small brass bells, bunches of them that hang from the
carts tinkle like shells washing in the waves on a beach.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>In
the shadows of the cathedral ruins, the walls all cracked and fading yellow,
green and peach and pink; across the crumpled courtyard past the tall arched
doorway inside the hallowed dimness, I see Christ clad in crisp white cotton
standing in a tall glass case. His forehead is torn and bleeding from the
thorns and at his bound feet in a tall vase curling white lilies - and in the
distance I hear the slow beating of the drum.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span> </span>
</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>In
the shadows of the cathedral ruins an old man reaches for his flute and blows a
sad note that echoes through the cavernous church. It is the Cathedral de San
José, the oldest and largest Roman Catholic Church in Antigua, battered by
earthquakes since it was built around 1541. The bones of the conquistador Pedro
de Alvarado are interred here. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>And the
ghosts of other conquistadors – Vaso Nunez de Balboa, Francisco Pizarro, Hernando
Cortes and Christopher Columbus – their legacy infused in the bricks and mortar
of this cathedral and every other built throughout the Americas in the name of
Christ’s blood.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span> </span>
</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Legend
has it that in 1524 when Pedro de Alvarado conquered the nation of Guatemala
for Spain, he murdered the Mayan chief Tecun Uman, plunging his lance deep into
the chief’s chest. As he did, the
legendary and sacred quetzal bird, the totem spiritual protector of the Mayans,
plummeted to earth and covered the dying leader with long, soft green plumes.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>The
quetzal bird kept a deathwatch through the night and at dawn was transformed,
no longer the pure green of jade but was soaked in blood from the dead warrior
king, was crimson. The bird rose from the dead king red with Mayan blood as it
is to this day. And what began with a trickle soon became a torrent roaring
through the centuries into an endless silent sea of suffering and death for the
Indians of Meso-America.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Guatemala’s
Nobel Prize winning writer, Miguel Angel Asturias described the Quetzal’s
bird’s resurrection as embracing humankind and nature. Asturias was born in
Guatemala in 1899. Studying in Paris at the Sorbonne, he explored the myths and
religion of the Maya and he described the quetzal bird’s resurrection this way:</span></span></span>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Don’t
you see</span></i><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span></i><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">breast
red as blood,</span></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span></i><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">arms
green as the blood of plants,</span></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span></i><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">blood
of the trees,</span></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span></i><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">blood
of the animals.</span></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span></i><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He
is a bird</span></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span></i><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">and
he is a tree.</span></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span></i><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Don’t
you see the long plume of his tail.</span></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span></i><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Bird
of green blood</span></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span></i><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Tree
of red blood.</span></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span></i><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Quetzal
bird. </span></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>And
now inside the church, leaving behind the hubbub, heat and excitement of the
street, past the worn wooden table and a brass collection plate with a few
coins, people kneel on the cool stone floor in the chapel in front of a diorama
of Christ’s last supper. Lace curtains hang bathed in light filtered through
the ornate windows. </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLMiYBEdfvdBHftRP0lj7PLOpdqPO0hzeL90AtZBHGjqTYW4p2VBdcwWDy8Aw7GQwkLoAPfT94MUYRpAd4CVxl_qrOoZDDiA8079F0I6hB2uirxCChXaI9fWPAZQW1G3l6AtWao6ePst-H/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-01+at+8.33.59+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLMiYBEdfvdBHftRP0lj7PLOpdqPO0hzeL90AtZBHGjqTYW4p2VBdcwWDy8Aw7GQwkLoAPfT94MUYRpAd4CVxl_qrOoZDDiA8079F0I6hB2uirxCChXaI9fWPAZQW1G3l6AtWao6ePst-H/w320-h240/Screen+Shot+2015-03-01+at+8.33.59+AM.png" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>A wine goblet and loaves of fresh bread rest on a black
garment and twelve pieces of silver spill form a leather pouch. The faithful
are flowing past and the cathedral doors are flung wide open on the day before
Good Friday as a spring tide gathers all across the Christian world to
celebrate death and resurrection. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span> </span>
</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>As
the parade passes outside, huge floats that weigh more than a car, sway
rhythmically from side to side like ships swaying on the waves – eighty men
sweat and strain beneath its weight, and they pay for the privilege taking
turns to carry the load. Only the
middle-class and wealthy can afford to act out such penance, sweating away a
year of sin beneath the iconic figure of the tortured Christ. </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span><br /></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Holy
week is a tragedy – a way to see the pulverized identity of the Mayan Indian –
the step by step ascent to Golgotha – turning Christ’s death and burial into a
charade, an annihilation of the story but for the Indians there is no
resurrection at the end of Holy Week.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>And
at dusk, the sun weaves its colors in the clouds, threads of pink and gold and
sometimes a crimson swath slowly fades as night falls. And the stars burn with fierce whiteness. And
the drum is beating still, and another, and another.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>And
at night the streets seem more crowded as the festival continues. Shadows huddle around burning braziers and
the charcoal glows and smoke fills the air – smoke from fires and copal incense
and tortillas burning on the grills - and the fragrant flowers, so delicately designed
on the streets during the day, now are crushed beneath the penitent feet of the
faithful. The intoxicating flowers, flickering fires to scare away the devil,
men dressed like Roman soldiers and purpled robed Pharisees sit in groups and
mingle through the crowd as people party deep into the mystical night. </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>The
Maya conjoin baroque Catholicism with their own animistic beliefs synthesizing
meaning to make their own. The resurrection of the Christ, the resurrection of
the sacred Quetzal bird, a belief system and faith that provides relief from
the deadening weight of colonialism and an endless brutal war that scars this
nation.</span> I
am deeply moved by Holy Week in Antigua. I feel as if I’ve traveled back in
time and partaken in some kind of holy communion; as if the terrible sins of
colonialism are washed clean for a moment.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">But soon I am sitting with Doctor
Valle Monge who lives in Antigua where the Anglos come to enjoy the best of
what the country offers and he speaks of war. It’s a gracious old city with its
five hundred year old cathedral and the faded panorama of most of Central
America. But
bitter memories infuse its history and the beating drum I’d heard during the
processions was a beating heart.</span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Uruguay
writer, Edwardo Galliano in his book “Memories of Fire” wrote that in
Guatemala:</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i> “…things
are more easily seen and felt than elsewhere. </i></span><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><i>This is a regime that violently
imposes the law of survival of the strongest; </i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><i>this is a society that condemns
most people to live as if in concentration camps; </i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><i>this is an occupied country
where the imperium shows and uses its claws and teeth. </i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><i>Dreams inevitably fade
into nightmares </i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><i>and one can no longer love without hating, </i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><i>fight for life
without killing, </i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><i>say yes without implying no.”</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNoQvTx-BHh9CNNaAHVq37Fmy6yPCeeM3wdUsSdy9aXiDIbLNkhPtGfqug5T9ulx7rZwJov-36x72j6lTEUK8ME_2iWFl2fLcNe7Ex-TYf1sf0tgc-DQ3iqGEokYauKL68dOZYJCb-fAD/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-01+at+8.40.48+AM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNoQvTx-BHh9CNNaAHVq37Fmy6yPCeeM3wdUsSdy9aXiDIbLNkhPtGfqug5T9ulx7rZwJov-36x72j6lTEUK8ME_2iWFl2fLcNe7Ex-TYf1sf0tgc-DQ3iqGEokYauKL68dOZYJCb-fAD/w251-h400/Screen+Shot+2015-03-01+at+8.40.48+AM.png" width="251" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><b>Conquest </b></span><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: times;">
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">D</span>r.
Valle is a small man, dark and handsome and he invites us to sit with him in
his cool, dim study lined with books and artifacts. The shutters are closed to
keep out the heat of the day and I can hear his children playing in the
courtyard. A maid brings ice-cold lemonade as we sit to talk about war, peace
and poetry.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">He told me that a close friend of his had gone to the mountains. The man's wife had visited more than once asking after her husband who'd vanished. Eventually the doctor told her that his friend had gone to the mountains to fight. He told me and his voice shook. And he looked down at his desk in his study with many books and the wooden shades were drawn against the harsh sunlight. "It is the struggle", he said still looking down, "between the writer and the fighter. That is his way and mine is different. Who am I to judge?"</span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">The
doctor is a poet and there is sadness and resignation about him; a veil of tragedy. His voice
is soft and weary and I lean forward in the baroque upholstered leather chair
to hear his words. He begins by explaining the Spanish Inquisition and
I feel its legendary awfulness envelop me like a heavy dark cloak. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">By 1492 the Dark Ages were receding and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a
fresh new light was growing in the world. The Renaissance blows great gusts of
change. It is a world adrift. The lines lashing it to the old age of blind
authority are loosening. For eight centuries the Iberian Peninsula had been
homeland to a rich diversity – Christian, Arab and Jew and the cultural ferment
was unmatched in the history of Europe. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">The
Renaissance encourages scholars and common people to speak and write in their
own voice and break the bondage of Latin. And now the world has the printing
press to spread the news to those who can read </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Constantinople
has fallen, overrun by the Turks. To the east, the Mediterranean is closed to
traders and the price of silk, spices and other luxury goods demanded by the
aristocracy has risen ten times.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">A
second inquisition has begun in Europe and Ferdinand and Isabelle in Spain
support it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For Spain, it is a lynchpin
in their history as the country unifies and the Catholic faith provides the
impetus for unity – stern and compelling - especially due to the devout
Isabelle. The Church must be purified and alien elements purged, especially Muslims and Jews. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Tomas
de Torquemada is appointed inquisitor-general of the Spanish Inquisition in
1483. In twelve years the Inquisition condems the Marranos, 13,000 men and
women who continued to practice Judaism in secret. Marrano means pig impugning
the character of the recalcitrant crypto-Jews. It had the connotation of “filthy-dirty”
and “unscrupulous”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Jews were
tortured in La Casas Santa, the Holy Houses, burned alive at the stake and
their property divided between the Pope and the Spanish King</span><span style="font-size: medium;">
<br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">For
eight centuries before, the Iberian Peninsula was homeland to a rich mix of Arab
Muslims, Christians and Jews. Their coexistence in this insular Mediterranean
region created cultural foment unmatched in the history of Europe.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">It
is into this changing world that Christopher Columbus is born. It is said he was born
near Genoa and named after Saint Christopher the ferryman who carried Christ on
his shoulders – the Christ bearer. Christopher Columbus’ father was a poor
weaver and Christopher worked with him until his early twenties. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">The
seaport of Genoa bustled with activity. Great shipyards, map makers and the
docks swarmed with traders, navigators and sailors from the known world. Some
said there were new lands to the west. The old trade routes from the east were
now closed by the Turks and seamen sought new directions to explore and find
wealth. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Prince
Henry the Navigator of Portugal had already sent ships south searching for a
sea route to India around the Cape of Good Hope and each voyage ventured
further. In
1471, a little more than a decade after Henry the Navigator’s death, Portuguese ships reached the equator to find the sea did not boil there.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">A
few years later, in 1475, Christopher Columbus began serving on various ships
plying the Mediterranean Sea. Heading through the Straights of Gibraltar he
was attacked by pirates and thrown into the sea off the Portuguese coast. He
made it to shore and found his way to Lisbon. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">In
Lisbon he learned Castilian, the lispy language of upper class Portuguese, and
Latin necessary to study the ancient navigational texts. He poured over the
charts of the great navigators and learned about new ships designed by the
Portuguese –the caravel with its revolutionary reshaped hull and recut sails
that made ships faster – two-hundred miles on a good day. It was in this
atmosphere that Columbus’ idea was born to sail west to Asia.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">The
new printing presses of Europe produced streams of books and pamphlets. Bibles
and books of marvels, astronomy and astrology – stories of travel, real or
imagined were popular. Columbus
poured over Marco Polo’s report on China. And Pierre d’Ailly’s discourse that
helped demystify the nightmare fantasy worlds of the Middle Ages called “The
Image of the World. He scribbled notes in its margins.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Columbus
approached John the Second of Portugal who inherited his great-uncle, Henry the
Navigator’s zeal for discovery, but was rejected. John was looking southward for
a sea route around Africa to India.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Columbus
moved back to Spain to Castile and cultivated powerful allies in the Spanish
court.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Queen Isabelle received him and
referred his proposal to committee. She liked the idea but didn’t have the
money for the venture. She was already hard-pressed financing the conquest of
the Muslims in Grenada.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the meantime
Columbus took a mistress who bore him a son he named Fernando who was to become
Columbus’ biographer. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">In
1488, Columbus returned to Lisbon and witnessed the triumph of Bartholomew Dias
who returned from Africa with the assurance that the eastern route to India was
feasible. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">In
Portugal Columbus renewed his pleas to John the Second and was refused a second
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sent his younger brother,
Bartholomew to Henry the Seventh in England – he asked the king of France,
Charles the Eighth but Columbus could find no support for his dream to sail
west. But he was persistent.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">In
1490 Isabelle’s committee termed Columbus’ plans impractical and denounced them
as inconsistent with the teachings of St. Augustine. One year later Columbus
tried again and yet another committee rejected him. Back
in France he appealed to Charles the Eighth again. </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">And then Grenada fell. It
was January second, 1492.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christian
prisoners were released from Muslim dungeons and eight centuries of Muslim
occupation ended. Isabella
sent a message to Columbus and invited him back to Spain. She accepted his plan
and proclaimed him Admiral and Viceroy and Governor of lands he might
find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She granted him one-tenth of all
profits to his heirs and successors forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And to Columbus Isabella entrusted royal letters to the Grand Kahn and
to all kings of India.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Before
sunrise on August third, 1492 Columbus embarked from the Atlantic port of
Palos, Cadiz. The Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria with ninety men and boys, sailed
west into the Atlantic. The fortress and naval base and Spain’s main Atlantic
port would have been a more logical choice but it was too busy shipping
thousands of exiled Jews. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnau1wPjz_PYo-P38MArZKAb4ftmm9x9qKHt_DKWSQUs0pe-Xdj1-a0taTrx_0rLDb_gfl1G5MAOFSIcQFd2dM5QWDhWVURVwzYP-3mBZFIzjSfug9eCYxp6sPCINEYHLFjKOz6Sjd06J0/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-02-28+at+10.58.50+AM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnau1wPjz_PYo-P38MArZKAb4ftmm9x9qKHt_DKWSQUs0pe-Xdj1-a0taTrx_0rLDb_gfl1G5MAOFSIcQFd2dM5QWDhWVURVwzYP-3mBZFIzjSfug9eCYxp6sPCINEYHLFjKOz6Sjd06J0/w240-h320/Screen+Shot+2015-02-28+at+10.58.50+AM.png" width="240" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><b><span> </span></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span>Columbus:</span> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">A radio feature commemorating the 500th anniversary of </span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Columbus' arrival in the Americas. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"> Commission for Australian Broadcasting</span>.</i></span></span><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Part 1.</i></b><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><b> </b> </span><i>Columbus: </i>Europe is in ferment. The Dark Ages are over and the Renaissance is beginning.
The Moors and Jews are forced out of Spain. The Inquisition is unfolding to
protect the weak and ignorant from evil doctrines. The printing press has
arrived and soon Cervantes will write Don Quixote and El Greco will emerge.
Martin Luther nails his thesis on a church door and Machiavelli is writing “The
Prince”. Columbus has been plunged into the sea off Lisbon. He learns Latin and
Castilian and reads ancient books of navigation from the pioneering work of
Henry the Navigator and he dreams of sailing west to Asia. In 1492 he sails to
the Americas. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Part 2.</i></b><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i>Tucan Uman:</i> Meanwhile in the Mayan lands, a great civilization is in decline. It is
written in the Mayan religious texts of the Popol Vuh (the Mayan bible or
Bhagavad Gita) translated from what remains of the codex – the written history
of the Mayans which was burned by the Catholic priests. By the fourth century BC, the
Mayans had achieved their mathematical and calindrical skills and by 900AD, had
constructed massive stone cities deep in the jungle, cities that traced their
inner vision in the external world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
is said there are hundreds of years of digging to do before we know how vast
this is. </span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> Tucan Uman meets the Spanish conquistador, Pedro de
Alvarado who arrives filled with Spanish glory and new hope. The legend tells
of the great Mayan priest killed by the conquistador and that the quetzal bird,
the national bird of Guatemala and the name of the currency, floats down from
the sky to cover the chief and keeps a death watch through the night. At dawn it
rises with its chest scarlet with the Mayan’s blood.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Part 3.</i></b><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><b> </b><i>Conquistador</i></span><i>:</i>
For five-hundred years they have have lived on Mayan land. The quetzal bird
which can only survive in the rain forest, has almost disappeared, replaced by
the black vulture, a bird that lives on carrion. Religion has merged into
a hybrid where Indian dance music is overlaid with Christian and Spanish
legends that includes the history of both cultures. The music of Castile and
Andalusia is modified by rhythms of negro and Indian origin – the marimba from
Africa has become the instrument of modern Central America. Spanish America has
been created our of the the blood and bone and muscle of Spain's explosion in
its golden years that began with Columbus, imprinting its language religion,
politics and culture. Today there is the influence of the U.S. and growing
militarism and sophisticated methods of control by force that begin to replace control of the church and tradition. </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><i><a href="http://andrewlesliephillips.blogspot.com/2011/02/columbus-based-on-radio-feature.html#more" target="_blank">"Columbus" Treatment and Script.</a></i></span></span> </div>
</div>
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5IE9loF4QhwKabRusYfCb3cX-LrJicmesosURDMCl2CFX9gBjp3hI0_ynQvnIiyoiskuxX59ail-9kYJ1eDJ8-PCwG5VmDBs7zdT2yu8zyaYYOGgjOTfA0PKUtFK208jDNn4Zvn0lDgmP/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-02-13+at+10.51.28+AM.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5IE9loF4QhwKabRusYfCb3cX-LrJicmesosURDMCl2CFX9gBjp3hI0_ynQvnIiyoiskuxX59ail-9kYJ1eDJ8-PCwG5VmDBs7zdT2yu8zyaYYOGgjOTfA0PKUtFK208jDNn4Zvn0lDgmP/w640-h462/Screen+Shot+2015-02-13+at+10.51.28+AM.png" width="640" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Refesqueria, Flores, April 1999.</span></i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><b>Tikal and the Jaguar Inn </b></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span>he sky was changing quickly now and a red dawn was rising behind the city. Soon it would be time to leave. We stood </span><span><span>in the frame of the doorway </span>naked, with the smell of sleep and sex still infused on our creamy bodies over looking the Hotel Colonial’s ornate courtyard waiting for the new morning to begin. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>I was silent, preparing my mind for the jolt back to New York. The air felt good, gentle and cool and I reached for Victoria and held her close for a moment and then turned and went inside to dress. <br /><br />The flight to New York would leave later that morning. Our bags were packed. Three green canvas sacks filled with Guatemalan weavings and soiled clothes and scraps of papers, receipts hand written on soft, porous paper, the kind one finds in places like Guatemala where they still stamp official papers with an authoritative thud talking care not to smudge the fresh ink where the penmanship reveals a curvaceous, flowing script. Everything was set for our departure.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><br />The night before we’d stood together under the full moon in Tikal. Bright and cold, I remembered how it shone on the Temple of the Giant Jaguar and the view, The jungle canopy stretching to the horizon. The moon how it shone on the massive pyramids and temples and the shadows and pools of moonlight across the stone paths that wound </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>through the jungle past the ancient stone structures. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>The path disappeared soaked in darkness. I found a small flashlight in my equipment bag. It cut a narrow arc and made it even blacker. I switched it off and waited for my pupils to dilate. Gradually the shape of the undergrowth emerged and I detected the jungle path. The moon cut through the forest canopy and the curtain of the night, its icy light pierced through the thick canopy to the jungle floor illuminating the white limestone path. <br /><br />Eventually I found my way to the main path that lead back to the Jaguar Inn. I could hear the thump of the generator and see the dim blue lights of the bungalows through the jungle. But for a few moments I’d felt completely alone out there with the mysterious Mayans - images of sacrifice; severed heads, high priests and daggers, strange symbols and rivers of blood running across the stones.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>We’d taken a beaten up old bus from Guatemala City to Tikal. It was packed and we’d been lucky to find a seat for Victoria. For the first three hours of the journey I stood – well it was not really standing but leaning on my fellow passengers, hanging and swinging in unison. A young woman pushed herself against me as we swung together without a word as the hours past. Or was that just my imagination.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgesIB3jF08WjCGorH1Sv3fu-yM-xwnQkANBLtFIi9zUX1MQvIvIYh386ysFR9JvkDXedc_P_A0Ms7mgWhtkzhtkThQGG9lcF2WH354odRU8FWHSpJBdqOFgjDlZHNnVUz_AiZHB_7UaoOf/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-02-28+at+11.51.10+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgesIB3jF08WjCGorH1Sv3fu-yM-xwnQkANBLtFIi9zUX1MQvIvIYh386ysFR9JvkDXedc_P_A0Ms7mgWhtkzhtkThQGG9lcF2WH354odRU8FWHSpJBdqOFgjDlZHNnVUz_AiZHB_7UaoOf/w320-h234/Screen+Shot+2015-02-28+at+11.51.10+AM.png" width="320" /></a><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>It was well into the night when finally we stopped to refuel and find food from the dozens of vendors squatting cooking food. They ran at the bus as it maneuvered into the rural bus station. Finally I could sit and Victoria and I shared plantains served on a banana leaf and sipped Pepsi Cola.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>As dawn broke, twelve hours after leaving the city, we neared the outskirts of Flores, the tiny island township in Lake Petén Itza and our destination. We passed the gray concrete walls of a military compound and soldiers peered out from the guard boxes mounted on the top of the walls. The driver explained that behind the wall were the Kaibiles, Special Forces soldiers from the Guatemalan army. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Kaibiles trainees were required to spend a month alone the jungles of the Petén fending for themselves. If they survived they became fully-fledged Kaibiles. To celebrate they’d be welcomed back to the barracks where they’d eat a dog cooked over an open flame. They are infamous for their reputed practice of forcing recruits to bite the heads off live chickens and drink river water from a recently fired artillery shell, with the burnt residue still inside. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Kaibiles are known for doing field medical work on themselves. When Kaibiles are injured by a gunshot they pull their knife out, cut an X on the wound, and pull the bullet out. The name "Kaibiles" is derived from an indigenous leader who evaded capture by the Spanish conquistador Pedro de Alvarado. The concrete wall went on forever. The driver turned to tell us that the base would soon be expanded. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Oil had been discovered in Petén. It’s a vast sparsely populated jungle that stretches northwards towards Belize and Mexico’s Yucatan. There's little farmland except near the Caribbean coast where banana plantations stretch for miles. Somewhere out there in that sea of green, guerillas are fighting the government in a brutal civil war. The Department of Petén is the largest in Guatemala and it's a carpet of green as far as the horizon and beyond.</span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Tikal is sometimes called the cradle of the Mayas. It extends for more than two-hundred square miles and it reveals an exceptional civilization highly advanced in architecture, astronomy and sculpture. Nobody knows why it collapsed. It is about 2,500 year old and was constructed over a period of more than a thousand years and the remains are evident everywhere.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>There are no park rangers at Tikal National Park. No khaki and green uniforms with boy scout hats and state-of-the art hiking boots. There are no rustic railed wooden fenced walking paths and carefully placed directional signs and map boards beside the trashcans. You are alone except for all of nature and the night. At dusk a man with an old rifle slug over his shoulder, wandered down the path and asked if anybody was still over at temple number four. I shrugged and he disappeared into the jungle leaving me alone. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Sitting high above the jungle on the Temple of the Giant Jaguar more than one hundred feet up, the jungle canopy stretches to the horizon. I am looking down on green parrots rushing in pairs, across the forest clearing and I watch the sun set. The stone blocks are warm and comfortable. The scale of the structure, its mass and time, the carvings chiseled into the surface, guide me to mortality. I wonder if I might ever return to the bungalow hut and hammock. I think about flight - not the flying birds who dip and dart in such startling variety, that shriek and caw as the sky rapidly changes color and the sun’s golden eye grows brighter in a final burst before it dives behind the distant horizon - but the flight of my own body and soul.</span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><br />I saw myself arching over the treetops, my arms spread wide and the warm air rushing past. This was not Orville Wright’s dream of flight in some complicated contraption, but pure abandonment – naked flight - like a bird or dream. The urge to launch myself off this Mayan tower is almost overwhelming. I saw myself leaping into the sun, arms flailing but rather than plummeting downward and crashing against the stones, my head cracked open and bleeding feeding the sacrificial edicts of Mayan kings and conquistadors – but rising gently like a cloud gliding through the twilight, catching the dying rays of golden sunlight that glinted like a sword’s blade cutting through the air. The dream was too real to be imagined. It was a dream of murder and death that comes in some altered state. It seemed only possible in this giant stone temple, dark and somber. And then the sun is gone. The Maya have gone. The dream dead.</span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><span> </span><br />The morning we’d arrived at the Jaguar Inn at Tikal was uneventful. The driver of the Japanese mini-bus drove for an hour on a well-paved road from Flores to Tikal with practiced efficiency and when we arrived it was quiet. Some girls were carrying bundles and earthen bowls on their shining black heads and some boys were playing soccer with some kind of rolled-up vine to make an irregular soccer ball. An older man leading a mule loaded with carefully stacked fire wood walked past. It was after six in the morning and the temperature was already warm.<br /><br />We could stay in the rustic Jaguar Inn or in cheaper, more basic accommodations in tents set aside on the edge of the surrounding jungle. We chose to stay under canvas.<br /><br />We spent three days exploring the ruins of Tikal. And each night returned for dinner at the Jaguar Inn. The archeologists and anthropologists from various universities were sitting at the large table in a back corner of the restaurant where they always sat. <br /><br />As well as choosing the same table, the researchers always sat in the same places. An older man with white hair and a scruffy beard was always absorbed in his book and he bent over it squinting inches from the pages in the dim light. As more of the scientists arrived for dinner, one by one they opened the door of an industrial size refrigerator to take beers and mineral water, popping the tops as they walked back to the table.<br /><br />It was more a hut than a restaurant for the windows were framed with unfinished timbers and mosquito wire was stretched across them. The floor was concrete, which had been unevenly laid so the tables were never level and wobbled when you sat to eat. <br /><br />After dinner we walked across the grass airstrip through the soft tropic night the moon throwing deep shadows across our path. The hotel generator thumped quietly in the distance and a few lights shone dimly through the trees around the bungalows. The sweet sound of marimbas floated nearby and Victoria pushed her hand inside the back of my pants and underneath my leather belt and I swung my arm across her shoulders and we walked like that toward the sound of the marimba.<br /><br />We found a café, a simple affair with the shutters thrown open and a kerosene lantern burning on a table where locals sat sipping beers and listening to the music. We stopped in the shadows and watched. <br /><br />The musicians were bent over their marimbas engrossed, heads bobbing, arms flashing as they beat out the tune together. A waitress walked onto the set and swept past the musicians and cleaned the dishes off the red and white checked tablecloth, re-laid the table, turned, and headed back to the kitchen.<br /><br />A little boy in torn baggy trousers and no shirt, no shoes, began dancing. He moved closer to the fire that burned in a cut-off fifty-five gallon drum where the food was being cooked on a grill. He turned and swayed and the red coals bathed his smooth honey-colored bare back with warmth and his skin shone. He danced and swirled and the marimba sounded even more sweet as he turned and swayed and his dance was so pure - like the star filled night or a swallow flashing in the rain. And then he disappeared around a corner into the darkened kitchen. That child would never know what joy he shared that night, the gift he gave in an image like a dream. <br /><br />The sweet marimba played on late into the night, the players remembering tune after tune and even when the generator died and darkness descended and the night seemed to move suddenly closer and the air was alive with the cacophony of insects sounds and the occasional screech of a howler monkey, the marimba kept on. And it played into our dreams as we lay in the tent with the smell of the extinguished candle and all those insects and animals singing their symphony into the night. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span><b>Nebej, Guatemalan Highlands</b></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span>e are in this small hotel - if you can call it a
hotel. It’s a wooden, adobe shack with a tin roof and no running
water or electricity. There are two thick candles in ornate brass
holders on the bedside table. Prints hang on the walls - tourista
promotional prints - the Quetzal bird in a series of panels.
It’s the national bird of Guatemala. It is legendary and the name of the Guatemalan
currency.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Before this area was deforested, the Quetzal
was common but now it's a rarity. The military cut and removed the
forests in a concerted campaign to reduce cover and dissuade guerrillas from attacking the outposts that dot this landscape. Of course
the military made a lot of money selling the lumber. They destroyed the
Quetzal’s habitat and now it is an endangered species. Like the
Maya. We are probably the only westerners within miles.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Before we’d left Guatemala City I’d dropped by the Australian consulate - told them we were traveling to Nebaj - and obtained a letter
acknowledging my credentials as journalist. In the city things seemed
relatively quiet. There were less killings these days, less bodies found early in the morning - hands bound behind the back and indications of
bludgeoning and slashing from machetes. Decapitations.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>But beyond the
reach of newspapers - in Nebaj a place few journalists ever ventured, how could
one know what was really happening? There’s talk about the Mayans - how perhaps 200,000 have been killed in the past twenty
years of civil war. Half the country is Mayan Indian and things hadn’t
changed much for them since the Europeans arrived five hundred years
ago. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Out here credentials for foreigners were
important. I’d heard there were roadblocks and vehicular inspections - reports of beatings and abductions of tourists. We were
not looking for trouble but we wanted to see a controlled village, get a
feel for the landscape. And I wanted
the local officer in charge to know western officials back in the city
knew we were here.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>The soldier has shinning black
hair all he way down to her khaki militia belt buckled tightly around
her waist. There is a blue plastic barrette pined to keep her hair away
from her almond shaped eyes and her skin is like well oiled wood worn
and darkened deep mahogany by the Mayan sun. She strides ahead. Her
camouflage pants are tucked into her boots and she reaches for a small
brown covered note book and opens it.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>"Come in from the sun" - the officer
says; his beautiful teeth so even and white, his uniform pressed, shoes
shining, mustache - "My family is in San Francisco. They ask me to
come join them in the States. But I prefer to work here for my country. I
am very patriotic." He is from Guatemala City with another brother in
the army.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>He didn’t smile again. He was
brusque and asked for passports which he scrutinizes with close
attention. I pass him the letter from the Australian consulate. He
looked up and examined us – looked us up and down - and then told us he
could not guarantee our safety since there had been reports of
guerrillas in the area and he could not predict what they might do if
they found a couple of gringos so far from home. He reached for a stamp
and brought it down with an authoritative thud. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>The military guard position on the
other side of the square beside the church. A young soldier leans across
the rocks and sandbags and planks his Uzi machine gun slung over one
shoulder. The stock and wooden handle is worn with remnants of
camouflage and he slumps in the shade of the corrugated iron roofed
bunker which has large stones and cinder blocks on top to keep the tin
secure. </span></span><br />
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boys stand beside the ice cream cart. It's unsteady worn rubber wheels
and the cones stacked one into the other behind the class encasement.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>And the women and girls in red
crossing back and forth across the square. Red swathes of cloth wrapped
around their waist with woven belts of color carrying food and children,
flowers and firewood strapped around them. Their hair shines purple and
velvet black in the silver sunshine.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>The Mayan Goddess Ixchel invented weaving and weavers make a sacrifice to her before beginning a new piece. These days
they pray with a catholic priest. The garment is a <i>cortes</i>. Weaving existed 4,000 years ago. Tools have been found showing the same design of the black-strap
loom used today. The weavers are more interested in the beauty of the
garment than the fit. It takes about ninety days to complete a weaving. <i>Cochineal</i> is a red dye made from the dried bodies of a female insect like lice found on several species of cactus<b>.</b></span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>A drab-green army jeep passes
throwing clouds of white, talcum-like dust into the still air.
Automatic weapons with worn wooden grips, the hardened hands of sons
have held them through the years, slings all chapped and worn and the
magazines snapped in meticulously.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Day Keeper</b></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">H</span>e sits resting underneath a tree over there by the fence - just
sitting and taking in the scenery. The day's nice and clear. The air smells
good. Women wander past in red <i>cortes</i> (the traditional, woolen woven
wraps of colored cloth), talking softly. He's probably a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Popol_Vuh" target="_blank">Popol Vuh</a> day keeper. Or a spy from the military. Maybe both. A rooster crows. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>He materializes - glides in and out of the picture on his rubber rippled soled shoes and you can barely hear him - he watches and listens and speaks<i> Ixil</i>, a kind of clicking, popping sound spoken by the
Mayans in Nebaj, here in the Guatemalan highlands. For fifteen Quetzals
or about one U.S. dollar, Don Jacoento agrees to drive us to <i>Saquil
Grande</i>, a controlled village further into the mountains. He says we’ll
be back in <i>Nebaj</i> before sundown<i>.</i></span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>A day keeper keeps track of days according to the Mayan Calendar. He is a shaman or a priest. The task is extremely important in Mayan life. There is no Mayan calendar in the sense we are used to. We use a Gregorian calendar ordained by the Catholic Church. Priests have maintained and the Catholic Church has defined our sense of time. But prior to the printing press, most of our ancestors had no such reference and used the movement of the heavens. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>The Mayans are renowned for their advanced skills in the fields of mathematics and astronomy. It's the day keeper’s task to keep count of days according to this sacred calendar and perform divination rituals based on dates of the calendar.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>The 260-day calendar is the oldest calendar cycle known in Mesoamerica - dating back to at least 600 BC. The day on which you were born defines your soul, character and destiny. In this regard, it is the closest correlate to the western notion of astrological signs.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>On a ridge overlooking a valley in the Guatemalan highlands he was alone and there seemed nothing special about him only that he seemed very old. He wore no special garments and when I approached he hardly seemed to notice. His clothing was old and tattered and he was mumbling as he pulled candles and beads and dried herbs from a huipil and began assembling an altar. He was divining the auspiciousness of the day a local woman wanted to travel to Guatemala City. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>He pulls out a box of matches and scratches but it's wet and I proffer my own and he lit a small smoky fire and copal incense. A fleet of military helicopters flew down the valley, the thudding slap of their rotors echoing off the sides of the mountains as the small fire burned and the incense wafted filling the air with its sweet, woody fragrance.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>An altar consists of a set of six colored candles arranged to represent the four directions and above and below. Flowers, copal incense, chocolate, and other items arranged in a cross, connecting all the candles. The altar is then lit and tended as the Day Keeper prays walking around it pouring alcohol at it's four corners quietly chanting prayers directed to the 260-days, each named.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>There are said to be 260 shrines throughout the Guatemalan highlands, one for each day of the calendar. Most are in Guatemala, but a few are in Honduras and Chiapas, which used to be Guatemala but is now the most southern state of Mexico. Another handful are located in Guatemala's Petén rain forest at <a href="http://andrewlesliephillips.blogspot.com/2011/02/tikal-and-jaguar-inn.html" target="_blank">Tikal</a>. In all cases, they are in a special place - a mountaintop, a river valley, a cave. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>We drive about thirty minutes leaving <a href="http://www.mayadiscovery.com/ing/life/nebaj.htm" target="_blank">Nabaj</a> on a well maintained dusty road. We are in the Guatemalan Central Highlands traveling further north into muscular mountains, flexed and steep and there are few trees. Gray smoke drifts across the olive green landscape and the sky is a mighty blue. Dust in your teeth. Haunches jammed up against the steel side in the back of the Toyota truck; legs draped over two cases of over-ripe tomatoes. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>The two old <i>Ixil </i>men in the back with us wear worn straw sombreros pulled down low against the wind, gripping one side of the brim, their skin shines like polished wood - with a few sparse gray whiskers - and they grip the back window bars of the truck cab, standing and swaying with the motion, gnarled hands gripping. Almond eyes watch the landscape. They see the Jaguar smile and the silent sweep of vulture's wings stretching and flying north over trails of dust and smoke left by the military convoys to the north.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>There are soldiers in town - look over there - two men in a bunker, lounging back with guns that hang from their shoulders so naturally. When the local girls in red woven brilliant red skirts pass, there is no eye contact. A jeep with an old sergeant. He looks like he should be retired all ready. The jeep pulls up outside a store and the soldiers hoist themselves out of the seats and saunter into the deep shadowed entrance. Fine swirls of white dust settle on my skin and I can taste it around the rim of the Pepsi bottle.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">P</span>erhaps he is eleven. His voice is clear and pure like a bell and his eye lashes flutter like a butterfly when he looks into my face and asks if he can clean my shoes today. The blackened stained wooden box, the small wooden stool equally worn. He sits and his knees are bent and his head leans down and his hands flash back and forth and a soft brush whisks and he squirts fluid from plastic bottles and uses a toothbrush on the cracks and crevices. He digs his fingers in a tin of shoe polish and rubs the polish thoroughly into my boots. On the church steps in the town square.</span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>He'd earned 45 centauros for ten minutes and my worn boots shone in this hot and dusty square. The young boys reached out to
touch my boots. Their shoes had never shone before. Their shoes were worn
and broken apart along the sides. One of the boys ran his fingernail
through the sheen of dust settling already on the shining leather. Bare feet slap against the hot paving stones as they play. And now they
watch the gringo and chat amongst themselves in <i>Ixil</i> - a clicking, sucking sound that slapped around in their mouths. Some had no shoes at
all. "Good-bye!" The four boys left me - ran off like a rill, then a runnel sparkling
across the dry town square. Then down the rapids, down the steps, across
the road until swallowed by the shadows on the other side.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxjR-LTmqBjKQSvjb6Qi10wr-ahuhDtpY9kE6f8Jto3ZoovpOqzDDrOmAiJ8chlE4LAnnEJ1IrfhH9UwTosoUBo9sVdTrCmkikMcxk8cGoYcbOhlrUFZQsBsE4P8CB4_YBF-cGCgFw2Kc/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-02-28+at+11.50.21+AM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxjR-LTmqBjKQSvjb6Qi10wr-ahuhDtpY9kE6f8Jto3ZoovpOqzDDrOmAiJ8chlE4LAnnEJ1IrfhH9UwTosoUBo9sVdTrCmkikMcxk8cGoYcbOhlrUFZQsBsE4P8CB4_YBF-cGCgFw2Kc/w290-h400/Screen+Shot+2015-02-28+at+11.50.21+AM.png" width="290" /></a></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><b> </b></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><b> </b></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span><b>Presidential Palace</b></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><b> </b></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><b> </b></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span>he Presidential Palace in Guatemala City is just another elaborate wedding cake colored lime green and fading. There are flowers, a few low shrubs and some neat young soldiers standing here and there - all armed of course. And police in light blue shirts and dark blue trousers and black wooden batons with tasseled blue lanyards. A large concrete square with a few vendors selling vegetables and ice-cream, ringing tiny bells. Corrugated iron stalls around the square and there's the smell of rot and decomposition. The entrance to the palace is open and one guard in a green uniform stands at the top of the steps.</span></span></span><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Inside a photo exhibit is hanging on the walls. A portrait of the first civilian president in years, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vinicio_Cerezo" target="_blank">Venicio Cerezo</a>, a handsome man with greenish eyes. A sign close by in the photograph says: "Traditional Values L Respeco!" And there were many photographs of Indian tribes - there are more than twenty - selected by departments or areas but never shown amidst war or in camps, sleeping in the cold and dirt, and dead or bleeding in the Guatemalan sun. Thousands killed now. Nobel Prize winner and Costa Rica's president Costa Arias says probably 100,000 have been murdered. Each large color photograph with <i>"Nikon"</i> printed in yellow in a corner, each image artfully constructed, focus sharp, action stopped. The exhibit was sponsored by corporations - oil and exploration, banking</span></span></span><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;">
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><b>Weaving Rainbows from Black Sacks of Silence. </b><br /><b>Anna Maria Rodas</b><br /> </span></span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>interminable black hole at the end</span></span></i></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Of which comes another</span></span></i></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Black sack of silence. One small</span></span></i></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Death</span></span></i></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Awaits each day.</span></span></i></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>The calendar well-disposed on my wall</span></span></i></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Marks the time</span></span></i></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>And my skin, my hair, further afar for the moment</span></span></i></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>Would mark, if they could,</span></span></i></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>The smooth movement of the sea where</span></span></i></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>I would be a perfect corpse.</span></span></i></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>Some poems used in my three part feature <i>War, Peace and Poetry.</i> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>The series was commissioned by <i>Australian Broadcasting</i> and took me to Guatemala and El Salvador. I'd been to Nicaragua and southern Mexico, Chiapas and composed a radio documentary, </span><span><span><i>Sandino</i><i>'s Children, </i></span> following a Nicaraguan tour by Abbie Hoffman for sixty fellow travelers and a handful of journalists, after the Sandanista's victory. </span><span><span><i> </i></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><i>War, Peace and Poetry</i></span>, - a three-part, three hour radio feature program - was to be the culmination of my exploration of Central America. It seemed to me that poets synthesized the essence and by finding actors to present poet's words, with sound gathered on location, I might capture some of the elusive essence of its beauty, horror and history. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span>...Revolutionary: tonight<br />I will not be in your bed.<br />Do not be surprised at love’s subversion<br />by that old master.<br /><br />You are so cocky about how correct you are<br />and very worried about social problems.<br />Two-faced you overlook<br />that in our house<br />you trace to the t<br />the role model for the best of tyrants.</span></span></i><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><i><br />I adore you<br />you are <br />my people.<br />But there is a gun in your hand<br />and in your eyes, dark police.<br />There is no <br />communication between my love<br />and your violence. </i><br /><br /><b>Margarita Carrera</b><br /><br /><i>That’s where<br />he stayed: <br />in a pool of blood<br />on the pavement. <br /><br />Alone in his cry<br />without a god<br />in the palm<br />of his hand.<br /><br />That’s where<br />he is still,<br />voice blown out<br />eyes to the sky<br />unleashed inside me.<br /><br />Don’t say later<br />that I was mute<br />from fear<br />that I hid behind<br />the permissive veil,<br />miserable with silence.<br /><br />No, don’t say it<br />for my scream denounces<br />the cruel shots<br />warm blood debased<br />broken bodies stained.<br /><br />The scream<br />in my look<br />in my words<br />in my soul.</i></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><br />Scream of horror<br />comrade to yours,<br />my brother.</span></span></i><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><b>Maria Isabel de los Angeles Ruano</b><br /><br /><i>The corpse was there brothers and sisters,<br />and no one’s eyes wept.<br />We felt no pain not did we pretend.<br />We didn’t notice its rags<br />nor the rigid stillness of its jaws.<br />We proceeded without seeing it, we disowned it,<br />We didn’t know its name, we didn’t inquire,<br />we simply continued without looking.<br />We were terrorized with so much death,<br />that blood of our blood now caused no grief.<br />It remained alone, thrown in the middle of the street,<br />its open eyes an accusation.</i></span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjfvxhe7d9PXbz45MGGmbj63rtVpA6kABJ3pr_4bTbGos6OdrOZupq9eeO9gkRXxAqNiZs8bvt5GT6ij-1aAx6VdLIZ_VS6hpHvxzmvNiavrXhjYE4tPxDPGbA-4IIUl0rj8y3f-gNfS3/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-02-28+at+11.36.35+AM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjfvxhe7d9PXbz45MGGmbj63rtVpA6kABJ3pr_4bTbGos6OdrOZupq9eeO9gkRXxAqNiZs8bvt5GT6ij-1aAx6VdLIZ_VS6hpHvxzmvNiavrXhjYE4tPxDPGbA-4IIUl0rj8y3f-gNfS3/w400-h375/Screen+Shot+2015-02-28+at+11.36.35+AM.png" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span><b>Fernando Gonazles Davison.</b></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><b> Hotel Colonial, Guatemala City</b></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">F</span>ernando meets us at the <i>Hotel Colonial</i> in Guatemala City to talk about a Guatemalan literature of terror. He suggested we find a private place to speak. He doesn't want to be seen talking to a journalist so I invite him to our room which I'd specifically located near the back with a clear interior view out onto the exterior balcony.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>We sat on beds opposite one another and he spoke in a quite voice. He had the gentle appearance of a family doctor and an air of tragedy. But I detected suppressed rage when he spoke about the horror he’d seen and written about. He was a writer and poet and taught at Guatemala’s San Carlos University. He also did research for the Swiss Embassy, a relatively safe vocation in a violent city where it's said one phrase outside the law could cost your life. He handed me this poem he'd recently composed.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><b>Rafaga<i> (Gust of wind/burst of machine gun/burst of fire</i></b><i>)</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span><b> </b><i>B</i><i>y </i><i>Fernando Gonazles Davison. Traslated by Victoria Schultz.</i><b><i> </i></b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><i>Prelude:</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>When a smile no longer smiles,</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>When pleasure is a bruised colored rose and purple</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Then don’t inquire further. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>When an organ plays only as a stem snaps</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Then you too kneel down.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>When nobody wants to listen or to speak</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Don’t hide your voice.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><i>Prologue</i>:</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Onto what land can I build a home</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>When it is sulfur my feet step upon</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>And a pavement abyss is all I can see</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>And omens becomes puffs of smoke in the wind?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Onto what land can I build a house</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>When the dust burns my anguished fingers </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>And the wineskin contains a buzzard’s trap?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Onto what land can I build a home</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>When women burn up in early widowhood</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>And their smiles only echo the past?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>"Why are they treated so?" I asked. Davidson just smiled - looked down at the floor then back across the room.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbiOfTye4E2lGc8g6owDYcPzgVsVpMekpPkIQO2VwIESZxzJxMnaVXcrzEoaKfmVdJLAlinVZYn6dP0UsLbYZG2dirFcgy9F2s2aNQFrZ0LkQ2BA2OVj-37ZNZo3Xvh5sifzzIk7GvpSvS/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-02-28+at+1.29.53+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbiOfTye4E2lGc8g6owDYcPzgVsVpMekpPkIQO2VwIESZxzJxMnaVXcrzEoaKfmVdJLAlinVZYn6dP0UsLbYZG2dirFcgy9F2s2aNQFrZ0LkQ2BA2OVj-37ZNZo3Xvh5sifzzIk7GvpSvS/w400-h360/Screen+Shot+2015-02-28+at+1.29.53+PM.png" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span><b>Mario Solorzano Martinez</b></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span><b>Winds of Socialismo </b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span>he Mitsubishi was shining iridescent gray and had smokey windows. It
was parked across the narrow avenue outside the Colonial Hotel's heavy
swinging wooden doors in downtown Guatemala City. With a courteous nod
the driver opens the door ushers us inside. The
seats are soft and the carpet lush and when the door slides shut it's
quiet, cocooned. Outside the glint and flash of chrome and glass and
gritty clouds of diesel smoke inky thick. And crackling motor cycles and
blue police jeeps and people streaming past the sun drenched fractured
walls and shadowed corridors, merchants selling fruit and postcards and
music washing past. And there's a truck passing loaded with fresh
unfilled coffins simply carved with swirls and varnished shiny brown,
stacked in rows - I can see it through the smokey glass.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Traveling south now towards the coast with <i>Mario Solorzano Martinez</i>, secretary of the Guatemalan Social Democratic Party. The winds of socialism rustle through the palms and banana trees. And the swirling dust makes strange shapes and dances in the sunlight on the path. A black cow with its skeleton poking under its scaly skin slumped under the broken branches of a tropic tree, eyes like moons. The sound of socialism and winds of change means nothing to the black cow who labors just as hard in any field.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>The boys mouth's and faces are streaked and stained with sugary soda and their shirts are torn and trousers fold across their skinny hips, feet bare shuffling through the fine dust. </span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>The man looks up as the winds of socialism whisk by - straightens his back and leans back - and then leans back more and loosens his grip on the smooth, worn handle of his machete and it drops in the dust. In the square an ancient Ceiba tree with elephantine branches, deeply rooted in the ground, a banner hanging from it says:<i>"Vote Asi Partido Socialista Democratico." </i>And there's not a breath of wind. A silver painted piece of tin nailed and wired to a pole repeats the message with a painted fist that clamps a painted rose. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>A man leaning his chin on his elbows looks out the window. And a woman in a floral dress - black hair curling down around her face and bare shoulders, resting in the frame of the door one leg bent, arms folded across her chest. </span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>Three yellow light bulbs flash on the church roof - a holy trinity of lights. And then pale blue fluorescent flicker tracing the outline of the church facade, the heavy doors flung wide open, arching coconut palms silhouette against the pale gray sky. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>The black pointed flight of the Zensontle bird pieces the veil. The amplified sound spitting, crackling rhetoric and a few villagers gathering. And young boys playing on their bikes and a woman with a child walking by.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span><b>The Hotel Santo Tomas, Chichicastenango</b></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">
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</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span>n the small Guatemalan town of Chichicastenango in the highland province of Quiche. An old private residence on a rich hacienda now hotel. The walls are whitewashed - crossed swords and thick wood beams and a cleric’s purple vestment in a gilded frame on the wall.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>In the old stone courtyard draped with greenery, an old Mayan man plays a marimba while other old Mayan men in traditional woven jackets brilliant red and embroided tend tables.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>In the shade of the hotel entrance, Mayan women with their children, squat on the cool tiles ringing small brass bells. Some are begging. Some are selling weavings that vibrate with life unfolding before my eyes. I walk down the steps into the dusty street to the market. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>In the past twenty years there have been more than 100,000 political killings and many thousands of disappeared. The young Mayan girls singing on the steps of the old white church that overlooks the market, wear huipils dense with color, woven in their village homes and each could tell a story of relatives and friends who have disappeared and died. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>At one end of the market place is the <i>Church of Santo Tomas</i>. Inside worshipers mix ancient tradition with modern day catholic faith. The smell of copal incense – an aromatic tree resins - burns ceremonially and the smoke wafts through the village square. The rituals continue from the front steps into the church itself and people sit on the floor in small groups mumbling prayers in local dialects, around dripping candles and flower strewn alters. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>In the market place I can still see the women on the church steps listening to a local preacher. Christian fundamentalists have a strong foothold and competes with Catholicism and animism. And in the white sunlight, a small boy stands holding an empty glass and a man scrapes ice shavings of a large block of ice as blue as the sea. He scraps and the wooden table sways and the moisture dampens the brown jute bag wrapped around the ice. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span>He slides the shavings into the boy’s paper cup and thick crimson syrup seeps through the frost and trickles across the boy’s brown dirty fingers like blood.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><b>Mayan Women Passing</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><i>Andrew Leslie Phillips</i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Mayan women passing.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Women wearing huipils</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">woven from the dead.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Weaving with their daughters,</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">unique patterns</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">woven and embroided</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">threads of lives unraveling</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">the tree of life in red -</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">white lilies</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">and many sodden graves</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">and memories unsaid.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Mayan women passing</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">between the living and the dead.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Mayan women passing</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">along the selvedged edge</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: times;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Into an endless, silent sea.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Drawings by Andrew Leslie Phillips. © 2015.</span></i></span></span></div>
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